Hallucinations

“Please…please stop.” The little boy was a mess. His bruises on his face light up like a neon sign, and his bottom lip quivers. He makes pathetic hiccuping sounds that echo louder in my ears than they should. He looked so helpless, so alone, so…vulnerable. But I know what’s really inside of him. And he’s not going to get away from me this time. 

I bend down and whisper in his ear, “If only mom and dad were here to stop me this time.” I sink my knife into his chest and he slumps to the floor, his head making a sickening thunk! against the concrete. I straighten up and grin slightly. My job here is done.

I bolt upright in bed, sweat covering my entire face. Not again. Please, god. Not again. 

Every day, I read in bed like he’s not watching, standing in the corner. I watch TV, not glancing toward him while he sits at the end of the mattress. I sprint up the stairs as fast as I can, trying to escape the puff of air at the back of my heels, but failing every time. I’m too scared to fall asleep during the night; the nightmares are even worse in the dark and harder to distinguish reality from my head.

I wake up when something itches my arm. I lazily brush at it, but I feel another tickle at my nose. I sluggishly crack open an eye. I’m met with a stare. Both my eyes fly open when I realize what it is. The biggest tarantula I have ever seen is sitting on my chest and staring right at me. I stiffen when I realize that my entire body is covered in brown and black deadly spiders.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

It takes all my self-control not to move. I envision every single one sinking its fangs into my bare and vulnerable stomach as soon as I budge. The hundreds of legs tickle every pore, each spider threatening to kill me with a single drop of venom. 

One is sitting in my open palm, brushing against every single one of my fingers. A little one is sitting on top of my belly button, and another one is trying to fit its fat body into my right nostril. When its leg reaches too far into my nose, I sneeze violently and spiders fly everywhere. I jump out of bed, waving my arms frantically, brushing spiders out of my short hair, screaming as loud as I can. My screeching gets louder when I accidentally step on two, their tiny bones crunching under my bare soles. It’s a nauseating sound, like egg shells being cracked open. I dance around my room, narrowly avoiding the rest of the arachnids.

Laughter fills the room and I stop moving, slowly looking at the far corner. It’s him. I meet his bright eyes, seeing everything I fear in them. He’s obviously overjoyed that this hallucination worked as well as the ones before. And just like that, the spiders are gone. 

I sigh, angry that I overreacted again. I stalk off to take a shower. I knew they weren’t real, but I still felt the need to wash the imaginary hairs off of me. He whispers a goodbye to me. 

The next night, I stay awake for as long as I can again. Fear and caffeine manage to keep me awake until 6am, right as the sun was about to come up.

Something wet splashes against my face. My body feels weightless, and my ears aren’t picking up normal sounds. I open my eyes, accidentally looking straight at the sun. My eyes immediately shut again, my pupils on fire. When I turn my head, I inhale water. My body starts sinking and I flail around, desperate for air. When my head breaks the surface, I start gagging and sputtering saltwater. My lungs are burning, but I look around. All I see is water from every direction. The sky and sea are one; there is no horizon. It’s terrifyingly calm.

Where am I? Why the hell am I in the middle of the ocean?

The feeling of nothing and everything come crashing over me, and I’m getting smaller. I’m being slowly crushed, my vulnerability apparent to even myself. It’s hard to breathe; my rib cage is being squeezed like a grape. I’m weakly treading water, barely kicking my legs, and moving my arms just enough to keep myself afloat.

When I look down into the water, all I see is darkness. It’s tugging my ankles, silently urging me to stop moving, to give up. All of my nightmares are down there. The only thing stopping them from getting me is…fear. Him.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

The feeling of isolation is overpowering, but I’m not alone. I’m never alone.

“HELP ME! PLEASE!” I howl at nothing, but I know he can hear me.

“All you have to do is beg for death.” His whisper sends shivers down my spine. My lips are turning blue, my fingers and toes are hard to move. I’m tired; I don’t want to move anymore.

“IT’S. NOT. REAL.” I yell with all my strength, trying to quench the little doubt in my head. When my arms and legs completely fail me, I take the biggest breath I can. As soon as I’m fully underwater, I open my eyes to embrace Death, but I see my room. I’m back in my bed. I hesitantly let out my air. This is real. I jump out of bed and pull on a sweater, desperate to leave.

“No, last time I gave you another chance, you tore up the whole house! You scared me half to death!”

“Please, I can’t stay there anymore, I can’t.”

“Is it because of …him…? That silly imaginary friend you had when you were little? You’re too old for this, Tyler. You need to grow up.” I hang my head in shame, hiding my tears. I slowly back away from the door. She hadn’t even invited me in. She’s blocking the doorway the best she could with her tiny frame. 

“Sorry I bothered you then. Bye, mom.” She slams the door and I hear her angrily lock it. 

I reluctantly walk the 3 blocks home, kicking the leaves and avoiding the rain puddles left from last night. I am mortified when a group of teenagers see me cry. They laugh at me and I try to ignore them. For the rest of my walk home, their tauntings echo around in my head. I blink and in that millisecond, I see in third person. I see myself, a pitiful human being tormented by strangers. Their malicious sneers and threatening body language intimidating me. An embarrassment. Why wouldn’t they make fun of me?

When I get home, I slam the door and lean against the wall, hands on my knees, trying to take deep breaths but failing. I can’t breathe. I’m being crushed, but not by the water this time; by the air. By my fear. By him.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” I scream at him, not expecting an answer. And I don’t receive one. I rush into my kitchen and I pick up glass plates and I throw them on the ground. I raid my cupboards and smash everything in sight. I kick my chairs as hard as I can and I yell at everyone. I yell at everything and nothing: at my mom, those teenagers, my brother, myself.

Broken shards of glass dig into my thin shoes and stab my feet but I don’t care. I yank my hair in frustration and lean my head back and howl. Howl like I’m a wolf in love with the moon. All of my resentment and terror let loose for the first time in years.

I’m a little boy and I’m trying to talk to my mom. She’s ignoring me. I get mad. I punch a mirror. She’s not ignoring me now.

I’m a teenager and I’m trying to explain to my teacher why my homework isn’t done. She’s accusing me of laziness. I get mad. I black out. I wake up and I’m handcuffed to a hospital bed.

I’m at my first job interview and I’m nervous. I stutter. The man makes fun of me. I get mad. He’s not laughing anymore.

I see double and I can’t think straight. I’m hearing colors and feeling sounds. I’m dizzy with the exhaustion. I see him everywhere; he’s behind me. He’s on my left. He’s standing in front of me, shaking my shoulders. He’s yelling at me; his face bright red, his mouth opening wide, his spit coating my face. His voice is coming from all directions. He’s behind me, pushing me. He shoves my head against the brick wall. I fall to the ground, glass slicing my flesh. My eyes are open but I cannot see. I’m paralyzed in this pool of blood. Is this what death feels like? He kneels next to me, oblivious to the shards. He sounds triumphant when he speaks softly in my ear. I cover them, curling my body into a small ball. His deep voice echoes in my head. He’s shouting and whispering at the same time.

“You will hear me following you up the stairs. You will sense me when you close your eyes. You will catch a glimpse of me when you look at your reflection. Look to your left, to your right, under your bed, in your closet. You will never find me. I find you. I control your fear. Nobody can escape me. You can’t run from a nightmare.” 

It’s not real.

Right?