Change. Why do people always say change is good for
you? Why does everyone always try to
make you think change will make you a better person…a stronger person?
“Change will keep you sharp.”
“The only constant in life is change.”
“What doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger.”
Yeah, well it’s all crap, total bull. Change is scary. Change can be stressful and nerve
racking. Change can hurt. Change can rip you apart and leave you a
different person. Someone you don’t
recognize and never wanted to be. No one
is immune to change, but some of us get more than our fair share of it. Some of us face changes so large and
devastating we end up barely recognizing the person we were before the big Change in our lives happened.
Oh, and did I mention change also likes
to blindside you when you’re least excepting it? One minute you’re driving along the
interstate with your parents and the next, BLAM…you wake up in the hospital,
trying to figure out how you got there and wondering why no one will tell you
anything about what happened. The nurses
just keep pumping medicine into your IV and giving you sympathetic looks when
you ask them about the shadows on the walls.
“Just relax
Jessica. It’s just your eyes playing
tricks on you from the medicine.”
Looking back on it now, I wish she had been right.
Then a few days later, the doctor, my
doctor, comes back in with an entourage of people: doctor, nurse, social worker and my dad’s
lawyer. They’ve all come to break the
news to me that my parents are gone and that my life will never be the same
again. They’ve all come to tell me that
there was a car accident and that I’m a 20 year old orphan now, but all I
really want to know is why no one is watching the shadows on the walls and who
the guy in the doorway is.
“You
sustained a concussion, two broken ribs and a hairline fracture to your
tibia. However overall you are relatively
uninjured and you’re healing rather quickly.
It’s actually quite remarkable, you were extremely lucky.” Says my
doctor with what I think is supposed to be a comforting and pleased look on his
face.
Lucky? Uninjured?
Is he kidding? I’m the polar
opposite of uninjured. My body would
heal, but my psyche would never be the same again. My parents were gone, my life as I knew it
had just been turned upside down, I was seeing things floating around my room
and there was a stranger hanging around that no one was looking at. Yeah, I was pretty far gone from being lucky
and uninjured.
Dad’s lawyer stepped closer to my bed,
“Jess, I just want you to know that everything is being taken care of for
you. We don’t have to discuss the
details right now; there will be plenty of time for that later. Just know that you don’t have to worry about
anything, I’m taking care of it.” He
reaches out and gives my hand a little squeeze.
His hand is soft and slightly clammy; I resist the urge to pull away
because I know he’s just trying to comfort me.
Even though there is no comfort for me at that moment. There is just the pain and the shadows and
the man leaning against the door frame.
I turn my head and look up into his
face, “Mr. Dawson? Who is that?”
“Who?” he asks me with a puzzled look.
“Him.” I flick my eyes to a spot over his left
shoulder. “Behind you.” I say in a low voice.
Mr. Dawson looks over his left
shoulder, “Who Jess? There is no one
there.” He turns back to look at me with
confusion and worry on his face.
I flick my eyes back to the doorway,
but this time it’s empty. “He was right there!”
Panic starts to rise in my voice as I watch the shadows start hopping
around the room on their own accord.
Nothing is making sense and I’m starting to lose control. I start yelling, “What is this? What’s going on? Why can’t you SEE them??” I start thrashing
and trying to get up. The pain from my
injuries lances through me like a bolt of lightning and I gasp. Doesn’t matter, I need to get up, to reach
out and touch them and see if they are real or if I’m losing my mind. I need to find the man.
I never felt the needle. I felt the doctor grab my arms, pushing me
back down towards the bed. I felt Mr.
Dawson’s hand release mine as he was pushed out of the way. I heard the nurse say, “Hold her still. This will only take a minute.” Then, there was nothing.
The next time I woke up, groggy and
confused, he was sitting in the chair next to my bed, waiting and
watching. I laid there staring at him
for what seemed like several minutes, trying to figure out if he was real or
just my imagination again, like the nurse said.
“I can
assure you, I am most certainly real.”
He said calmly, as if he’d read my mind.
“I don’t
believe you.” I said equally as
calm. It must be the drugs. He’s just a figment of my imagination.
“Suit
yourself.” he said.
“If you’re
real, how come no one else can see you?”
I asked.
“Who are
you?” I asked, still trying to fight my
way out of the drug fog. I was starting
to feel sleepy again and I wasn’t sure how long it would be before I passed out
again.
“Well
according to you, I’m just your imagination.”
He said with a smirk.
“Who are
you? What do you want?” I could feel my eyelids getting heavy again.
“You can
call me Caleb. Tell me Jessica, can you
see the shadows?” Caleb asked causally.
I paused, blinking at him. “You can see them too?” he had my attention now. Or at least what attention I had left before
the drugs took me back to La-La Land again.
“Yes, I
can.” Caleb said with a slight smile.
“What are
they?” I slurred.
He didn’t answer me right away, just
tilted his head slightly to one side and looked at me. “Sleep Jessica. You’ll know soon enough.” Caleb said softly and I felt myself succumb
to the drugs coursing their way through my body.
Even now, eight years and a lifetime later,
I can still remember those days like it was yesterday. I can still feel what it was like being in that
hospital room. I can still remember the
panic and fear I felt as I watch the shadows for the first time. Gliding around my room; tormenting and
terrifying me. I can still remember the
way the police came and asked me questions.
I remember the looks of pity on their faces and the overwhelming feeling
of loneliness and loss. Most of all, I
remember Caleb.
Today, I’m a different person. I’m nowhere near the person I thought I would
be, but I’m alive, kind of. Truth is I’m
not quite sure what I am now. The only explanation
I’ve been able to come up with is that the accident changed my perception. Allowed me to see things other people can’t. Not just ghosts, but all the other unworldly
things that go bump in the night and terrify sane people. I guess I’m not entirely sane anymore either,
but really, who is?
I’ve seen and done a lot of what most
people would consider bizarre things over the last eight years. Not all of them sane and most of them half a
step away from getting me killed, but I need answers. I need to know who or what I am now. I need to know why I can see the things I do
and why I have an unexplainable desire to destroy some of them. Most of all, I need to know who or what Caleb
is…and who I am.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This piece is also part of a fiction writing group that I belong to. Our shared theme this week was this:
| Things do not change; we change. ~Henry David Thoreau |
There are several other awesome writers in this group and I am honored to be a part of it. So PLEASE, go check them out! They ROCK!
http://worldsworstmoms.com/fiction-friday-part-20-static/
http://worldsworstmoms.com/fiction-friday-part-20-static/
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