I’ve been plagued by heart attacks for as long as I can remember. The doctors say it’s a genetic thing, passed down from my father’s side. But sometimes, in the darkest corners of my mind, I wonder if there’s something more sinister at play, something beyond the realm of science and medicine.
It all started when I was a child, barely ten years old. One evening, while walking home from school, I felt an agonizing pain shoot through my chest. I collapsed on the sidewalk, gasping for breath as my vision blurred and the world around me faded to black.
When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by concerned faces. The doctors told me I had suffered a severe heart attack, an alarming condition for someone so young. But they couldn’t explain why it had happened or how to prevent it from occurring again.
Over the years, the heart attacks became a regular part of my life. Each time, they were more intense, more debilitating. The pain felt like a vice grip on my chest, squeezing tighter with every beat of my failing heart. And as I lay on the brink of death, I started to see things—horrific visions that no one else could perceive.
In the midst of one particularly violent attack, I found myself standing in a desolate wasteland, surrounded by decaying bodies and the stench of death. The sky above was an eerie shade of crimson, as if the very air was tainted with malevolence. And amidst the chaos, I saw him—a soldier, clad in tattered armor, bearing the scars of battle.
His eyes met mine, filled with a haunting mix of sadness and anger. Without uttering a word, he reached out his hand, beckoning me to follow him. It was a strange compulsion—I couldn’t resist his silent summons.
As we traversed the desolate landscape, the soldier’s story unfolded before me. He had been a warrior, fighting in a war that tore apart not just nations, but dimensions. The enemy they had faced was a force of unimaginable darkness, an ancient evil that sought to consume all life.
In the battle’s final moments, as hope dwindled, our soldier made a desperate sacrifice. He tapped into an otherworldly power, channeling his very essence to deliver a fatal blow to the enemy. But in doing so, he had sealed his fate, forever trapped between worlds, unable to find peace.
With each subsequent heart attack, I delved deeper into the soldier’s tortured existence. I witnessed the atrocities he had witnessed, felt the weight of his guilt and regret. And as I returned to the realm of the living, I carried a piece of his spirit with me—his pain, his anger, his desperate longing for redemption.
My heart attacks became a gateway, a bridge between realms. In those moments of intense physical and emotional agony, I could commune with the soldier, exchanging fragments of my own life for glimpses into his torment. It was a symbiotic relationship—an exchange of suffering that neither of us could escape.
But as time went on, the soldier’s presence grew stronger, more invasive. He started appearing in my waking hours, his ghostly visage haunting my every step. And with his arrival came a surge of supernatural phenomena—auras of dark energy swirling around me, objects moving of their own volition, whispers echoing through empty rooms.
I sought solace in therapy and medication, desperate to find some semblance of normalcy. But no amount of pills or counseling could quiet the soldier’s restless spirit. He had become a part of me, an indelible mark on my soul.
As my heart attacks grew more frequent and debilitating, I knew I was running out of time. The soldier’s essence was slowly consuming me, threatening to extinguish my own existence. I had become a vessel for his pain, a conduit for his rage.
In a final act of desperation, I sought out a spiritual medium—a woman rumored to possess a connection to the other side. She performed a ritual, attempting to sever the bond between the soldier and me.
As she chanted ancient incantations, the room filled with an oppressive energy. A gust of wind whipped around us, snuffing out the candles that lined the room. And in the darkness, I saw him—the soldier, his eyes burning like embers.
“No,” he whispered, his voice a haunting echo. “You can’t escape me.”
The medium’s efforts were in vain. The bond between the soldier and me was unbreakable, an unyielding chain that bound our fates together.
And so, I continue to suffer, my heart attacks growing more frequent and debilitating with each passing day. The soldier’s spirit remains with me, an eternal reminder of his sacrifice and my own impending doom.
In the end, I have come to accept my fate—the merging of two souls, destined to wander this realm as one. I am a vessel for the dead soldier’s spirit, and in my final moments, I know that he will finally find peace.