There are so many questions you ask about yourself when paranoia strikes. Am I a bad person? Can I trust my thoughts? I've made a mistake, that makes me an idiot, right? The bad days sweep in, stealing away an ounce of your sanity and it leads you to question everything about yourself. But what happens when those questions answer back?
* * *
Walking along the shore of a lake was supposed to be my version of a peaceful evening. It had been a stressful several months, ones that held late night fights and even sleeping in separate rooms from my partner. She was never fond of my late nights at work, but what choice did I have? I had to be the provider of our family. I was lucky enough to claim the office job I held, and longer hours only left more money in my wallet. But she didn't trust those late nights. She had it in her head that I might be cheating. The idea of cheating was something I never humored. Even had I the time for it, it didn't sound appealing. She was the only person for me and I loved her in every way imaginable. Even if she was a bit paranoid at times. But I couldn't blame her. She doesn't know the goings on at my place of work.
I took a deep breath of the cool fall air as the smell of the water beside me filled my lungs. Closing my eyes for just a moment, I felt like I was on vacation to somewhere in the Bahamas. The thought of my wife and I on a beach, sharing some drinks at the bar as we took in the scenery.
The day dream was cut short, however, as the distant sound of teens playing and laughing drew nearer. I opened my eyes to see that there was a bridge I was approaching up ahead. It was high up, overlooking the lake I was walking by. The water wasn't quite deep enough this time of year for a bridge to make much sense, I thought. But it existed nonetheless.
The kids above me seemed to be bouncing a ball around. It was easy to hear the rubber hitting the wood of the bridge, followed by that familiar recoiling sound as the ball bounced back up to meet them. I wondered what they were doing there. The bridge didn't really lead anywhere, outside of a random clearing in the woods. Perhaps it was a hangout spot for them. But for as often as I walk around here, this is the first sign of life I've seen anywhere near this bridge.
I continued to walk, trying to ignore them and clear my head once more. But as I passed them, I heard some of them laughing and trying to make jokes that were too distant to make out. Were they laughing at me? Maybe they were caught off guard by me as I was by them only a few minutes earlier.
I heard the ball bounce a few more times, one final bounce hitting the bridge harder than the previous. A "Whoa!" emanated from the bridge as the ball came tumbling down, splashing the water just behind me. I turned around in surprise, first to face the ball, then to look up at them.
"Hey you!" one of them called out. "Can you grab that ball for us?"
I hesitated for a few moments. Tonight was supposed to be a casual night. And they could just as easily come down and retrieve it themselves if I said no. But I changed my mind. I'd want someone to do the same for me if I was in that situation.
"I can try!" I hollered back.
I looked beside me for a stick somewhere amongst the grass and rocks. It didn't take long to find a fallen branch. I extended it out and tried to pull the ball toward me, but the water worked against me, as it pushed the ball just enough under the water that it launched it softly in the opposite direction. I tried fighting against it and luring the ball toward me, but the more I tried the further it got until it was beyond my reach.
"Just go in there and get it!" one of them called out.
"No!" I shot back. I wasn't about to ruin my shoes for some strangers who shouldn't have even been up there anyway. "Why don't you come down and get it?!"
I heard a groan in response. I could faintly see two of them stepping off the bridge and trailing their way down to the water below. I figured that was my cue to leave. It was their ball after all, I thought. They should be happy I even attempted to retrieve it.
I continued my brisk walk away from them before the sounds from behind stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Jeremy!" I heard one of them shout as the scream from another rang out through the water. What was happening back there?
I turned around for only a moment to find a boy rolling down the steep incline that lead from the bridge down to the water. I saw the boy rolling rather quickly and roughly through the rocks as his body neared the water. I should ran and tried to save the boy. I should have done something to try and stop this. I couldn't help but feel the overwhelming guilt swelling in me. I was in shock as I stood there, watching. I had to see if the boy would stand up.
But he didn't move.
The cries from the other teens rang out through the water. Some tried calling for help. I think I was too far away for them to see me, as none of them turned in my direction.
I should have tried. I should have ran to them. I should have called somebody, but I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to. The guilt was eating me alive. And it still does to this day...
* * *
"If I would have quit being so selfish for just a minute and gave them their ball back, maybe that boy would still be alive," I admitted to my therapist.
The man in the chair across the room from me, my therapist, sat staring out at me as if he was waiting for me to say something else. "Hmm.." was his only response before scribbling a few things in his notepad. "And tell me, when did you first notice the eyes?"
My blood ran cold as his words struck me, pulling me out of the somber memories of a tragedy.
* * *
It had been about a week since the boy died at the bridge. I tried to stay quiet about it as his death was later ruled as an accident. Which it was, after all. No foul play was committed. But no matter how much I reminded myself that there was nothing I could do, I still felt incredibly guilty. I didn't cause the tumble and yet, had things played out differently, that boy would have never had a reason to retrieve the ball on his own.
I'm almost certain that his friends, who were also at the bridge, blamed me as well. I'd be surprised if they didn't.
