Primal Fear Read Online Free

years.”
    “I don’t get it.”
    “This isn’t just some old man,” John said.  “Wherever he came from, he was the village shaman.  And what he’s doing now, it’s part of a ritual of summoning.”
    “Summoning?  You can’t be serious.”
    “I’m completely serious.  I know what I’m seeing.  Only a village shaman would know these motions, and he would pass them onto his successor when his time to die is drawing near.  But this ceremony, the one we’re seeing now, is never performed to its conclusion.  It’s only taught in pieces, and even then, only in the most guarded circumstances.”
    “Then how do you know what it is?”
    John thought he could detect a note of challenge in the doctor’s voice, but he didn’t rise to it.  His voice, when he replied, was no louder than it had been only a moment before.  “It’s like I told you, I’ve devoted my life to the study of my people.  I’ve learned quite a bit over the years.”
    Morris glanced at the old man and then back to John again.  “Any idea what he’s saying?  Can you make anything out?”
    John bent beside the old man, turning his head until his right ear was only inches from the patient’s moving lips.  He made sure to avoid the hands, reluctant to break their rhythm, listening carefully for what he already suspected he would hear.
    “Juk-hta Atae . . . Atae . . . aji-juk . . . hta . . .”
    “He’s calling upon his spirit guide for help.  He’s very frightened, very upset.  And he wants Atae to protect him.”
    At the sound of the name, the old man’s head swiveled suddenly on his shoulders, turning to stare directly at John with his blinded eye.  It moved confidently in its socket, coming to rest precisely on John’s face, as if it were capable of seeing him, even while he was still deeply asleep.
    John jerked back involuntarily, a cold knot of fear tightening in his belly.
    The old man’s lips curled back, revealing a row of crooked, stained teeth. “Atae,” he whispered, his words seemingly directed straight at John.  “. . . juk-hta ctusa . . . ara aji . . .”  His voice rose in volume, becoming more urgent, until he was almost shouting, his head rising off the pillow in the effort to deliver them.  “Wyh-heah . . . Wyh-heah Qui-Waq . . .”
    John stared back at him, the color slowly fading from his face.
    “What’s he saying that’s so—”  Morris broke off as he saw John’s expression. 
    John could only imagine how he must look.  He’d never felt such an inexplicable sense of dread, never been touched by such undiluted fear before.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I just got spooked.”  He raised his hand, pushed a stray lock of hair away from his face.
    The old man’s hands dropped back onto the bed, curling into useless arthritic fists.   But even in sleep, his dead eye continued to rest upon John.  It moved smoothly in pursuit of him, filled with an impossible awareness that chilled John to the bone as he moved away from the bed.
    “I think he’s coming around,” Morris said.  “Maybe he’ll want to talk to you.”
    John hesitated.  The old man’s words had unnerved him, words he’d never suspected he’d hear in his lifetime.  And something about that stare, that single dead eye watching him wherever he went . . . 
    All of his confidence in the strength of his modern knowledge had almost gone out the window in that instant.  Now, he took a moment to regain his composure as the old man’s good eye slowly opened and centered upon him.
    There seemed to be a moment of recognition, an almost mystical instant of connection between them.  John could feel Dr. Morris watching him closely from across the room, and he wondered briefly if his friend could feel the electricity that seemed to fill the air around them.
    John approached the bed once more.  “Chak-ta.  Taja ich iji?”
    The old man stared, something in his expression betraying the fact that he’d understood John’s