I died last week.
Not for too terribly long, in the grand scheme of things. Thirty-eight seconds. That was all it took until the doctors restarted my heart and I came back. It felt like a lot longer to me, though.
I never really thought about the afterlife much. If I’d been asked about it, I would have said that there wasn’t one, that it doesn’t make any sense for there to be some intangible part of ourselves that carries on after we die. That’s the only logical answer.
Turns out death isn’t logical. What I experienced while my heart was stopped convinced me of that.
The experience was, in a lot of ways, shockingly generic. Everything just stopped. The world went silent in a way I’d never experienced before. The blackness around me slowly brightened into a dim grey, and I was standing in an endless plain. It stretched out all around me like an ancient sea bed, featureless and eternal.
Up ahead there was a bright light, the source of all of the ambient light around me. It called to me, beckoning me forward with a sense of peace and acceptance. My footsteps made no sound as I walked toward it. I left no marks on that forgotten land. My shadow stretched out behind me, wiping away any trace of my passing.
As I drew closer to the light, I began to feel a slight discomfort. Something was wrong—not with the light, but with something the light could not see. My feet continued to carry me forward; they were moving automatically, and I don’t think I could have stopped if I’d wanted to. But I began to look around, trying to find the source of this unpleasant sensation.
There was nothing to my left, nothing to my right. The plain faded out into the darkness on both sides. There was no place for anything to hide. There was nothing at all.
Behind me there was only my shadow, moving as I moved. And yet—was it mine? It was here that I felt the discomfort most keenly, craning my neck back to watch the dark, distorted version of myself dragging along the ground behind me. There was something concealed within the shadow, something disguised and disgusting. It was following me, using me to get close to the light. It would use me to get inside.
I tried to stop walking, but the pull of the light was too powerful. I looked desperately around for something to grab onto to stop myself, but there was nothing. I drew closer and closer to the light. I could feel its warmth and radiance on my face, but at the same time I felt the coldness and anticipation of the thing behind me like iron nails on my back.
I knew it should not be allowed into the light. I knew it was a thing of destruction. I simply had no way to stop it.
Its claws dug into my back in preparation. I could feel it coiling to spring free. I flailed my arms behind me, trying to grab it, but touched nothing but air. The light was in front of me, almost touching me. I took the penultimate step.
Abruptly I was awake and in pain again. Medical personnel leaned over me, shining lights into my eyes. I was back in the world, where things were loud and complicated and beautiful.
I didn’t tell anyone about my experience. Why would I? Near-death experiences are so common in hospitals that they’re just another acronym, NDEs. It’s just something dying people go through,the final spasms of a brain refusing to admit that it is on its way out. A psychologist would probably have a lot to say about what I thought I’d seen, but the medical doctors wouldn’t even make a note on my chart.
They discharged me from the hospital two days later. I was fine when I went home. I nearly sideswiped a car getting onto the interstate, but I was fine. For all that it could have ended badly, it was a minor mistake. The other driver had been more attentive and all it really meant was that I should not have been driving myself. I slowed down, focused my attention and made it home safely.
I tripped going up the brick staircase of my house, nearly braining myself on the baluster of the railing. I flung my hands out and caught myself in time, though I threw my keys into the bushes in the process. As I hunted for them, I berated myself for my clumsiness and swore I would get some rest as soon as I made it inside.
I reached my bed without further incident, and settled gratefully into its soft and non-dangerous embrace. I tossed my clothes to the side and let the glow of the television lull me to sleep.
Dreams of being buried alive plagued my sleep. I woke to find the sheet wrapped around my head, stifling my breathing. It was twisted tightly enough that at first, I could not find my way free. Adrenaline spiked in my system as I clawed at my face, finally finding the loose end of the blanket to free myself.
It was too early to be awake, but going back to sleep was not in the cards, so I made my way blearily to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal. I was at the table, spoon halfway to my mouth before it finally registered that I had never opened the refrigerator. Whatever I’d poured on my cereal had not been milk.
The chemical smell rising from the bowl suddenly hit me. I looked down in horror at the spoonful of corn flakes and Drano that I had been about to eat. Somehow I had opened the cupboard under the sink instead of the refrigerator. I had not noticed as I poured toxic chemicals onto my food. I had almost eaten it.
I called the hospital. They told me that I had had a traumatic experience, and mild confusion was nothing to be worried about. They said I could come back in if I was worried. I remembered the car I had almost hit on the way home, the one I had totally failed to see, and told them I’d think about it.
There were far too many cars on the road for me to even consider driving myself in this state. I considered calling for a ride share, but put the phone down with the app unopened for some reason. I wasn’t sure why. I knew going back to the hospital would be a good idea. I just couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to do anything about it.
Not that I was lethargic, mind you. Despite the early hour, I could not stop thinking about all of the things that needed to get done around the house. Minor chores, like sharpening the knives, cleaning the bathroom and clearing the gutters.
Or, to put it another way, playing around with sharp objects, dangerous chemicals and high spaces. I firmly put myself back to bed.
I couldn’t sleep. I was antsy. I kept thinking about that light. I wanted to get back to it.
My motivation disturbed me, though. When I had been caught up in the light, it had felt pure and natural. Stepping into it would have been a gentle, inescapable act. What I felt for it now was eagerness laced with greed. It was a perversion, tainting the memory. It made me feel unclean.
I took a shower to wash off the sensation. I was careful in the bathroom, checking the water several times to make sure I had not turned it to a scalding level, ensuring that I had not somehow replaced my shampoo with a bottle of bleach. Everything was fine, so I stepped into the shower and let the water wash me clean.
As I reached for the soap, my shadow slid across the shower wall. I stared at the path it had taken and slowly waved my hand again, disbelieving what I had seen. The shadow moved back, repeating what I had noticed: droplets of water were dislodged in its wake.
I tried it several more times. Each time, the result was the same. My shadow had a small but undeniable physical presence. I could not feel it on my skin, but I could see its effects. Something was hiding within.
I spent the rest of the day trying to make my house safer. I tied shut the cabinets with the cleaning chemicals. I locked up the contents of the medicine cabinet. I disconnected the garbage disposal.
Over and over again, I thought about calling for help. I could never quite make myself do it, though. It bothered me less than it should have, which was itself a concerning sign. I am not alone in my own self.
I’m glad the doctors brought me back. I don’t know what manner of creature has attached itself to me, what sort of thing could exist on that vast, unmarked plain at the end of life. I know that it should not be allowed into that light, though. It’s far too gleeful at the prospect. It has to be kept out.
My mind is wandering more and more. I found myself absent-mindedly pressing the tines of a fork into my skin yesterday. I wake up in the middle of every night with the sheets wrapped around my head. Today, I felt my own hands holding the knot in place.
It has to be kept from that light.
I just don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do it.