Just as I thought that I must surely be about to experience a very unpleasant end, the spectre unfolded one bony finger and pointed at my most recent wound and I tried, unsuccessfully, to flinch away. Instead, he remained hovering inches from me, his incorporeal bony finger directed at the red stained bandage around my injury.
I was just as confused as the phantoms appeared to be.
Although my body was growing more and more sluggish, my brain was sifting through possibilities as fast as it could. It might be a cliché, but quite possibly my life depended on it.
“Uh, are you asking about injury?”, I managed to croak.
The phantom raised his head, locking his dark, undead eye sockets onto me. That looked very much like a ‘yes’ to me.
“Ok, so I got hurt. But I can’t let an injury slow mw down. I have to get over this wall otherwise my colleagues – my friend – could die. They need my help and I won’t let them down.”
With apparent solemnity, Mr Phantom withdrew his outstretched finger and folder his arm by his side.