I got my first mental health diagnosis at the age of twenty-two: bipolar type one. Given my family history I wasn’t surprised. Disappointed? Sure. 

I had been set. Graduated cum laude, landed a Big Five firm. I had worked my ass off to avoid Mother’s life; the diagnosis felt like a death sentence. For the uninitiated, bipolar drugs? Not exactly energizing. I had 100 hour work weeks; I couldn’t even afford a cold. I was tired as hell and getting desperate for alternatives. 

It was three a.m., and I was in my second airport terminal that week. Once more I’d been delayed. A colleague’s head had fallen dangerously close to my own arm and, despite doing my best to be assertive in the day to day, I had yet to lose that good ol’ Midwestern passive-aggressive.

My large and rather unwelcome seatmate shifted, his ruffled red locks now poking me in the arm. I stood up, laptop pressed between the fingers of my left hand as I shifted myself to the seat over. I opened it again. My search engine was closed, and a particular thread on a bipolar forum had caught my attention: 

Lucid Dreaming and Schizoaffective Disorders 

This brought my frantic searching to a screeching halt. Apparently this was a common thing among people with mental disorders like mine. My interest piqued, I scanned the comments; they were overwhelmingly positive, stating that it was a great method to work through reality checks, feelings of powerlessness, blah blah. 

I’d certainly had my own experiences with lucid dreaming. Dreams that felt so real they had to be–right? I’d found that the classic reality checks such as reading, telling time, looking at your hands, etc. were unreliable when it happened to me. At one point, it got so bad that during one of these “reality checks” I ended up with a knife through my hand–which landed me in a mental hospital for three months.

You see, these dreams weren’t these feel-good, control-your-dream scenarios people always talk about. Instead, I would find myself in a barren landscape, surrounded by dead trees, shadows and an ashen sky. And these things, swirling, indistinct–but still animated, sentient in some sense. The more I tried to control the dream or at least run away, the more it would twist and warp. The scenery would become darker and more indistinct, and these things – these creatures – would get closer and closer. Well, their voices would, anyway. 

A heavy breath escaped my lips, briefly rousing me from my reverie. I had forgotten to breathe. The sweat on my palms had formed a film on my mouse. I shook my hands briskly and stood up.

A memory: “Tell me, Allyson, when did you start having these…dreams?” The voice of Janice, my therapist, echoed in my head.

“I suppose when I was about ten or so,” I’d replied at the time.

It’d been a lie, of course. Not because I didn’t trust her, but really…I’d lied because I didn’t remember when it started. I didn’t remember not seeing them. But I couldn’t really call it seeing them, could I? You know how you dream of someone but you can’t see their face? Or you try to read a sign and you understand the meaning, but don’t see the words? These things lingered in my periphery, their voices higher than any earthly sound I’d ever heard, and so shrill that they bit into my eardrums.

I heard a sob, and was startled to find it was my own. I was on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest and my head buried in my lap. Hands. I have two hands. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Time: 4:15. 4:15? Hadn’t it been 3 when I’d logged on to my computer? I needed sleep. This goddamn airport. This goddamn stupid website. 

I clicked the icon to shut down, but I stopped when I saw that I’d gotten a new message on Facebook. Three words:

Good morning, Allyson.

Ah, my old internet pen pal Jason–if that was even his name. I’d met him early on in the journey to figure out What is Wrong with Allyson, on a thread not unlike this one. I’d confided in him about my hallucinations, but hadn’t gone into great detail about the dreams. Why? Because I couldn’t stand to think about them during waking hours, let alone talk about them. Even my therapist had only gotten the Cliffnotes. 

He still seemed to have an uncanny ability to figure things like that out, though. It actually got to a point where I started to distance myself from him. I didn’t want to bring the shadows to light; I wanted them to stay buried in the dark, dank cellar that was my subconscious. Where they belonged.

I really should have stayed off this thread. I should have known something like this would happen.

I sighed. I really wasn’t in the mood for this, but he was owed a response–that Minnesota nice again.

Good morning, Jason.

It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I’ve been worried about you.

I’ve been fine. Just busy.

If that’s the case, what’s got you commenting on lucid dreaming threads at 3 a.m.??

What could I say to simultaneously get him off my back, and avoid giving too much away?

Oh, I stumbled across it and thought it was interesting. They’re always learning new things about mental disorders, helps to stay in the loop right?

You’ve mentioned dreams in the past. What’s the significance? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.

Why did he always want to know so damn much? Why did he spend so much time thinking about a silly internet pen pal? 

Just tired and wandering down the rabbit hole, ya know? 

I do know. 

