Photo by Ali Yahya on Unsplash
“So, any recent ‘activity’?” His voice was grainy.
“Some,” Lily replied. She hated the question — and more so the answer.
Her psychiatrist stared at her from under his glasses, the dark, puffy rings under his eyes magnified by the angle. Lily’s chest heaved and quickly dropped with a sigh.
“There’s an old man,” she said.
“And what does he want?”
“I don’t know,” she half-lied.
“Are you certain? We both know these things don’t just happen.” Lily knew she had to tell the truth. She had to. Abraham could always tell when she was lying. Daggers of ice pierced her heart as the outline of a small head popped out from behind the desk to his back.
“The little girl.” Her voice was mere air. Why are you here?
“I’m sorry?”
“The little girl,” she choked out the last word, her eyes fixed to the outline. Abraham turned to see where her gaze led.
“So, the old man has something to do with this little girl, then?” He turned back.
“I don’t know.” Lily hesitated. “He’s always so angry. The little girl hides from him.”
“Perhaps they’re related?”
Lily didn’t answer. The void of silence was punctuated only by the sound of scribbling as Abraham jotted down some notes. The outline retreated. Lily had never seen the little girl outside of her apartment. Her heart revved back to life, stomach swirling. She tried to control her breathing, but she knew her psychiatrist wouldn’t miss a thing.
“Lilian,” Abraham began, still looking down at his notes. “Don’t you think that maybe you might be projecting all of this as a way to cope with your condition?”
“You’re saying… what? I’m the little girl? You’re the old man?”
Abraham looked up from under his glasses as he always did, a sad smile coming to his lips, then slipping away. “That’s one possibility. Are you saying you’re afraid of me?” He stared at her unblinking.
Lily dropped her gaze, staring at the Rorschach-like pattern of the rug, gnawing the side of her cheek. He continued without an answer, “I was thinking more along the lines of your sister.”
Her gaze shot back up to meet his, flames stoked by the mention of her sister. “This isn’t about Ericka.”
“It’s only been a month since the accident. You came to me because you were concerned about your mental state. All this started after you were ‘visited’ by your sister, right?”
“Yeah, but-”
“So don’t you find it reasonable to assume that the trauma of that event is the source of the ‘ghosts’ you’ve been seeing?”
“I’m not crazy,” the words barely escaped her lips.
“No. I’m not saying you’re crazy. People experience different things when coping with such traumatic events.”
“So you’re saying it’s normal to start seeing ghosts after someone…”
“In my personal experience, no. But there have been documented cases of people seeing and hearing strange things.” Abraham grabbed a small pad off his desk and made a few jots. He tore off the top sheet and handed it to Lily. “This is a prescription that I want you to take for the next two weeks. It should help. If it doesn’t, come back and we’ll try something different. And don’t forget to do your centering exercises.” He returned his attention to his notes.
Lily rose from her seat and proceeded out of the office.
The dusk-and-shadow-painted hallway of Lily’s apartment building shot creeping tendrils of apprehension throughout her body. As her legs clamored forward, she half-expected one of the lights overhead to blink erratically. Her fingers plunged into the side flap of her backpack, fumbling nervously for her key. A shutter rocked her spine.
“It’s in your head. There’s nothing that’s going to jump out at you.” Her voice felt lonely and small in the empty hallway. Musty air filled her nostrils as she breathed deep, exhaling through her mouth. The cold metal key, now between her fingers, slipped, thudding on the hard carpet. She dropped down to retrieve it, but she froze as the light above her began buzzing. She glanced over her shoulder, a sinister pressure tingling at the base of her spine. It felt as if something were lurking around the corner.
Lily straightened up. She turned to her apartment door, which was now washed in a pink light. Pink? Her gaze lifted up and around. It wasn’t just her door. The sun had finally set, only the slightest glimmer of color peeking over the buildings outside of hers. Her eyes darted to the light bulb directly above her. It was a deepening pink. The pressure on her spine intensified, clawing higher. Muscles tightened, chest heaving as another shiver rocked her body.
Lily rammed the key into its lock, slid into the room as the door opened, and immediately fell backwards onto it. She hardly noticed the loud du-dunk as it slammed shut. Her hand shot over to bolt it tight. She slid to the floor, her knees giving way until she thudded on the cold, hard tile of the entryway.
The light that filtered in through the door crack took on a more aggressive depth — almost red now. Lily felt like a milky soup, her muscles weak and shaky as her vision watered, nose tingling.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Lily jumped, the door erupting against her back. No, she pleaded. Just go away.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Her hand shot up to cover her mouth, hot tears raining down her cheeks. She couldn’t breathe. Lightning tore through her gut.
“What do you want? What do you want?” She screamed. The pressure along her spine suddenly began to lift. The pink light outside melted into a softer tone. Eyes closed tight, she focused on her ragged, shallow breaths between the tears.
The old man had left. She was safe once again.
Cross-posted on Medium (https://medium.com/@gostudent7676/lily-part-i-d67f0f7d1b98)
