In the year 2008, at the tender age of fourteen, I found myself navigating the treacherous terrain of adolescence. It was a tumultuous time, filled with the relentless bombardment of conflicting thoughts and emotions, particularly when it came to my self-image.
The weight of bullying had taken its toll on my fragile psyche, plunging me into the depths of self-doubt and despair. The taunts and jeers from my peers seemed to magnify my insecurities, and I sought comfort in the most destructive ways imaginable.
Anorexia became my silent companion, whispering its toxic lies into my ears, convincing me that my worth was measured solely by the numbers on the scale. With each passing day, I restricted my nourishment, believing that by shrinking my physical form, I could somehow expand my sense of self-worth. The relentless pursuit of a distorted ideal consumed my every waking moment, leaving me empty and devoid of joy.
Alongside the insidious grip of anorexia, I turned to self-harm as an outlet for the emotional turmoil raging within me. The pain inflicted upon my own flesh offered a twisted sense of control, a temporary respite from the internal chaos that consumed me. Each self-inflicted wound became a physical manifestation of the agony I carried, a desperate cry for help hidden beneath layers of scars.
It wasn’t long before my family realised what was going on, their once happy girl was now a former shell of herself. Under consultation, I was admitted to a psychiatric ward. I thought well since I see things no one else can maybe this is somewhere I would finally fit in, somewhere I belonged and id be able to share my abilities with the people there because it’s not like they’d believe me. I thought better of it though, I didn’t want them to have any more reason to keep me locked in this place.
.It didn’t take long for my family to notice the drastic changes in me. The vibrant and joyful girl they once knew had become a mere shadow of herself. Concerned for my well-being, they sought professional help, and I found myself admitted to a psychiatric ward. In that unfamiliar environment, I couldn’t help but ponder the significance of this place and the possibility of finally finding a sense of belonging.
With my unique ability to perceive things that others couldn’t, I contemplated whether this psychiatric ward could be the one place where I could openly share my experiences without fear of judgment. After all, if anyone could understand, it would be those who also grappled with their own inner struggles. But as quickly as the thought emerged, I dismissed it.
I didn’t want to provide the doctors and therapists with additional reasons to keep me confined within the walls of this institution. The yearning for freedom and the fear of being labelled as “crazy” outweighed my desire to connect with others who might have understood my extraordinary perception of the world.
Instead, I resolved to keep my abilities concealed, hidden within the depths of my being. It was a decision fuelled by self-preservation, a choice to protect myself from potential scepticism and the possibility of prolonged institutionalisation.
The clinical whiteness of the ward enveloped me as I stepped into its long, narrow corridor. Rows of doors stretched before me, each holding stories of pain and healing. My room, the seventh door on the right, greeted me with stark simplicity. It contained only the essentials: a bed and a weathered brown desk. The emptiness mirrored the emptiness within me.
Days melted into each other, languid and interminable. Time moved at a sluggish pace, weighed down by the weight of my struggles. From individual therapy sessions to group meetings, every moment seemed dedicated to unravelling the complexities of our minds and mending the broken pieces of our souls. The routine was relentless, each day bringing forth a series of assessments, evaluations, and weigh-ins. I yearned for release, a reprieve from the monotony and the longing to return to the outside world.
In that first month, I did witness some semblance of progress, a glimmer of hope amid the sea of despair. It’s difficult to discern whether it was the treatment or my own fervent desire to break free that propelled me forward. The coexistence of these forces intertwined, shaping my journey toward recovery. However, what became evident was the collective pain that permeated the ward. It housed a group of resilient teenage girls, each grappling with their own profound battles with bipolar disorder, severe depression, and psychosis—labels that attempted to encapsulate the depth of their struggles but fell short of capturing the full magnitude of their experiences. And, of course, there were others like me, wrestling with the demons of eating disorders, locked in a relentless dance with food and self-image.
I wasn’t expecting to encounter a spirit on the ward, but it seems like there’s no escape from them. They truly are omnipresent. As I made my way back to my room after another weekly weigh-in, I heard a commotion coming from the second door on the right. Curiosity got the better of me, and I cautiously peeked around the corner, hoping not to be noticed. To my surprise, I saw one of the girls being restrained by three or four staff members.