I closed my laptop without replying; I’d  just tell Jason I’d fallen asleep, I reasoned. In truth, I had hardly slept in the past three days, and…shit. I rummaged through my carry-on and pulled out an Altoids tin, sliding a pill into my mouth and taking a swig of the dregs of yesterday’s coffee. I slid the “mints” back into their pocket. I pulled out my cell phone and without thinking started scrolling on Facebook. A message notification:

We used to be friends.

My throat felt tight; my tongue seemed to swell to twice its size. Another swig of coffee. It was time to end this once and for all.

I was a lonely teenager. Look, thanks for everything–but I really don’t wish to get into this with some internet strangers.

I’m offering help, Allie.

“Allie?” I repeated aloud. No one called me Allie anymore. 

You have to trust me. Tell me, do they talk to you?

Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. 

I powered down my phone and slammed it back into my purse. 

The intercom sounded and a chipper female voice began to blare.

“Flight 278 to JFK will be boarding in 30 minutes. All business and priority class members please step to the service desk to begin the boarding procedure. I repeat: Flight 278 to JFK will be boarding in 30 minutes. All business and priority class members please come to the service desk.”

I placed a tentative hand on my colleague’s wrinkled shirt. “We’re up.”

He began to stir and I quickly gathered my things, pulling the boarding pass from my purse. The night was almost over. 

“How long was I out for?” he asked.

He’d stepped into line and I stepped behind him. “I don’t know,” I answered. “Maybe an hour. Or three.”

His brow furrowed, he muttered: “You don’t gotta be such a bitch about it.”

I thought about arguing, but how did I explain that I honestly didn’t know how much time had passed? 

He stepped forward and handed off his pass, then took a seat toward the middle of our section and kicked back, phone in hand.

One major perk that came with the long work weeks: business class accommodations. I shuffled down the aisle of the airplane and settled into my comfortable, semi-private seat, also near the middle. I drifted off.

Unsure of the time, I awoke again. I looked around; the lights were dimmed. When did they dim the lights? Also, it seemed much quieter than it had been when I’d boarded the plane. Dead silent, to be exact.

I peered out into the aisle, then into a seat facing in my direction. There was a woman sitting there, the same woman I’d passed on my way to my seat, but something about her seemed…not right. She sat, silently, staring forward with a blank expression on her face. It was then that I noticed her eyes; they were completely black.

I leaned further into the aisle. Ahead were more blank, ashen faces and black, staring eyes. When I looked behind me it was much the same.

Allyson……….

That screeching chorus of voices again.

I looked at my hands.

Ten fingers, ten toes. Ten fingers, ten toes.

Damn it, the reality check failed again. What was reality, anyway?

The scenery began to twist and swirl, like it always did. I felt a lump in my throat, and sweat began to trickle down my neck. I already knew what was coming next.

Allyson, you know what you have to do.

A scream erupted in my lungs, and I was momentarily shaken awake. 

“Are you ok?” The airplane attendant stood over me, looking visibly concerned. I glanced up at him. “I’m sorry; I must have had a bad dream.”

He chuckled. “I’ll say! You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Can I get you anything, a glass of water maybe?”

“No, thank you.” He nodded, quickly moving down the aisle to check on other passengers.

I peered out into the aisle. The woman in the seat facing me studied me, looking fairly perturbed–quite a contrast to just moments ago.

I thought back on this dream–blank faces, staring black eyes, and voices telling me I had to do…something? 

In previous dreams, I’d only ever appeared in some barren wasteland, not the place where I’d fallen asleep. Also, there had never been other people in these dreams–only those creepy fuckers who kept whispering horrible things in my ear. I didn’t recall whether they had ever told me to do anything, however, as it seemed that whatever horrors they whispered into my ears were always forgotten once I woke up.

Clearly, my psychosis was escalating; I needed to make a fresh psych appointment the minute I could get off this plane and get a few minutes away from Jake.

What in the everloving fuck is wrong with me?!

A dream, I reassured myself, it’s nothing more than a dream. A dream. A dream. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Ten reasons. Ten reasons to die. Ten reasons. Ten reasons. 

“Hey, Allyson,” said a voice in my right ear, “Allyson, everything all right?”

A face, blurry–but distinguishable. Light complexion. Red curly hair, freckles.. A wrinkled shirt. “Oh–” I heard myself say, “Jake–hey.”

“You all right?”

A deep breath. “Yeah, yeah–I’m fine. You know, it’s kind of embarrassing, but I, uh–”

“No, I get it.” He smiled. “This schedule. I’m exhausted. Ten years til partner!” He raised his fist and laughed: “…if we make it.” 

