Dust

Dustin always said that the worst souvenir he ever took home was a demon. When he first told me this, I was kind of worried for him. Dustin told me how the demon “marked” him, first dragging his soul into another realm before releasing him to wake up to a paralysed state. The guy never went into much detail with what happened in the other realm or how long he was there for, but judging by the goosebumps I could see rising on his arms and neck, I could tell it was bad.

“Who knew a camping trip in Japan could turn out so bad.” I tried to joke once. Dustin didn’t like it. He just tightened his lips in an awkward smile and asked if I wanted to go out for a smoke. It was a bad habit I think he picked up from remembering the demon but that was how I met him. After one of our first archaeology lectures, he asked me for a lighter. I didn’t have one but I gave him the impression that I smoked too. He asked again a few times after that until it became a running joke.

“I just don’t know what he wants with me.” He said when he got back. He was flicking his lighter on and off absentmindedly again.

“How do you know he still wants you? Maybe he’s left-“

Dustin shook his head.

“I still dream about what he said. I don’t think there’s a way out for me.”