This particular girl had never struck me as threatening during my time here. I had noticed her before in the dining hall, always quiet and unassuming. But now, she was screaming and thrashing in the clutches of the staff members. “Leave me alone!” she cried out, and at first, I assumed she was directing her plea towards the staff. However, something caught my eye in the corner of the room. It was a boy, wearing glasses and a plaid shirt, around our age, standing there, wearing a sinister smile as he observed the unfolding scene.
Initially, I couldn’t comprehend what I was witnessing. It couldn’t have been another patient, as this was a female-only ward, and he was much too young to be a staff member. That’s when it dawned on me—the girl wasn’t simply suffering from a mental illness; she was being haunted.
“Ahem,” a voice interrupted me from behind. I turned around to see the nurse, her expression was stern and unwavering. “Back to your room, please,” she commanded. Startled, I quickly gathered my belongings and made my way back to my room, feeling a mix of frustration and determination.
As I walked, the weight of the situation settled within me. I understood that I couldn’t help the girl in her moment of distress, at least not at that particular moment. However, deep within, I knew that I had a role to play in her healing and I would get to the bottom of why this boy was tormenting her. Who was he? A scored lover perhaps? The urge to assist her burned within me, refusing to be extinguished.
Returning to my room, I closed the door behind me, allowing the silence of the space to envelop me. In the solitude, I pondered the mysteries that lay ahead, contemplating the actions I could take to aid the girl in her struggle. Though I was uncertain how I would help, I was determined to find a way, to uncover the truth.
The next day, as I sat at the breakfast table, the lack of sleep was evident on my face. The weight of the spirit had kept me awake throughout the night, leaving me feeling like a sleep-deprived zombie. Across from me, my friend Sarah noticed my exhausted state and expressed her concern. Biting into my toast half-heartedly, I mustered a weak response.
I had met Sarah during my first week in the ward. She had approached me in the dining hall, striking up a conversation without much formal introduction. Her humour and welcoming personality instantly drew me to her. Sarah had been sectioned to the ward following a severe manic episode, seeking solace and recovery. Though we weren’t in the same group sessions, I couldn’t delve into the specifics of her journey or trauma due to the ward’s rule against discussing personal details outside of those sessions.
What I did know was that Sarah attended group sessions with the girl I had witnessed being restrained the previous day. As I scanned the dining hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, she was nowhere to be found. I wondered if she was under close observation, which would explain her absence and also make it challenging for me to help her.
“Random question,” I began, breaking the silence. “You know that girl who usually sits over there with the braid in her hair,” I said, Sarah nodded, recognising whom I was talking about. “Yeah, do you know much about her? I saw her being restrained yesterday, and I’m worried about her,” I voiced my concern.
Sarah explained that she didn’t have much information She knew her name was Katie. During their group sessions, Katie remained quiet, deflecting questions and often spacing out. Sarah suspected that Katie suffered from delusions, as she would frequently mutter under her breath, telling something to shut up. Once, Sarah had found Katie crying in the bathroom, apologising and pleading to be left alone. Sarah believed that Katie was a tormented individual, someone who had likely experienced something terrible to be going through such torment.
I yearned to confide in Sarah, to share with her the truth about what Katie was experiencing and the fact that I, too, could perceive the unseen. However, the weight of the secret held me back. I couldn’t risk Sarah dismissing my words as the ramblings of an unstable mind, or worse, betraying my trust by sharing my revelation with a staff member out of concern.
Today was a rare day of respite, a free day with no scheduled meetings or therapy sessions. The ward encouraged us to explore our personal hobbies and interests, granting us a temporary reprieve from the structured routine. The craft room was abuzz with activity, as some of the girls gathered there to engage in creative pursuits, while others found solace in the tranquillity of the garden.
Seizing the opportunity, I decided to take a different path. After finishing breakfast, I approached a staff member, feigning a sense of unwellness, and requested permission to retreat to my room for some much-needed rest and recovery. The staff member, burdened by their overwhelming workload, readily agreed, promising to check on me intermittently throughout the day. Deep down, however, I knew these assurances were hollow, for their time was stretched thin, leaving me alone in my thoughts and observations.