I laughed along with him the best I could, and he grabbed at the Airmall magazine in the pocket in front of him. “The stuff they try to make you buy, huh?”

“Yeah,” I muttered.

I rummaged through my bag for my laptop and pulled it out; I had work to do. Of course I had work to do. I pulled open a spreadsheet and went to work. It worked. It always worked. The flight landed.

I called my therapist and scheduled an appointment for Monday morning. I worked for eighteen hours, and hardly breathed. I focused. Sometimes focus is blinders, and work is the rabbit; you can run and run, and everything else just fades away.

I looked at the product of my weekend’s work. It was a diagram of numbers, more or less. It was clean, and it made sense, unlike the rest of my life.

The other product of my weekend: a chain of emails I barely recalled composing. 

And links. I tried clicking them:

Page not found.

I continued reading through the emails.

Saturday, November 13th, 11:43 AM 

Hey, Jason

Haha… funny story– I had the weirdest experience on the plane.

You wanna hear about it?

Saturday, November 13th, 12:33 PM 

Afternoon, Allyson.

I told him everything. Told him about the creatures I’d seen on the plane:

… they’re going to get me… I’d said.

He’d calmed me down, and sent me the links that now only gave me error messages.

Why the hell didn’t I remember? Had I slept? Judging by the catastrophic state of my apartment, and the neatly made bed–I ventured I hadn’t, but…

I looked at my covers where an edge of the crisp sheet had turned, as if…I reached my hand to the blanket and pulled downward. I recognized it immediately: a diary, my diary. It was nothing but a plain black and white composition notebook on which I’d scrawled my name in careful first grade print. 

I touched it, holding my hand to its cover for a moment before I flipped it open.

Black ink. 

It was nothing but pages and pages of goddamn black ink–until I reached the final page:

Good morning, Allyson.

It was my handwriting. Not untidy; it was my annotating print. But when had I dug out this notebook? My clock was blinking on my nightstand:

3:00 AM

It was getting light out; the power must have gone out at some point.  I picked up my phone. 

5:54 AM

I scrolled through my notifications: 

8 unread emails 

Junk.

1 new text message 

A message from Jake.

Hey I’m up early. Wanna go grab a coffee before work?”

Did I ever. I texted a reply and a location before I set my phone on the dresser and peered at my reflection. Still me, a little tired looking, but that was hardly news.

Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Clean my nails. Drink water. 

It felt like my frayed nerves were weaving themselves back together. 

I put on the blouse I’d purchased from Macy’s with my first paycheck. A feeble attempt at reminding myself of how much I’d overcome and all that, but hey, I was desperate. A straight iron into a low ponytail. Concealer. Mascara. Jacket. Sneakers. Heels in the bag. Lock the door, and–

Fuck.

I’d forgotten my phone. I rattled my keys into the lock and slammed the door open and closed again. Then I heard my music playing, but something must have happened to my phone. It wasn’t music at all. It was static…and anyway, how the hell would a 21st century piece of technology have static?

I turned up the volume. Louder static, of course–but also… 

Oh God. The high-pitched scream, soft now, but growing louder and louder. It was them. It was her.

I forced my shaking finger to hit the stop button and closed the app, but somehow I still

heard it. I stared dumbfounded at my phone; it was silent. The sound was coming from across my room – from the TV, to be exact – where static had made the screen glow white.

I wasn’t going to turn up the volume. I didn’t have to; emerging from the snow were two eyes that were definitely not human. No, they were all black and would have seemed animalistic were it not for that knowing sheen they had. I screamed, but no sound came out, strangled by the tightening of my throat. I turned off the TV. I looked at the clock:

5:59 AM

I spoke aloud: “It is 5:59 AM.”

A whisper. My voice had trembled.

“5:59. It is 5:59 AM.” Better this time, clearer. One more time and I was satisfied.

10 Fingers. 10 Toes. It is–what day was it? Another glance at my phone. Monday; it was Monday, November 15th. My pulse had left my throat. I was okay. I’d meet with Jake, drink coffee, bullshit about work.

“I don’t know how you do it, Allyson. You were a fucking mess when you left the plane, but this shit is solid.”

“A mess?” I echoed.

“Yeah.” He spun my laptop back around. “I mean I get it, those weeks are hard at first.” His hand touched down on my wrist. 

I pulled away and grabbed my laptop. “Don’t get too close; I think I caught something on the plane. I don’t want you to get it.”

His posture straightened. “You should get yourself in, maybe get some Theraflu.”

“Sure. That’s a great idea.” Medication. Shit. I opened my Altoids tin and slid a pill into my mouth. “Hey. Do you mind covering for me for a bit? I’m going to run into the clinic and see if there isn’t something they can give me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking kidding me, Allyson? We have a presentation Wednesday.”

