Phantasmagoria

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, Phantasmagoria is defined as 1) an exhibition of optical effects and illusions, 2) a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined – or a scene that constantly changes, 3) a bizarre or fantastic combination, collection, or assemblage.

“Again, when I close my eyes, I see static – like very small particles moving quickly all around – and within seconds everything seems to shift, and random things just appear. They appear as if I were seeing them with my eyes open only not clear. There’s lack of color. Faces appear and then morph into animals or strange and unrecognizable creatures. It’s the only way I know how to describe it. It’s a curse I’m telling you, it’s a curse.”

“Jack?” Ula interjected.

“What?” Jack said irreverently.

“Continue with your description. The fact you feel it’s a curse isn’t relevant right now. We’ll discuss it later. Please continue.”

“As the objects morph, they disappear into the distance into a portal or something. Like a black hole, I don’t know. Sometimes the objects are grotesque and sometimes not. When I see people, it’s never anyone I know or remember ever seeing before.”

“So, are the objects mostly people?”

“No, it’s just random objects.”

“Are those objects mostly living creatures?”               

“No, sometimes they’re dead or seemingly dead. You know, with like black or hollow eyes. Sometimes the hair on my arms raises up. We always called it gooseflesh.”

“You mean horripilation or more technically piloerection or cutis anserina.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Go on,” Ula said smiling.

Jack continued, “I’ve seen visions of just regular objects as well. Mountains, castles, oceans, rivers, forests. And simple objects like doors, gates, even tombstones. Everything seems random. Randomly placed, randomly appearing, and randomly moving. I see trees and tall grass swaying in the breeze. I see demons and angels that morph back and to. I see death and birth. I see atomic explosion plumes, at least that’s what I think they are. I see destruction. I feel like I’m doomed. I’m cursed.”

Jack took a noticeably deep breath and stood up raising his hands above his head as if to regain his composure. He fixed his shirt and tugged his pants at the knee to pull them down over his socks. He took his seat at the opposite end of the couch because it was leather, and he thought the change would be cooler and provide some comfort and a fresh perspective. Ula, who was seemingly not paying attention, had raised his eyes just enough to observe the change and then continued writing in his journal.

Jack sat quietly while Ula finished his thoughts. Ula checked his watch and turned the page in his journal. He uncrossed his legs and turned slightly so he was in direct line of sight with Jack.

“Can I get you anything? Perhaps a glass of water?” Ula asked.

“No, no thanks. How much more time we got?”

“We’re about halfway. You good?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said rubbing his knees.

“Let’s go back to the curse. You think these visions are a curse? How so?” Ula said leaning forward in his gothic-period high back chair.

“I feel like these visions are trying to tell me something only I can’t figure out what.”

“Lots of people have visions. Some are clinically insane others have had trauma and others, in some opinions, bring it on themselves. Others still, consider it a gift and can manage it.” Ula offered.

“How so? I mean, bring it on themselves?”

“Yes, there are some in my profession who believe habitual drug use can lead to these visions. By the way, these visions are mostly referred to as Phantasmagoria.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack shrugged.

“You seem like a reasonably sane person, though. Have you ever experimented with drugs?” Ula asked sliding back into his chair.

“No,” Jack replied confidently. “What sort of drugs are you referring to?”

“Anything really, marijuana, acid, mushrooms and such.”

“No, nothing. Nothing like that.”

“There are those in my profession that feel some drugs, in a monitored situation, can be therapeutic and can be behavioral changing. Take PTSD for example. There have been studies showing drug effectiveness for that disorder.”

“What’s PTSD?” Jack asked.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder, but I’m certain you aren’t suffering from that.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that. So, what do we need to do here? I mean I have trouble falling asleep and getting past these visions.”

“Well…I’d like to continue seeing you every week so we can dig deeper into these visions.”

“Dig deeper? You think there’s more there?”

“Quite certainly, yes. I can guide you through the process of discovery and hopefully give you the answers you so desperately seek. And I think you should try and convey your visions on canvas. Like a drawing, a sketch, or perhaps a painting.”

“I’m not artistic in any way though.”

“No matter, we’ll give it a shot. Prior to our next session, I’d like you to try it and bring it with you.”

“But what about sleep? I need some sleep.”

“Right. Normally, I would prescribe a light sedative or even something over the counter. However, I’m going to prescribe cannabis, medical marijuana. It should be administered in small amounts and just before you go to bed.”

“I don’t know,” Jack hesitated. “I don’t know if I like that idea.”

“You’ll be fine. If it helps you sleep, it’s worth the trial.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

“Looking forward, I’d like to consider a more controversial or exotic approach by experimenting with LSD.”

“LSD? You mean acid.”

“Yes, Lysergic acid diethylamide.”

“That seems extreme, how would that help me?”

“Under supervision of course, it will intensify your visions so we can explore them more deeply. I’m not saying we’re going to do it; I’m just saying I’m going to consider it, but not before consulting with some colleagues. Don’t worry.”

“Are we done for today then?”

“Yes. Let me get with the nurse to set up recurring sessions and have her come in and draw some blood.”

“Blood? For what?”

“It’s just routine. I want to rule out items that may be lurking and potentially causing your visions. These are standard tests and help determine the Ph level. If the anion gap is too low, your blood isn't acidic enough. Both high and low results may be signs of a serious disorder in your body that requires attention. I just want to know what we’re dealing with, that’s all.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know what any of that means,” Jack admitted.

With that, Ula excused himself and walked out the side door with his journal in hand and clutched to his chest. Jack sat still while trying to digest everything that had happened in the last hour or so. He was so anxious when he had arrived that he didn’t notice several peculiarities, at least peculiar to him. The most notable was the darkness. There were no windows. And the décor was something out of the Middle Ages. Part of him felt as if he was in a castle. It was dank. Then he recalled his approach to the front door, it was an old block-stone house.

And there was Ula’s gothic-period high back chair. It was grand and beautifully crafted. At the far end of the room was a fireplace so immense you could’ve walked right into it.

Jack’s thoughts were quickly interrupted by the nurse who had come to draw his blood. She never spoke and was matter of fact in her actions. She wrapped his arm with the standard rubber tube and proceeded to extract two large vials – and she exited quickly after placing cotton and tape over the needle puncture.

Jack, assuming he was free to go, stood up and walked toward the door as Ula walked in through the side door and met him. Ula handed Jack a piece of paper. Jack looked down and couldn’t help noticing Ula’s fingernails. They were longer than what he considered normal and discolored. Jack quickly realized the paper was the prescription and his eyes went straight to the bottom where it read, “Dr. A. C. Ula, MD – Psychiatrist.” The very vision would haunt him for eternity.