The Neitherworld

He walks in darkness, in a world that is neither here nor there.

Subtle and smooth, toeing a path none can see save for him.

The wind is relentless, harsh, and cold. It bites at his skin, burns his cheeks, and after an hour, a day, a week, he no longer feels it.

The cold has become a part of him, nestled in and among his bones with the Darkness that was always there.

Sometimes, he hears a voice, a wail calling his name, but the wind steals it away in the same gust that drives him deeper and deeper into the expanse.

At some point, his legs give out, so he leaves his body behind to become a passing Shade, and the expanse solidifies with each shadow step he takes. The path becomes cobbled, and the suggestion of brick buildings loom over his head. Others fall into step behind him, beside him. They bow their heads and bend at the waist for the boy who walks with Darkness.

“Keir!”

The voice wails again. He pauses at the edge of a dead field, looking back down the road to where a pin-point of white light bobs and weaves in the Shade, a will-o-wisp tempting him to leave the Darkness—his Darkness.

“Keir, come back to me! This instant!” the voice calls again. The light bobs closer, and Keir steps into the field.

“She wants you to go home.”

He stops at the sound of a small voice at his side. Silk tangles around his ankle and winds up his leg. A small hand slips into his, tugging the boy out of the field and back onto the cobbles.

“Who?”

“The Light,” that little voice replies, blunt and brusque. “Obviously.”

“And who are you?” he asks, stunned to be addressed, to be touched in a world that is neither here nor there.

“Just a little shadow.” The hand in his squeezes again and the boy thinks he sees, for just a moment, a little girl at his side. She vanishes as quickly as she appears, leaving behind a Shade and the whisper of a hand in his. “They want you to come back.”

“I don’t know how,” the boy admits. He left his body behind an eternity ago.

“I can show you,” the little voice giggles. “I’ve done it before; come on!”

They run, the little shadow leading him through his neither-here-nor-there world. She stops beside a fallen form and pulls at his arm before pushing him down down down, and then Keir stands in the body he left behind.

“How did you …”

“I told you, I’ve done it before.” The little shadow stomps a foot that isn’t there and points an arm of empty night to the will-o-wisp, dimmer now. “You don’t have much time in here. Not in that body. You should run.”

“How far is it?”

“Almost a kilometer.” The shadow curls around his wrist, tying itself in a knot. “Come, I’ll show you the way.”

“What if I fall in again?”

“I’ll find you,” the little shadow hums, “and I’ll drag you back out again.”