The Grey Man

I first noticed the grey man walking down the street, early in the morning as I was driving in to work. I named him that because that’s exactly what he was. A grey man. He wore grey suede shoes with baggy grey corduroy pants and a grey fleece jacket. A tuft of curly grey hair sat atop his elongated head. Even his skin seemed faded as it hung loosely over his gaunt features. It’s odd, but his blandness is what made him so noticeable. It was as if he absorbed all light and reflection, creating a smokey void as he moved. If he were any other person I probably wouldn’t have noticed. He tilted his head slightly and peered at me through the windshield.

That night I had trouble sleeping. I had completely forgotten about the grey man. I figured it was just one of those nights. At 3 o’clock I trudged into the kitchen and downed a couple antihistamines with a glass of milk. I fell asleep while flipping channels.

The grey man came to me in my dreams. He was distorted now. He looked warped, or stretched. Like he was a living ripple in a pool of water. I stood on the same sidewalk where I had seen him the previous day. He was walking towards me. His rippling made his movements erratic. He limped, as if he had a sore knee. His arms were outstretched and waving. Small fragments of his figure sliced in and out of existence.

I was scared. As the grey man came closer I felt my body quake ever stronger. His ghostly figure reached out to me, and I gasped trembling. But with that breath the grey man drew himself into me. I could feel him filling my lungs, expanding into my muscles, seeping into bone. When I felt a bead of sweat absorb into the corner of my eye, I realized that my head was hot. He was in my mind now. I clutched my skull and began to massage deeply and roughly. The scraping sound of hair against scalp bore into my ears. Perhaps I could drive the grey man out.

He told me to stop fighting.

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