As I settled into the solitude of my room, a mix of relief and uncertainty washed over me. I pondered the weight of the truth I carried, the knowledge that the realm of spirits and apparitions was not confined to the recesses of Katie’s troubled mind. It existed beyond the boundaries of comprehension, lurking in the shadows of our shared reality.
I found myself standing at a crossroads of my own making, driven by a determination I never thought I possessed. Breaking the rules was something I had always shunned, content with being the obedient one who never ventured beyond the lines. Yet, the plight of poor Katie demanded action, pushing me to step into uncharted territory.
With cautious steps, I peered outside my own door, scanning the hallway for any signs of prying eyes. Satisfied that the coast was clear, I embarked on my clandestine mission towards Katie’s room. Doubt gnawed at me, for I half-expected the door to be securely locked, rendering my efforts futile. To my surprise, the door yielded easily, as if the chaotic events of the previous night had caused a temporary lapse in the staff’s routine.
A sense of trepidation accompanied me as I stepped into Katie’s room. I couldn’t ignore the invasion of privacy I was committing, but the urgency of the situation overshadowed any moral quandaries. I knew that the entity plaguing Katie would not be present here. It was irrevocably tied to her, feeding off her energy and relishing in her distress. However, that also meant it wouldn’t miss an opportunity to further torment her.
I scoured the room, my eyes darting from corner to corner, desperately searching for something that could provide a link between Katie and the entity haunting her. The nature of their connection hinted at a shared history, and I hoped to find a clue that could sever the tether between them, liberating Katie from her torment.
Drawers were carefully opened, the contents examined; the bin was sifted through, hoping for a discarded memento of significance. Yet, nothing substantial emerged from my search. Frustration began to cloud my determination until a sudden realisation struck me. I halted in my tracks and directed my gaze towards Katie’s pillow. There, nestled beneath it, lay a diary—a delicate pink cover adorned with a small lock, a meagre attempt at safeguarding its secrets from prying eyes.
A glimmer of hope ignited within me as I grasped the diary in my hands. Could this be the key to unravelling the enigma that bound Katie and the malevolent entity together? With trembling fingers, I contemplated the next step, aware of the responsibility that rested upon me. The decision to unlock the diary and delve into its contents held the power to help Katie and it was something I just had to do.
I took the diary back to my room, my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and guilt. Carefully, I placed it on the floor, its weight symbolising the weight of the secret I was about to uncover. As I stood on the delicate lock, it snapped with a satisfying click, granting me access to the hidden thoughts within.
Turning the pages, I scanned through the initial entries filled with ordinary teenage musings, capturing fleeting moments of joy and frustration. But then, as if emerging from the depths of her troubled mind, I stumbled upon a diary entry written just days before Katie’s admission to the ward.
“Why won’t he stop? It wasn’t my fault… I didn’t want him to die. It was just a joke! He wasn’t supposed to die. Please leave me alone, John. I’m sorry,” the words etched on the page screamed out in a desperate plea, filled with anguish and confusion. The weight of those haunting words settled heavily upon me, igniting a surge of empathy and a burning desire to understand the truth that lay hidden within Katie’s tormented mind.
With trembling hands, I continued to flip through the remaining pages of the diary, my eyes scanning the jumbled and scrambled words that sprawled across the once-pristine pages. It was as if the chaos within Katie’s thoughts had manifested itself onto the paper, a reflection of the turmoil she had endured.
I knew this diary held the key, a hidden truth waiting to be unveiled. Taking a deep breath, I closed the diary, vowing to uncover the answers it held. The pieces of the puzzle were scattered, waiting for me to fit them together and bring light to the darkness that enveloped Katie’s existence.
I sat with the weight of this newfound information, unsure of how to proceed. I wrestled with the dilemma of wanting to uncover the truth while also being mindful of Katie’s fragile state. I knew that any action I took had the potential to cause her further distress, but the need to understand the depths of her haunting became an irresistible pull.
As days turned into nights, I contemplated the best approach. Would John, the malevolent presence attached to Katie, even be willing to speak to me? His anger and desire to see Katie suffer were evident, making his cooperation uncertain at best. But I couldn’t ignore the nagging curiosity that gnawed at me, urging me to reach out and attempt a dialogue.
