The Colonel
As evening fell, a gentle breeze drifted through the windows of the shelter’s main hall. The nurse entered at that hour, carrying several pill bottles, a metal tray, a glass pitcher of water, a syringe, and disposable cups. Her rounds took several minutes as she made her way to the residents’ stations, making sure each resident actually swallowed their medication. She was stern and rarely trusted anyone; she rarely spoke to the residents except for the colonel. She, on the other hand, felt an unexpected sympathy for him, perhaps because they shared the same temperament or because of the upright, proud posture he adopted whenever she approached him. The retired colonel had lived at the shelter for nearly twenty years and, unlike the others, had checked himself in voluntarily. This happened after he survived an attack by a thug who had broken into his home to rob him; on that occasion, the colonel managed to fight back by setting fire to the room and crawling out, burned but alive. The police couldn’t identify the criminal because of the state of his burns. To protect himself from the revenge of the man’s henchmen, the colonel arrived at the hospice with his suitcase two days after the incident. He took great pride in having survived the attack and insisted on being addressed as Colonel, even though there he was just another old man. This time, the nurse had to administer an injection recommended by the facility’s doctor. She took his arm, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and inserted the needle into a bluish vein. The colonel remained silent and returned the woman’s smile while avoiding the needle; however, he noticed her flinch when she recognized the tattoo on his arm. Instinctively, the man locked eyes with the nurse, a wicked smile creeping across his face, and she, for the first time, feared for her life. It was exactly the same look as the man who had usurped the colonel’s identity on the fateful day he broke into his house to rob him.
Next story: Last Séance