I drew up my shoulders, “…and you said my work was good and that I needed to see a doctor. I’m going to go in, get some drugs and come back half functioning.” 

I felt my fists clench and was surprised when Jake reacted with a laugh: “Come on, Allie,” he said, placing his hand on my arm now, “I’m just teasing you.”

I forced a laugh. “You don’t mind then?”

“No.” He said. His damn hand still hadn’t moved. “You owe me one.” He gave one more pat and removed his fingers from my blouse.

“Yeah, sure thing Jake.” I shoved my laptop into my briefcase and pushed my bags up my arm. “Hey, thanks again for covering for me.” He raised his coffee cup in cheers, and I left. 

The wind was cold; my face was, too…Like it had been when I was small and Mom and Dad used to pull me on that old wooden toboggan. Like it had been that day dad took me out to the barn. Dad said Mom had always wanted to have a farm, but all we had was a flock of mangy-looking chickens, and two geese that used to attack me whenever I entered the barn alone. 

I’d asked him if Mom would be out of bed for Christmas and he’d cocked his head in that way that people do when they’ve heard you and are considering how to respond. He didn’t say anything, however–at least nothing I remember. 

She hadn’t been out by Christmas. That had been the first of many that I’d sat in the den alone with half a dozen toys that I had no interest in playing with. Dad always tried to turn on music when Mom had her fits, but I could always hear that shrill scream. 

I sighed; as much as I tried to avoid thinking about those times, there was always something to remind me. A touch, a word, a sound–there was no predicting or bracing for it, really. I shook my head and did my best to reenter reality.

A revolving door and a gust of warm air: I was at the office building. I stood in the elevator crowd, said a polite “fourteen, thank you,” and checked in to my therapist’s office. 

“Good morning, Allyson. Tell me, why did you schedule this appointment?”

Janice sat facing me in her chair, notepad in hand. She had brown kinky hair, brown eyes and a small, lean stature. She brushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes and glanced at me.

I cleared my throat. “I think I mentioned in my message.”

She was silent for a moment, clicking her pen as she surveyed me. 

“We’ve discussed this, Allyson. It is important to your therapy that you discuss these events. I am here to help you. Let’s begin with this weekend.”

“There isn’t much to explain. I mean, I don’t really remember–I worked. Maybe I lost some time.”

“Some time? Allyson, explain that to me.”

“I…just don’t remember. Until this morning…when I had another…” I stumbled for the word.

“Hallucination,” offered Janice.

“Yes,” I agreed, “hallucination.”

“Please, Allyson, explain this hallucination to me.”

I did. 

“These eyes, What did the eyes say to you?”

“Pardon?”

“You said the eyes were knowing. What do you think they know?”

I almost said I didn’t know, before recalling that in fact I did. “They’ve seen the face.”

“The face…” I heard Janice’s pen scratching now. “Is this the figure from your dreams, the ‘wraiths,’ I think you called them?”

“Yes,” I whispered now.

Softer now: “Tell me, Allyson: When these hallucinations take place do you feel immobilized, like your feet are stuck to the floor?”

Yes, that’s right. I can’t move at all.

“It sounds terrifying, Allyson. Have you been practicing your calming exercises?”

“Yes…” My voice felt far away.

“Taking your medication twice a day as prescribed?” When I said nothing she began to write again. “I see. It really is very important to continue to take your medication, Allyson. This therapy will only be beneficial if you are committed to the process outside of my office. Why don’t you buy one of those daily pill boxes? You can keep it on your night stand and take one when you wake up and one before you go to bed. 

“Now we are going to try something new: We’re going to try to delve in your dreams.”

“We are?” I tried to stand, but felt tired; the chair was comfortable. I desperately wanted to…

“Rest, Allyson. Just rest.” She stood and dimmed the lights. “You are safe here with me. I will guide you through your dream, and help you learn how to control it.”

She sat down close to me. “You are in your ‘wasteland,’ Allyson. Tell me: What do you see?”

“A desert. Flat.”

“Any plants or animals?”

“No. Yes. There are plants: shrubs, trees, but they’re all dead and black.”

“Allyson, I want you to step forward.”

“I can’t, I–”

“You can. Allyson, take a step.”

To my surprise, I did.

“Describe the sky for me.”

“It’s gray.”

“A sun? A moon maybe? There must be some source of light.”

“No. Wait, yes–a sun maybe? I can’t quite tell; it’s behind the clouds.”

“Very good. Allyson, open your eyes.”

“That’s it?” I felt good. Weightless, really.

