The moment Denial sat up in his grave, his so-called brave friends, who had gathered to bury him, screamed louder than the gunshots they once fired in war and ran like startled goats.
Denial, utterly confused, scratched his head.
"What in the..." he muttered, looking down at his dusty shirt — only to freeze.
Right there, over his heart, was a dried bloodstain with a bullet hole piercing through.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Then screamed like a banshee,
"AAAAAAAAH! I DIED! DIDN'T I DIE?!"
But then, as if arguing with himself, he calmed down,
"No no… I'm breathing. My voice works. I'm walking. This is... fine. Totally fine."
He looked around.
"Okay, but where the hell are my beloved brothers who promised to cry if I died?"
As he dusted himself off and walked toward the road, he spotted one of his friends peeking from behind a tree.
"Hey! It's me, Denial! I'm not a ghost, you idiot!" he called out.
The friend yelped and turned to run, but Denial caught up in seconds and grabbed his shoulder.
"Relax! I'm alive! I think…"
With hesitant hands and wide eyes, the friend examined Denial. After a long pause, he whispered,
"Bro... you're cold... and you smell like soil... but... yeah, okay. You're not a ghost."
"Obviously! Now let's go find the others and head home. We've got work to do."
---
Back in their homeland, Denial's friends were still processing the miracle of his return. After some disbelief, fear, and very loud gossip, they decided to celebrate.
The celebration was humble — in a village courtyard, with a couple of kerosene lamps, a hand-beaten drum, and some folks playing bamboo flutes and harmonium.
There were plates of puffed rice, fried fritters, and clay cups filled with toddy — a traditional palm wine.
Denial, however, sat awkwardly with a plate in front of him. The smell alone made him gag.
His closest friend nudged him.
"Eat, man! You just came back from the dead!"
Denial whispered,
"I don't know why, but this food... I feel sick just looking at it."
His friend laughed, "Then drink some toddy! That'll kick the death out of you!"
Denial took a cautious sip from a clay cup.
Immediately, a thick black liquid dripped from his nose.
His head spun. His vision blurred. And then — bam!
He collapsed to the ground.
Panic broke out.
---
🧑⚕️ "He's Dead... Again?"
They rushed him to the local healer — an old man who looked like he'd seen more dead bodies than the war had produced.
After examining Denial's pulse, the man shook his head gravely.
"He's gone. This boy… is no longer of this world."
Just then, Denial sat upright and gasped,
"Who said I'm dead?! I just drank something awful!"
Everyone screamed. Even the healer dropped his herbs and ran.
---
💀 Something's Not Right...
Days passed.
Denial began to notice strange changes. His hunger didn't go away — but he couldn't eat normal food. Everything smelled rotten, yet his stomach growled as if it hadn't been fed in years.
He felt restless at night and drowsy during the day. And every time a full moon neared, his bones twisted, his veins pulsed like fire, and he felt like something inside him was... awakening.
To survive the pain, he locked himself in a dark room for days during each full moon.
Finally, he confided in his closest friend.
"I don't know what's happening to me," Denial said in a low voice.
"I can't eat. I can't sleep. I'm changing. And I feel like... something inside me is trying to take over."
The friend, frightened but loyal, placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Then we keep it secret. Just between us. Until we figure this out."
Denial gave a weak nod.
Neither of them knew —
This was only the beginning.
Continue....