This echo is preserved in the catacombs.
Enter Little Light at Cult of Ashmore →
Voice: Luciana Moroianu. With gratitude for her reading.
"Little light, little light, don't leave me."
Yasuko first saw it near her grandfather’s grave. A small blue flicker rose from the stone like a firefly. It floated in slow circles, harmless at first.
Then, it changed.
Up and down, up and down—too fast, too sudden. Not like an insect. Like something searching. Frantic. Desperate.
Yasuko watched it. The light was beautiful, not from this world. She could watch it like she could watch the stars. She had heard stories of these lights from her grandfather. When the light rose, it almost disappeared. Yasuko heard her breath–nearly too loud. She listened to her heartbeat–hoping it would not make the light run away.
Should she run? Turn away? But she didn't move. She watched the light, sinking in it, almost hypnotic. Does the light know her? The light... it waits for a reason.
Was this light coming out of her grandfather's grave? Was it... his soul?
"Little light, wait!"
It stopped. The air around hummed, charged. Static. Electric.
Yasuko called it back, or so it seemed. The light wavered, then drifted back to the grave.
Watching.
Waiting.
Her skin hurt; it got cold. Wind came up, like from the open sea. The kind of cold that never knew land, only endless, frozen water.
A weight settled over her, demanding she speak. She called it back, didn't she?
The sunlight was almost gone, and Yasuko should be going home now. But the light still waited for her.
"Well, so, thank you for waiting. I... wanted... to ask you something."
The little blue light waited for the question. Yasuko could feel it. No question felt right. Everything she thought of sounded dumb.
Then, after what felt like years, the words forced their way out of her.
"Do you know my grandfather? It seemed you just came out of his grave."
The little light came closer. Or at least, so it seemed.
"Well... then maybe you can tell me about my grandfather. What kind of person was he? I loved him very much," she told the light. "He was a great person! And he loved me! He told me that every time!"
The little light flickered. Electric impulses flickered through it–thoughts. Hesitation. Slowly, it rose again as if puzzled that she could see it. It didn't want to hear her words. Disagreement.
"Wait. Wait!"
Yasuko almost screamed. Something about it felt wrong—how it hovered, retreating, between Christian stones and Inari statues.
She didn’t know why, but she felt embarrassed–humiliated, almost! That the light was leaving her behind. New questions burned inside her. She demanded answers.
The light–almost gone–rose higher and higher, then stopped. It thought. It changed its mind. And suddenly, it fell to earth—faster and faster. Yasuko was terrified; the little blue light would hit the ground! It would hurt itself. She jumped forward, reaching to catch it. And then it happened.
Instead of catching it, the little blue light struck her lips. Cold. Sharp. And then, it slipped inside her. Yasuko choked, clawing at her throat, trying to force it out. But it sank like a ship in the ocean, deeper and deeper, moving inside her to make itself more comfortable.
She expected heat, but it was cold. Colder than ice. It went down through her throat, into her mind. It made her think she would die. Like being struck by lightning. But she didn't. She was sitting in an aircraft. Shooting. Shooting at tiny little puppets on an aircraft carrier. She almost hit the deck, but then—an explosion. Fire. And she rose again through the smoke. Behind her, comrades plunged into the sea or burst into blazing fireballs. She flew away, away, far from the roaring thunder of the cannons, until the air was so bright she couldn't see anymore.
Then, her grandmother. How beautiful she was. Until Yasuko started to beat her. Hard. Harder. Over and over, striking her grandmother’s face until her lips bled, until her skin swelled shut. Her grandmother cried silently, but the beating would not stop. What had she done? What had she ever done?
Then, she—Yasuko—would hold herself proudly, play with her, and see her grow up—until Yasuko saw. Until she understood. Retching and gagging, she threw up. The little blue light slipped free. No weight. No concern. Unbothered. It drifted back into the air, its natural home where it belonged. Then it fell, weakened. Exhausted. It tried to get away from Yasuko, but it couldn't. The little light fell next to Yasuko.
Yasuko was on her knees. Watching.
The light watched back.
Everything was clear. Everything was told.
Yasuko felt the cold inside her again, but the little blue light didn't cause it. She remembered now. She remembered how she found him, the soldier, how she got into him. How she made him a puppet. And then, when he was an empty shell, she got out, searching for a new home. And forgot.
"You can go now," she said. "I know it."
Then she took the little light with two fingers. It tried to flee, but there was no escape. Yasuko never heard lights make sounds, but this one started to shriek quietly. Yasuko smiled. A concert of pain. The musicians are called fright and fear.
Yasuko put it in her mouth and swallowed it.
Delicious!
How long has it been? The meal made her even more hungry.
Time to eat.
The catacombs hold more than this echo.
Continue through Inked Echoes →
New writings, transmissions, Black Tapes, and other fragments surface through The Signal →.
If something remained with you, leave an Offering †.
Listen: Bandcamp — YouTube — Spotify
Love this form of horror storytelling, a little mystical, a little visceral.
The light that has become the inspiration for good writing, an interesting little light.