“Yes.” Janice had closed her pen and pad. She flashed me her veneered teeth. “As painless as promised. I want you to explore your mind’s reaction to your hallucinations. Do you do your grounding exercises?”

“I do.”

“Good. Now, I want you to try to move next time. It can be as simple as moving your fingers as you count them.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you for your regular appointment.” She flipped through her book. “On Wednesday?” Another smile when she offered her hand. I gave her my own and she took it between both of hers. “You’ll be alright, Allyson. Remember, I’m here to help.”

I grabbed a coffee and a pill container at the gift shop on the way out. 

9:02 AM 

Perfect. 

I took a cab in and walked to my office. I had a desk in a center office with two other fresh hires, near the center of the giant office past reception and a few conference rooms. I stopped in the bathroom. I washed my hands under the tap and counted my fingers, watching them underneath the water. I walked into my office and sat down, logged into my computer and set down my bags. Not even a moment to breathe before I heard Ben’s chair roll over beside mine. “Hey Allyson, why ya late?

I smiled tautly. “Doctor,” I said simply, rattling the gift shop bag in my purse.

“Mm–nice break.”

“I don’t know; I wasn’t the one on vacation last week, was I?”

He pushed his chair away and I turned to my computer. The work day went with surprising ease. Being back at my desk brought me a clarity I hadn’t felt for the first time in days. I skipped lunch, worked through dinner. Ben left at 6 p.m.; bastard wasn’t going to last the year. Jake and I sure as hell weren’t going to put his name on our report. 

I yawned and stretched, noting that Jake was walking toward my desk.

“Hey,  Allyson.”

“Oh, hey.”

“Let’s go grab dinner; I haven’t seen you eat all day.”

“No, I’m fine; thanks though.”

“Really, Allyson. Consider it a favor to me. You do owe me one.”

I sighed; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anyway. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

We both put on our jackets and trudged to the nearest deli, ordering sandwiches and sitting in a corner booth. We didn’t talk much, which I appreciated. He was probably just as tired as I was. 

I stopped in the bathroom as we were leaving and sat in the bathroom stall. I took a pill into my mouth and swallowed it dry. 

My eyes felt heavy. Also, it seemed like I’d downed gallons of water over the past few days, and yet had this insane thirst I couldn’t explain. I walked out of the bathroom and approached the booth.

“Hey, I’m gonna head home,” Jake said. “If you’re heading out too we can share a cab.”

“No,” I answered, “I’m going to head back to work.”

“Devoted, I’ll give you that.” He put his hand on my back and it found its way to my tailbone.

I wanted his hand the fuck off me. “I’ll see you later, Jake.” I pulled my jacket over my shoulders and gave him a brief wave before heading back to my office.

My office door…a shadow. It seemed out of place somehow.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Allyson???

Now I was just stirring myself up for no reason. I hadn’t slept much, if at all, since the plane, and this thirst…I had to get out of here, had to get some espresso. Ah, hell, make it a triple. Those spreadsheets weren’t going to make themselves.

I turned away for a moment to grab my things; maybe Allyson’s Latest Hallucination would subside by the time I turned back around. One can hope, right?

I turned back toward the door to see that the shadow had grown. I gasped, my purse and briefcase both slipping from my hands. Behind the door, but now crawling up the wall, then closer, closer, this shadow spread across the floor as though some tentacled creature were standing there and reaching out to me. The shadow appeared to buzz erratically like TV static; I could see and hear it. And that screeching….

A creature with a gaunt expression began to take shape in the swirling shadows. At first its face was just a white oval, tilted slightly to the side as though it were studying me…well, it would be studying me if it had eyes.

Almost as if I’d wished them into being, two black pits formed and grew into eyes. It looked into me as if it were capturing my entire being…and perhaps it was.

I then realized I was immobile. I’ve no idea if it was simply shock that paralyzed me, but I couldn’t move a single muscle in my body. Forget what Janice had said; no matter how much I willed my body to move, it stayed  planted right where it was. This meant the good old (often failed) ten fingers trick wasn’t a workable choice either. There was a clock on the wall; it read 8:04 p.m.

That’s another thing they tell you–if you’re truly dreaming, then you won’t be able to read letters or numbers; that includes telling time. But I knew that it had been eight p.m. when I’d last looked at my clock and decided to grab a coffee. Add in a few minutes of sheer terror and boom! Eight o’ freaking four a.m. Right on the clock in front of me.

At this time, the thing was drawing closer and closer, to the point that it was right against me. If it were an actual living person I’d probably feel it breathing on my face or vice versa. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. My body still  wouldn’t budge. I could only stare in helpless terror as this thing slowly slid into me, merging with me.

