Upon waking this morning, I truly had no idea that I would be typing our my story out to a bunch of strangers. I guess it’s really a sign that I need help. I’ve always read stories about skin-walkers or body-snatchers on this sub, so maybe someone can help me. Or maybe it’s something medical? I would much prefer medical over paranormal.
I suppose I’ll start at the beginning, that’s what people do, right? I apologize in advance. I’m not a great writer, and while I’m pretty good with grammar, I’m not in the best shape right now to describe anything eloquent or downright harrowing. I just need help. I’m here, but I’m not here. That’s the best way I can put it.
My first encounter with this feeling was 37 days ago. It was brief, and I didn’t think much of it. My fiancée and I had been playing a drinking game, so I thought I was just buzzed… or maybe I got a bad batch of liquor. Is that a thing? It was my turn to flip the card over, guessing the suit, and after looking at the other flipped cards on the table and seeing mostly spades and clubs (or as my fiancée likes to call them “Shovels and Clovers”), I thought I’d go with Diamonds.
“Spades,” I said, flipping the card over. I was immediately confused. Maybe it was a brain fart. I know what I meant to say. With my eyes still staring at the 4 Red Diamonds on the card, my hand quickly reached out to my pint glass filled with whiskey and a little bit of Dr. Pepper. My mouth opened automatically, and I chugged the rest of the drink, only having refilled it moments ago.
My fiancée giggled, holding up her left hand, and said, “You should’ve gone with Diamonds!” She loves her ring, and I normally would’ve smiled back while joking about how much it cost… but I didn’t. I kept staring at the flipped card. I wanted to say, “I meant to go with Diamonds.” Instead, my hands robotically poured the liquor into my glass. No soda this time. My head slowly turned to her, and I heard myself stating, “It’s your turn.” With her cheeks still a little rosy, her dimpled smile turned into a small frown.
“I’m sorry,” she replied, “I didn’t mean anything by it.” I couldn’t see my own face, only her beautiful almond eyes staring back at me, reading every fine line and feature of my face. I must have smiled, because she, with some effort, smiled back… almost cautiously, now that I remember it. She flipped the next card, and all I could do was strain my eyes to see the result, as I watched my elbows bend and my hands push back from the table. I was now standing up from my seat and walking toward the nearest window.
It was full dark outside, and the light from the room granted myself a shadowed reflection in the glass. I was frowning, then I was smiling, then opening my mouth, lips pulling back to reveal my teeth. My tongue ran over the front of them. I watched in mental horror and confusion, as I continued to make faces that I couldn’t control. I heard another chair scoot from the table, and I watched in the reflection as she slowly approached me. Her shadowy figure put a hand on my shoulder, but I couldn’t feel her delicate touch. My head craned to the left, and my eyes confirmed her hand’s presence on my shoulder. I think she was giving me the benefit of the doubt, as it had been a tough day at work, because she said, “I love you,” and placed a small kiss on my lips. I guess they must’ve closed at some point. At that point, I wasn’t so much concerned about my uncontrollable expressions as I was about my inability to physically sense her. I couldn’t smell her faint perfume in its best form, whenever it had mixed with her own smell after a long day. I couldn’t taste the remaining chapstick that had loyally stayed on her lips rather than adhering to her glass of wine. I could not feel her kiss. I wanted to hug her and tell her that I wasn’t feeling right or that something was wrong.
Instead, I marched back to the table, grasped my drink, and chugged… and chugged… and chugged. Although I was numb to her touch and taste, my throat and nostrils burned as I felt the straight whiskey make its way to my stomach. My eyes watered, powering through to the last drop. I slammed the glass down, and I walked off to the den. My memories are certainly hazy after that, and I only regained my control when I found myself waking up in the dewy grass outside in the middle of the night.
This time, with actual effort and control over my own body, I stumbled into my house, wiping off the fragments of grass from my clothes. I took a quick shower, combing through my hair with my fingers while my thoughts combed through the intricacies of my mind as to what the hell happened. After throwing on a fresh pair of boxers, I crawled into bed. I knew she was awake, so I turned on the bedside lamp and gently snuggled up to her. I kissed her bare shoulder. “I’m so sorry… I think I had too much to drink, maybe too much on my mind.” She pulled the covers up and turned toward me. My heart broke as I recognized the puffiness in her eyes. She had been crying. A relieved smile crept onto her face, and she mumbled, “It’s okay… are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, I uh.. I think I puked everything out of me… I’m so sorry, just know I love you so much.” She quietly replied, “I love you too.” I relaxed a little, embracing the feeling of my skin against the sheets while pushing away the events of the night. A new day would start in the morning, and with that thought, I turned off the light and drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke, I felt shaky and ill. My standard hangover. It was my day off, thankfully, and I trudged into the kitchen to find a small note scribbled onto a paper towel. “Love you. I have a short day today, so I’ll be home around 1:00. We can talk then. Text me after you’ve read this.”
Was she angry with me? Was she sad? Was the talk going to be serious? I always assume the worst, so my stomach started churning with anxiety. I groaned as I shakily grabbed a bowl from the cabinet for some cereal. Food always made me feel better, even if I had to force it down my throat and fight nausea for a little bit. Even the small tinkling sounds from the oat clusters falling into the ceramic bowl hurt my ears. I poured some cereal into my hand, threw it into my mouth. I crunched with difficulty, not realizing how dry my mouth was. I opened the refrigerator for milk, and I saw it. My bottle of Gentleman Jack sitting on the shelf. My frustration overrode my thirst, as I thought, “That doesn’t go there.” I snatched the bottle to put it in my cabinet.
It was up until this point that I felt in control. I had made my own decisions, and my brain had transmitted all my physical wants to the various parts of my body that allowed me to get to this point. However, with the bottle in hand, I lost control again. I watched in horror and a little disgust as my fingers twisted on the cap. With a small pop, the cork lid released the familiar aroma of whiskey as it fell to the floor. My wide eyes darted back and forth, and my hands shook as I leaned my head forward. My lips touched the mouth of the bottle, an odd and familiar kiss of sorts. I chugged.
Although I felt a little relieved since I would probably need a buzz to help the anticipation of “the talk” later, I was still scared that this other body experience was happening again. And I should add, it’s happened every day since then. Sometimes, this weird body-snatching entity takes over multiple times a day. I’m kinda getting used to it though, I’ll admit. My life has definitely changed a little, and I can see the frustration and depression in my fiancée’s eyes, but I think the monster might have a hold on her too. We haven’t discussed it, and we’re still in a loving and functional relationship. That’s good, right?
Even now, I feel so out of body, like I’m watching myself type these words, incredulous to the fact that I’m even writing. I don’t write. I’m not a writer. The monster is here with me now, but we are starting to get along. As long as I keep him fed and tended to, he doesn’t hurt anyone. I think he means well, otherwise, he wouldn’t even let me type this. We’re working together now, and this is just a weird moment in time. Maybe he wants help too? No, never mind. Scratch that. I can tell he’s thirsty, which is odd because I gave him some drink earlier, but he seems to be getting thirstier and thirstier with every passing day.
Whatever this monster is, I flip back and forth between wanting to expel him from my life and actually finding a warm comfort in his presence. It’s nice knowing that I’m never alone, but obviously, since our thoughts and actions are combined right now, we needed to share this.
Maybe we will write more later.
Help?