Growing up, I was always told I had an active imagination. I spent most of my childhood reading and writing, because my mum wanted to foster that imagination. However, as I got older, my imagination became less cute. The stories I was writing were less “there’s a fairy village in my garden” and more “the man living in my wardrobe”. I grew up in a home that celebrated everything, so my family used to sit down once every few weeks and I’d read them one of my stories. It was after one of these readings that my mum asked me if what I wrote was true.
“Sometimes, other times I re-write things that people have told me” I had answered.
“What people?” This question extremely offended 11 year-old me, as I didn’t have that many friends at the time and it sounded like she was picking on me for that.
“My friends” She looked at me for a little too long after I said that. Truthfully, I knew why. No 11 year-old girl could come up with the stories I wrote, active imagination or not. They came from Elizabeth, as I call her. She liked my writing, but said I needed some help with inspiration. So, she’d give me prompts. She’d show up places, point at things and try to tell me what to write. Obviously, Elizabeth is a spirit. She’s been with me for as long as I can remember, keeping me safe in her own ways. But she doesn’t haunt me, she’s my friend; my protector.
“Sweetie, are these ‘friends’ of yours alive?” This one question, along with my obvious answer, sparked years and years of lessons from my mum. She believes I inherited my “gift” from her, however mine is a lot stronger and affects my everyday life a lot more than hers does. She’s taught me how to ignore it, how to rid myself of the spirits that aren’t welcome and how to keep the ones that are at an arms length.
Now, I’ll bring you to the present. 10 years later, to be exact.
It started about a month ago. I fell into the deepest pit of depression I have ever been in. I spent all the money I’d been saving to move out on drugs, nights out and endless amounts of online shopping. All in an attempt to bring myself back to me. It started to work, until I saw him. A man. Standing about 100 metres away from me in the middle of a shopping centre. The only thing differentiating him from everyone else was his face. In that, he didn’t exactly have one. There was an outline of what could have been, but it wasn’t enough of one to make me comfortable. Positive spirits always try to make themselves appear as comforting as physically possible, this guy was not trying to do that.
Usually, I could brush this off and go on about my day like it was nothing. But seeing this guy messed with me in a way that no other spirit ever has. The feeling he left me with sat in my stomach for days. I tried everything to ease it, but it never left. I think what left me most uneasy about seeing him, was that I haven’t seen Elizabeth since. I’ve always felt safe from these kinds of spirits because she always appears right after I see them. To kind of remind me that she’s keeping an eye out. I can’t even feel her presence anymore.
About a week after his first appearance, I finally felt normal again. Physically and mentally. I was getting back to all my normal routines and finally talking to my friends again. It was a nice feeling of finally digging myself out of the hole I’d fallen in. Then, there he was. Closer this time, but still in a public place. I was at dinner with my friends, he also felt the need to join. On the other side of the restaurant, standing with his arms by his side, staring directly at me. Nothing about his expression changed, but he moved this time. Cocked his head to the side, as if studying me. He stayed like that through the whole dinner. Just watching me. It felt like a threat. I wish I had listened.
After that night, he appeared more frequently. Never giving me enough time to recover from him before popping back up. It was a week ago that he started making true on his threatening presence. Last Monday, I was in my bedroom watching some sit-com while putting away my laundry when my lights went out. All of them. I have 3 lamps in my room that stay on day and night, because I’m not a huge fan of darkness. When I tried to get the one closest to me back on, nothing happened. I reached for my phone, grabbing the torch and made my way out of the room. I’d assumed that we’d had a blackout. The brightness that met me when I opened my door immediately proved me wrong. I walked out to see my dad sitting in his office.
“Hey, did we have a power surge or something?” The confusion I was met with left an unsettling feeling in my stomach. I told him that something had happened in my room, and he sighed before going in to have a look. He came back with his arms full of lightbulbs.
“All blown, I’ve got a couple spares though.” He explained that their death was probably due to me leaving the lights on 24/7, but I did not believe him. As I was helping my dad find new bulbs in the garage, I saw the man again. Standing right beside my father, one of his hands resting on a box. Assuming that that was the box containing the lightbulbs, I told my dad not to worry and that I’d sleep in with my little sister that night.
Tuesday was eerily calm until I fell asleep. I had possibly the most realistic nightmare I’ve ever had in my entire life. If you can even call it that, I never truly felt like I was sleeping, just lying there with my eyes closed. The “visions”, I guess you could call it, contained several moments, each specifically detailing ways that I could die. Most of them involved vehicles, some where I was driving, a passenger, crossing the road etc. He was in every single one, just standing there with his arms by his side, staring at me. In each one, he was the last thing I saw before it went dark.
On Wednesday, my friends and I decided to drive to a house one of them has on the beach, because winter never deterred us from a good surf. I drove 2 of them in my car. Mostly because I knew the roads like the back of my hand, and I didn’t recognise a single road in any of my “visions”. I also didn’t think he’d be obvious enough to give me visions of my possible death, the night before I died. I knew he’d hit when I least expected it.
The next 24 hours felt like bliss for me. We spent the day at the beach, followed by a fire there that night. He didn’t appear once. The next morning, after realising we skimped on groceries, we decided to go to a café for breakfast before hitting the beach again. I drove, this time only with one passenger because she had something to tell me about a “romantic moment” between her and another friend the night before.
I was caught up in her story when I realised I’d missed a turn. My heart fell into my stomach when I recognised a road I had never driven that far down before. I turned a sharp bend and noticed a car stopped in the middle of the road just a moment too late. The impact knocked everything out of me. I immediately turned to see my friend reaching down to grab her phone from underneath her. The relief I felt was short lived because there he was. Standing on the other side of the road, watching me with his arms crossed. Even without a face, I could sense his disappointment. He disappeared almost as soon as he’d appeared.
Everyone involved in the accident is fine. I’m the only one who walked away with injuries that will take longer than a week to heal. I haven’t seen him since that day. It’s been almost a week. I’m terrified. I’ve left my room only for doctors appointments, food and the bathroom. I know what this means. Even if it wasn’t his goal, he has me at my weakest now. He could strike at any given moment, and it would work. For once in my life, I have no idea how to save myself from a spirit. I fear I’m going to spend the rest of my life running from death. What if the accident was just luck? What if he succeeds next time? Is he going to stick around until finally, he is the last thing I see before the darkness? I don’t know anything, and my biggest fear right now, is getting answers.