Now, a scream erupted from my lips. Now, my body could move again, as I toppled to the floor. Now, my fingers were clawing at my throat; it felt as though something were clawing at it from the inside, scratching to get out.

“Allyson!! Allyson!!” It was Jake who found me like this and shook me, bringing me back to consciousness.

“Oh my…I really need to get some real sleep, don’t I?”

“Why don’t you take off for the night? I can finish up here.”

“Really, I couldn’t put that on you…You were headed home.”

“I forgot my briefcase. GO. You need to get yourself right. Take some time, come in tomorrow, good as new. I need you sharp for the 10 a.m. meeting; I’m counting on you, partner. Deal?”

“Deal. Jake?”

“Yes?”

“Could you…”

“My lips are sealed. Now get out of here!”

I nodded and ducked out, going straight home. He was right. Maybe these hallucinations were just caused by sleep deprivation. I had to hold onto some shred of hope that my mental illness wasn’t going to break through and destroy my dreams of having a successful career. I wasn’t going to be a victim like…

Like my mother.

Ugh! These intrusive thoughts about my childhood were getting more frequent of late, and I just did not have time for it.

Oh, but it had time for me.

There was one particular memory that was worse than all the others.

As always, it came back unbidden, flashing across my eyes, raising my heart rate to a seemingly inhuman speed and causing my whole spine to go rigid.

As always, the large farm-style house with peeling white paint and a wide porch flashed across my vision: Home. This was how it always started.

I’d been the one to find her.

I’d woken that morning to find that she wasn’t up yet, and not wanting to disturb her, I busied myself playing outside. It got to be late morning, and I became curious, concerned even. Her condition had improved somewhat as of late; I feared she was sliding back into her old ways. So I traipsed up the stairs and entered her room to rouse her.

I found her in bed, with one pool of sticky, partially dried blood at either side of her. Her eyes were wide with terror, and her mouth hung open in a silent scream, as though she’d been looking at something monstrous. I wondered what she’d seen, then. Heck, as an adult I still did.

I’d called 911 but it was no use; the paramedics knew she was too far gone by that point.

The night before, I’d heard her shrieking: “It’s not real! None of this is real!” My father had comforted her as best he could before heading off to his midnight shift at the mines. I’d thought he must have gotten her to calm down, falling asleep to nothing but the sound of crickets that night.

A few weeks later my father committed suicide too, leaving me alone, a ward of the state. I bounced from foster home to foster home until I aged out of the system.

It was around this time that my nightmares became more frightening–more real. Before long, they started making their way into my waking life, causing sporadic hallucinations. None of my foster parents knew what was going on – or perhaps they didn’t care – so I continued to move from home to home due to my being “too much trouble,” in some vague way. Perhaps I made them uneasy? It was hard to say, but I never stayed anywhere for more than a few months. And then there was the time I put a knife through my hand–needless to say, I was sent to a new home once I was released from the mental hospital.

I tried to commit suicide myself, several times. The hallucinations and nightmares, the persistent loneliness, the ever present feeling that I don’t belong here, made life unbearable. Curiously, something always prevented me from succeeding. I took five times the lethal dose of pills; I woke up in a few hours with a headache. I attempted to hang myself; the light fixture I hung myself from broke (that one landed me in big trouble with Doug and Glenda, my foster parents at the time). I slit my wrists; I woke up a few hours later to find that I hadn’t cut myself deep enough–or so I thought. Eventually I gave up trying; even this, I couldn’t get right.

Despite all this, you know what I did get right? Academics, particularly math. I was a straight A student, and a model child to all outside appearances. I did as I was told, didn’t cause trouble and excelled in school. I had to excel at everything; there was no other option as far as I was concerned. This, of course, would serve me very well later on in life.

If I was being honest, these days, if it couldn’t be mapped out on an Excel spreadsheet I wasn’t interested. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to live, but next to the meds I was on, it was the best coping mechanism I’d come up with so far. Numbers made sense (when they weren’t jumping off the page). Numbers weren’t hiding in a corner to get me. They followed the rules, they were the definition of rational. This gave me great comfort.

I shuddered as my flashback came to a halt, and surveyed the room. No dark creatures approaching me, and thankfully no more whispering in my ear. I’d become accustomed to this, and thankfully it had gotten less frequent over the years. I sighed, and set about getting ready for bed.

I still had this nagging thirst, but I chalked it up to caffeine withdrawals and drank another tall glass of water before I crawled under my covers. I decided to browse Facebook for a bit; I needed some harmless, vapid distraction to soothe me to sleep.

I had a message. I clicked on the notification; it was from Jason.

Hello Allie.

Hello.

Did you see her?

