The Last Visit

I first met Marcus at a support group for amputees, though he was the last person you’d expect to find there. He’d lost both legs below the knee in a car accident, but he had this infectious laugh and a way of making you forget his disability. We became fast friends, bonding over terrible puns and a shared love of old horror movies.

Years later, when his health started to fail, I found myself visiting him more often. His apartment, once a haven of movie posters and comic books, had become a sterile field of medical equipment and pill bottles. The only thing that remained the same was his spirit, which somehow stayed bright even as his body gave out.

His wife, Clara, a gentle woman with tired eyes, called me one evening. ‘He’s asking for you,’ she said, her voice tight. ‘He says he needs to tell you something.’

I drove over immediately, my heart heavy with the thought of losing my friend. When I entered his room, he was propped up in bed, looking more frail than I’d ever seen him. But his eyes held a glimmer of mischief, a look I knew well.

‘Close the door,’ he said, his voice a raspy whisper. I obeyed, and he gestured for me to sit close. ‘I need to tell you about the train,’ he began, and I felt a chill run down my spine. He’d never talked about the accident before, not once.

He told me that he hadn’t lost his legs in a car accident, but in a freak incident with a freight train. He’d been dared by a friend to walk the tracks, and he’d slipped, his foot catching in the rail. The train had come out of nowhere, and the pain, he said, was beyond words. ‘But that’s not the worst part,’ he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I died that day.

I know it sounds crazy, but for a few minutes, I was dead. And I saw… something. Something that’s been following me ever since.’ I asked him what he saw, but he just shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. ‘It’s not what I saw, it’s what I brought back.’

He told me that ever since that day, he’d felt a presence lurking in the corners of his vision, a shadow that disappeared when he turned to look. He’d never told anyone, afraid they’d think he was insane. But now, as he was dying, he knew it was coming for him.

‘It’s waiting for me to die,’ he said, his hand gripping mine with surprising strength. ‘Once I’m gone, it’ll be free. And it will go after the ones I love.’ I tried to reassure him, but he cut me off. ‘You have to promise me, Lucas. Promise me you’ll protect Clara.’

I promised, though I didn’t know what I could do. He seemed relieved, and he leaned back, exhaustion taking over. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘Now let me go in peace.’

That night, as I drove home, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror, but the road was empty. When I got home, I couldn’t sleep, his words echoing in my mind.

The next morning, I got a call from Clara. Marcus had died in his sleep, a peaceful smile on his face. I took comfort in that, but my promise weighed on me. I visited Clara often, making sure she was okay, and slowly, the fear faded.

But then, I began to notice things. Clara would flinch at shadows, her eyes darting to corners. She started calling me at odd hours, claiming she heard footsteps in the house, or saw a figure standing outside her window. I attributed it to grief, but deep down, I knew better.

One night, I was at her house, helping her pack some of Marcus’s things. She was in the bedroom, and I was in the living room, when I felt a cold draft. I turned, and for a split second, I saw a dark shape in the doorway. It was tall and thin, with long arms that seemed to reach toward the floor. Its face was a void, a darkness that seemed to swallow light.

I blinked, and it was gone, but the terror it left behind was real. I knew then that Marcus’s story was true. The thing was real, and it was waiting.

I told Clara what I saw, and she broke down. She confessed that she’d seen it too, the day Marcus died. It had stood at the foot of his bed, whispering something in a language she didn’t recognize. She’d been too scared to tell anyone, fearing she was losing her mind.

We decided to research, to find some way to fight this thing. But the more we learned, the more hopeless it seemed. It was an entity, a malevolent force that fed on fear and death. It was drawn to the dying, and once it attached itself, it would follow the soul into the afterlife, dragging it into eternal darkness. Unless we could sever the connection before Marcus passed.

But it was too late. Marcus was gone, and now the thing had no master. It was free to roam, and it had set its sights on Clara.

We tried everything—prayers, rituals, even a psychic. But nothing worked. The thing grew bolder, appearing more frequently, always watching, always waiting.

Then, one night, I had a dream. In it, I saw Marcus standing on a train track, and the train was coming. He was trapped, unable to move. I tried to reach him, but I was frozen. Just before the train hit, he looked at me and whispered, ‘The coin.’

I woke with a jolt, the word echoing in my mind. The coin? I remembered that Marcus had a coin, a silver dollar he always kept in his pocket. He said it was his lucky charm. I never knew where it was.

I went to Clara’s house and asked her about it. She found it in a box of Marcus’s belongings, a worn silver dollar. As I held it, I felt a warmth spread through my hand, and I knew it was important.

We researched the coin and discovered it was a ‘soul anchor,’ a rare talisman that binds a soul to the living world. If we could use it to anchor Marcus’s soul, perhaps the entity couldn’t claim him, and it would be forced to retreat.

But we needed to know the ritual. We delved into obscure texts, until we found a reference to a ceremony that could transfer the anchor. It required both of us, a candle, and a spoken incantation.

We decided to do it on the anniversary of his death. On that night, we set up the ritual in Clara’s living room. We lit the candle, and I held the coin, reciting the incantation. As I spoke, the temperature plummeted, and the shadows seemed to deepen.

Then, the entity appeared. It materialized in the center of the room, its form solidifying into a horrifying figure. It had no face, only a gaping mouth, and it let out a scream that shattered the windows. Clara screamed, and the candle flickered, threatening to go out.

I focused on the coin, channeling all my will into it. The entity lunged, but I held fast. And then, a miracle happened. The coin glowed with a brilliant light, and from it, a ghostly figure emerged. It was Marcus, his form translucent but recognizable.

He smiled at me, then turned to the entity and spoke a single word, a word I couldn’t hear but felt in my bones. The entity recoiled, shrieking, and dissolved into nothingness. The room fell silent, and the candle died out.

When I looked up, Marcus was gone, but I felt a sense of peace. I never told Clara everything that had happened, but she knew. We both knew.

The next morning, I found the coin on the floor, tarnished and cold. I picked it up, and it felt heavy, as if it had served its purpose. Since then, the shadows have been quiet. I still visit Clara, and we’re rebuilding our lives. But sometimes, at night, I catch a glimpse of a figure in the corner of my eye. It’s never the same. It’s something different.

And I can’t help but wonder if Marcus, wherever he is, is watching over us. Or if there are other things out there, waiting for their moment. But until then, I’ll keep his coin close, remembering the promise I made, and the last visit that changed everything.