My wife tried talking to me, a casual conversation between partners as we shared breakfast. I'd been pretty distant from her, from anyone actually, since that night. I didn't feel like I could face moving on and pretending it didn't happen. And any distraction from those lingering memories felt wrong. I deserved to be putting myself through misery, I thought. I was responsible and yet there was no justice.
After the awkwardly quiet breakfast she and I shared, I decided to take a shower. Perhaps that would relieve a tiny bit of tension.
I let the lukewarm water trickle down my body, helping me to relax my tense muscles for even just a moment. It felt like I needed this, like my body was thanking me for the relaxation it had been longing for over the last several days.
I dumped some shampoo in my hair and scrubbed. But as I closed my eyes tight, ensuring nothing got in my eyes, I saw another pair of them staring back at me.
The eyes through the darkness looked angry, piercing through mine like ice. They startled me, prompting me to quickly rinse the water from my hair so I could open my eyes and no longer bear witness to the rageful image buried behind my eyelids.
I was able to continue on with my shower like normal without any further nightmarish disruptions. However, after stepping out of the shower and drying myself off, I decided to go for a walk. I figured some fresh air with nature surrounding was something I really needed after the distress I'd been facing these past several days. I said goodbye to my wife as I headed out the door.
But on my way out I swear I heard her say, "I know what you did," in sing-song, almost mocking voice as her attention was turned to her phone.
I shot her a confused glance and she looked up at me, almost matching my facial expression.
"Is everything okay?" she asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I- uh-" I stammered before shaking my head. "Nothing. I thought you said something is all."
"I did," she started, looking me up and down in confusion. "I said 'I love you babe'."
"Oh," I chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "I love you too, hun. I'll be back soon."
She shot me a smile and I headed out the door.
What was that? Is the guilt really making me hallucinate? First the eyes and now I'm hearing things. Man, did I really need to clear my head.
* * *
"And did you ever make it to your regular hiking trail?" my therapist asked, looking up briefly from his notepad.
I shook my head. "I tried but the hallucinations only got worse. I thought mis-hearing my wife was bad enough but any and every person I passed by on the way there, I could hear them talking about me, about what I did. They all knew of the guilt that was eating me alive. I'd even look in their direction and they glared right back at me, their eyes burning into mine. It was painful to just be standing there and knowing the burning hatred they had, all targeted toward me."
"Did you confront them?" he asked, jotting down a few things in his notepad, briefly looking up at me from time to time.
"I tried, but it seemed like every time I tried saying something the words just caught in my throat. It was like living in a nightmare, where the horrors are all happening around you but you can't scream, can't cry for help. You're completely stuck and helpless and a victim to the whims of the demons around you. In fact, I couldn't hardly move at all."
"That lines up with the accident report," the therapist said. "Apparently you were standing in the middle of the road, looking toward an outdoor restaurant."
I nodded. "I tried moving closer to the people out there who were talking about me, but my feet refused to budge from the middle of the road. And it's strange, I wasn't panicked at all. It was like I was caught in a daydream or a trance or something. Nothing around me felt real. And through the dark fog that flooded my brain, I could hear a faint horn honking but my brain didn't register it until it was too late."
I chuckled a bit to myself. "You know, if there was any way to snap me back to reality and take me out of that trance, to make literally anything I was experiencing feel real, the impact of that truck did the trick."
"That's kind of a grim way to look at things," he said, the notepad now on his lap. He stood from his chair with an exhausted sigh and I followed suit. He stuck his hand out for me to shake as he stuffed his notepad under his armpit. "Well, this session's over, but I look forward to seeing you next week."
I went to shake his hand, but then I held back. Something didn't feel right. I didn't remember setting up an appointment with a therapist.
"Why the hesitation?" he asked, his face shifting from kindness to concern.
"You're not real," I said, staggering back.
"What do you mean I'm not real?" he took uncomfortably large steps forward, following my steps backward almost exactly. His movements seemed incredibly uncanny. "I'm just as real as you!"
His face began to shift into something twisted and horrifying. His hair growing rather quickly out of his head until it was a matted mess on top of his head. He began to cackle, revealing rows of crooked and stained teeth. His clothes transforming into tattered and dirty pieces of fabric that used to be white, but stained with heavy brown and yellow marks. His walking turned into limps.
"You know what you did!" he said in a mocking manner, his voice high and shrill. "You killed that boy!"
"I- I didn't!" I insisted. "It was an accident!"
I felt my back pressed against the wall as the man in front of me continued to step closer and closer until our faces were nearly touching. I could feel his hot breath on my face, the putrid smell of rotting onions spewing from his mouth.
"You're coming with me," he said, reaching out a hand and jabbing his razor sharp fingernails into my shoulder. "You're joining the others who are literally drowning in the sea of their own regret."
As quickly as the words left his lips, I felt the floor fall out from beneath me before landing hard on a solid black ground. The man was gone and I was standing in a black void all alone.
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