I groaned. I was soooo not in the mood to discuss this. I slammed my phone down and cursed.

I slept–fitfully, but for once without any unwelcome visitors in my dreams. Instead, I kept finding myself standing at the summit of a mountain, peering down at the vast expanse below. I breathed deeply, as though I were taking the very energy in the air into me. It was definitely odd…and a bit creepy. But I’d settle for that at this point. I kept waking up every couple of hours, though, and having to down yet another glass of water. You see, there was this sense of unquenchability, of longing I couldn’t escape.

Tuesday was more of the same.

My alarm woke me at 6 a.m. Wednesday morning, and I headed straight to my appointment feeling more optimistic than I had in days.

“Let’s talk a little bit more about these hallucinations,” Janice said to me. “You say lately they’re more vivid, more realistic, yes?”

Actually, I didn’t recall saying that, but maybe she was guessing. She must have been.

“Yes–they seem all too real. I don’t think they’re dreams because the reality checks are failing.”

“You’ve used them a lot over the years, with varying success.”

How did she know that?

“Umm…”

“This is not altogether surprising. I think I want to try another short hypnosis session.”

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea…”

“Trust the process, Allyson. I’m here to help you.”

I sighed; maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to reject help when I obviously needed it badly. Especially when I was paying good money for that help.

I gave in. “Ok, maybe just a short one.”

She dimmed the lights and started the usual process of beginning hypnosis.

Three…two…one…

I stood surrounded by those cursed trees again. Barren landscape, check. Ashen sky, check.

You know what you need to do, Allyson. We’ve been through this before. Start walking.

I did what the voice told me to do. I walked for what seemed like an eternity, until I found myself at a precipice. This dead valley of my imagination was situated somewhere in a mountain. I looked around. In fact, the scene looked just like the dreams from last night.

Can you feel it yet? Do you see her?

Suddenly dread crept into me. The air crackled with static electricity, and I wanted nothing more than to breathe it in…or drink it, perhaps. I could still feel that thirst nagging at me, even in this dream state. In terror, I turned around. There was the creature from my hallucations…same tilted head, same shadowy tentacles creeping every which way. Its head slowly moved upright, and then it slowly began to change…

I screamed and sat bolt upright. I looked at the clock–9:38 a.m.

I frantically grabbed my things and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind me. This appointment had not gone as planned, and I had to haul ass if I was going to make it to this big 10 a.m. meeting where Jake and I were supposed to present our latest work to the company bigwigs.

Janice ran after me. “I only want to help you, Allyson!”

Yeah. There’d been a whole lot of that lately.

The 10 a.m. meeting went off without a hitch; a couple of the higher-ups even complimented us on our hard work and said they saw a bright future ahead for the both of us. I worked through the rest of the day and left the office at five; with that out of the way Jake and I had agreed we deserved a short reprieve. 

On the bus ride home I saw it again. 

The wraith-like creature from before appeared in the middle aisle of the bus. It started to shift, until its features became those of…me. Terrified, but unable to move or look away, I watched as it moved closer and studied me like it had before. Then, it shifted again and my features blurred into those of my mother. I gasped. She gazed at me, love and sympathy in her eyes. She reached out to me with long, black tendrils, attempting to touch me, to soothe me perhaps–though it seemed she couldn’t quite reach. “Don’t be afraid, love. It will all be over soon.”

As I looked at her, I started to hear music; it was strange, unlike any music I’d ever heard before. It sounded almost like a harp, but the notes came together in sounds the likes of which I’d never heard before, almost like it was out of space and time, or from a different dimension. It had no time signature or structure that I could make out, yet it was achingly beautiful; I felt as if each note was a tiny thread, and I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch each one, to pull on them even. And then that overwhelming thirst came again…

I awoke with a start, sweat dripping down my back. I looked around; it appeared no one had noticed my break with reality this time. Sending a silent thanks up to whatever higher power had been watching over me, I noted that I was only a couple of blocks from home. I pulled the “request stop” cable, gathered my things and trotted off the bus once it came to a stop. I walked home and logged onto my computer.

I couldn’t take this shit anymore. I signed into Facebook messenger and clicked on the conversation I had going with Jason. This seemed like a bad idea, but I couldn’t think of anything better.

Sorry to bother you, but I really need someone to talk to.

It’s never a bother, Allie. I’m happy to help. 

I let it all out—the unplaceable feeling of dread, the dreams, the hallucinations, all of it. The feeling like I was slipping, losing control. He listened. I told him how hopeless I felt, and I began sobbing, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face.

