The One Who Remained

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. The Aghori Sadhu cooked rice in his kapala at the fire. We remained seated against the wall.

Devotees stood single-file before him, each holding a fresh kapala. My eyes fixated on the skulls they held, vessels made from the heads of our crew.

One by one, each devotee accepted rice from the Sadhu. One by one, each devotee placed a vessel before each of us.

“Eat,” said the Sadhu.

Ian turned to me, questioning. I nodded.

The devotees returned to their seated position perpendicular to us. Something broke in Mitchell. He screamed. His body leaped up and bolted for the door. He swung it open and hurled himself into the Void Moon night.

His screams were overtaken by the cackling of jackals. Within moments they descended upon him; the gnashing of teeth and the tearing of flesh echoed in the dark expanse.

“Eat,” said the Sadhu.

I cupped my hand and scooped some rice into my mouth. It was soft and rich, and tasted of ash. The other two followed suit.

The devotees began to chant. Sadhu threw a powder into the fire. It snuffed out the light of the flames as smoke billowed forth freely.

There stood a blue-skinned figure that was smiling. “Have you found what you seek?” it asked. I nodded.

“Hmmm.” Its head tilted to one side; its eyes pierced mine. “You could be a great devotee.”

I remained still and silent.

“Hmmmm. You may leave now. You will not be harmed this night.” Smoke engulfed the figure, and all was darkness.

I awoke to the morning sun, centered in a circle made of gnawed bone. I was the only living soul among the dead.