The Phantom's Words

May 16th, 1989, Castle Rock, Maine.

Late after the events of The Dark Half by Stephen King.

Damian Torres, a 17-year-old boy, always liked to read George Stark's books secretly when he was out of school. Only when Damian learned about his favorite author's 'death' from a magazine, he decided that he should find the grave, his reasoning was that he wanted to make sure it was real and not just fake publicity. So later that Friday after school, Damian grabbed his favorite book that was written by George Stark, 'Machine's Way', and with the magazine and book in hand, he set off to find the grave.

After hours of non-stop walking, Damian found it. He had found the gravesite of George Stark. He found the grave and plopped onto the ground in front of the grave. Damian looked at the magazine picture, silently comparing it to the grave. 'It sort of looks like the photo,' Damian thought with a shrug as he fidgeted with his shiny rings on his right hand. His lapis and forest eyes shone deeply in the darkening sky as they began to heavy. Well, maybe he could just rest his eyes for a bit, his parents wouldn’t mind, right?

Damian yawned and leaned onto his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. Within the hour, Damian was asleep sitting up as quiet snores left his body. Damian never really dreamed, even when he was younger, but he did just now, he saw a man in his mind. Was it really him? Was it really George Stark? The man moved closer in the dream, walking in an almost limping, almost pained manner. Damian tried to reach out to help but he felt like he was being held back. Taking a closer look at the man, Damian saw black crow feathers in the man’s hair and puncture marks in his flesh. So this was the real George Stark. The man got even closer, Damian saw that the man was missing an eye, strange. Once the man was within arms reach, the room seemed to light itself on fire. Damian tried to move, trying to escape the fire that painfully licked at his clothes and skin but was met with the inability of movement. Damian looked back up at the man who held a cruel smile on his face.

Damian felt a painful grip on his arm, looking down he was met with the sight of the man’s hand and crows. “So I’m your idol, kid?” the man said, his voice gravely and low. Damian mentally shuttered, he looked back up at the man, his idol, the George Stark. The same George Stark that was said to be dead for good. The man leaned forward to whisper into Damian’s ear. “I’m not dead yet. You are going to help me.” There was no room for arguments, Damian didn’t have a choice in the matter. The fire engulfed Damian, he felt his flesh melt slowly.

Damian jolted awake, looking at the grave, the dirt looked turned up and almost unsettled. Damian stood quickly, grabbing his book and magazine. There was a deep pain in his head and his skin felt like it was on fire. Damian quickly found his way home and once he got home, he laid in his bed and held his head. Damian laid still on the bed for quite awhile before getting up and grabbing some paper and a pen. He sat down at his desk, Damian uncapped the pen and he pressed the tile of the pen to the paper. The words seemed to pour out of his pen, the whole style strikes a stark resemblance to the writing style of George Stark. Damian could never write to save his life but now it felt like he was born to write.

However, the words that George Stark said echoed hauntingly in Damian’s mind. What did he mean by ‘You are going to help me’?