It was then that I saw a hand coming out of my computer. It had that same TV static appearance to it, with shifting blocks of white on an otherwise black and gray pattern. I knew that this was Jason reaching out to me—or in my mind it was, anyway. The hand caressed my face, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I leaned against it, taking comfort in it, too weary to care that it wasn’t real. Then came a voice that sounded almost mechanical, or like electrical interference, superimposed over the sound of a man whispering. I’d never actually heard his voice, but I imagined it was Jason speaking to me:

“Everything’s going to be alright, you’ll see. Soon, you’ll wake up and this will all just be a bad dream. Hold on just a little bit longer; we’re waiting for you. You know what you need to do; it’s almost time.”

I felt calmer than I had in days. I didn’t fight it; this was the first time I remembered a hallucination comforting me rather than tormenting me. I’d take what I could get.

I slept a dreamless sleep that night. I awoke to a voicemail; the pharmacy had called to let me know my prescription was in. I stopped in for my refill on the way to work, and noted that the dosage had been increased; this was probably for the best, I reasoned.

Weeks went by without incident. No hallucinations, no dreams whatsoever; I figured it was thanks to the increased dosage. I soared through with a clarity I hadn’t felt in months, and Jake seemed relieved; I was too. 

As for Jason, I didn’t hear from him after our last conversation. I didn’t see him online any of the times I logged on, and my email thanking him and apologizing for the other day had gone unanswered. This was entirely unlike him, but I reminded myself that even Jason probably had some sort of a life outside of our online conversations. He was probably just busy.

After a while, though, I became concerned. I decided to send him one more email, and if he still didn’t reply I’d leave it at that.

Hey, we haven’t spoken in a while. Just checking in to make sure you’re alright. Things have been much, much better on my end, but since I haven’t heard back from you I thought I’d check in and make sure you’re alright.

I hit send. A few moments later, I received an email from postmaster@gmail.com. It read:

“I’m sorry to inform you that your message could not be delivered to one or more recipients. The address jason_j_jones_33145@gmail.com does not exist.”

What? How could it not exist? We’d been corresponding for years. In fact…I looked for the folder I’d kept with our email conversations in it. There was no such folder. Had I deleted it on accident? I logged into my Facebook messenger to look for the conversations we’d had on there. Nothing. Tried to find him in my friends list, nothing. Searched for him (in case he’d unfriended me), nothing. It was as though he’d never existed at all.

Perhaps it’s a coincidence, I reasoned with myself. Maybe he’d deactivated, or any number of things. I couldn’t afford to work myself up like this right now–not when Jake and I were expected to present at a big industry-wide conference in the morning.

I went to bed; I had that odd dream where I was standing on a precipice again. It made me a bit worried, but I tried to push the thought aside as I readied myself for the conference. 

I made my way to the hotel where the conference was held, and took my seat next to Jake. I nodded at him, and he nodded back. We were ready; we’d been preparing for this for weeks now. We sat through a few hours of presentations, and then it was our turn to present.

I stood on stage while he gave his portion of the presentation. When he was done, I walked up to the podium, nodded at the crowd, and started to speak.

Suddenly, my vision distorted, and I stood facing a crowd of blank faces–just like the ones from the airplane. The entire stage, and the room facing it, morphed into the precipice I’d seen before in my dreams. The chairs, the stage and the people with their blank faces–they were still there, but the scene was blending into this dreamscape. Again, I was facing a gray, ashen sky. Again, everything – everyone – became silent and still. Suddenly, I knew.

Now, I felt her. I saw them, too–so many of these blurry, tendrilled creatures, gathering in the auditorium. A thousand, maybe? There was no way to count. And then I heard her, singing to me like she used to when I was a child. Her voice was achingly solemn, and filled with longing…and a love so deep it stole my breath.  The others joined in her singing, a thousand voices ringing out across the barren landscape. I suddenly knew what they were – or rather, who they were – without asking. These were my people, come to see me put an end to this feeble, artificial existence once and for all.

I felt such gratitude I could cry; my whole life, I’d been afraid of these creatures. I’d wanted to run from them, from myself. But now, I knew they were here to set me free–to set us all free. The sense of not belonging, and all the horrors of living with my mental illness–it hadn’t been a mental illness at all. Beneath it all, this was the true reality. 

That beautiful, haunting music started playing again as the chorus rose to a fever pitch, sending shivers down my spine. I could feel it now; each note, each tendril, was a distinct consciousness. I could feel every thread in the room reaching out to me, and I knew all I needed to do was pull. That feeling expanded; I could feel them coming from the street, for miles around…eventually, I could feel them coming from the whole world, eight billion beautifully unique souls about to be freed. The thirst was overwhelming now.

I tilted my head back, opened wide and drank.