Waiting until the dimmed lights and the hushed whispers of the ward signalled that slumber had claimed its inhabitants, I mustered up the courage to venture into Katie’s room once more. A mix of trepidation and determination coursed through my veins as I observed her restless form, tormented by nightmares induced by John’s malevolence.
Summoning my resolve, I spoke in a sharp whisper, “Stop it.” The words hung in the air, a defiant command aimed at the shadowy figure lingering over Katie. To my astonishment, John turned, a look of shock crossing his ethereal face. It was undeniable - he could see me, acknowledge my presence. In that fleeting moment, the connection between us forged by an understanding of the unseen realm became apparent.
As my plea echoed through the room, a transformation occurred. Katie’s restless movements subsided, and a sense of tranquillity settled upon her slumbering form. John’s sinister smile faded, replaced by a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. It seemed that my presence had disrupted his hold over Katie’s dreams, granting her a temporary respite from his torment.
In the tense silence that filled the room, I seized the opportunity to confront John directly, my voice brimming with determination. “Why are you doing this to her?” The question hung in the air, punctuating the charged atmosphere. I anxiously awaited John’s response, uncertain of the revelations that awaited me. However, to my surprise, he simply vanished without a trace.
Startled by my presence, Katie abruptly awoke from her sleep. I apologized for being in her room, quickly explaining that I had seen John and understood what was happening to her. I reassured her that I was trying to help. Yet, when I confronted John about his actions, he disappeared before me.
Katie scanned the room, a sense of relief washing over her as she realised that John was no longer present. Tentatively, she asked if he was truly gone for good. I replied, “I don’t think so. It seems he was just shocked by the fact that I could see him and chose to disappear temporarily.” I proceeded to explain my unusual abilities to Katie, emphasising that in order to assist her, I needed to understand what had transpired.
Katie sighed, her voice filled with remorse, as she mustered the courage to recount the events surrounding John’s tragic fate. She described John as an outcast, always donning thick glasses and plaid shirts, a stark contrast to the popular girls at school, including herself. In an unfortunate turn of events, they had targeted John for their amusement, devising a plan to catfish him and expose his vulnerability.
With a heavy heart, Katie admitted her own participation in the cruel scheme. She took responsibility for creating the fake account and engaging in weeks of conversation with John. Unexpectedly, she found herself drawn to his genuine personality – his humour, charm, and kindness. As her feelings evolved, Katie resolved to abandon the prank and confess her true identity to John.
However, on the day she intended to reveal the truth, Katie discovered that one of her friends had logged into the fake account, masquerading as the girl John believed he was meeting. Frantic with worry, Katie raced to the woods where the meeting was supposed to take place, desperately hoping to prevent any humiliation or harm that might befall John. To her shock, she found her friends fleeing the scene, grabbing her and hastily pulling her along.
Confused and terrified, Katie ran alongside her friends, unaware of the unfolding tragedy. It was later that night when she learned the devastating news: while John was wandering through the woods in search of the girl he thought he would meet, he stumbled and fell, resulting in a fatal injury that claimed his life in an instant.
As Katie finished her account, her voice trembled with guilt and remorse, overwhelmed by the weight of her actions. She understood the role she played in John’s demise and the pain she had caused him and his loved ones.
Katie shared with a tremor in her voice how, in the aftermath of the incident, John’s presence began to manifest. Initially, it was fleeting glimpses in the periphery of her vision, easily dismissed as mere figments of guilt-induced imagination. But as time passed, his appearances grew more vivid and frequent, compelling her to question her sanity. Katie believed she deserved these haunting encounters, believing them to be punishments for her actions. It wasn’t until I revealed my ability to see John too that she realized he was real.
Overwhelmed by remorse, Katie recounted how she would plead with John to leave her alone, desperate for respite from the torment. But he persisted, a constant reminder of the consequences of her actions. Katie longed for John to understand the depth of her remorse, wishing she could turn back time or even take his place if it meant he could find peace and happiness.
John didn’t appear again that night, and I reassured Katie that I would find a way to help her. I needed a few days to think about how we could stop John from haunting her.
However, my efforts were in vain. The next afternoon, we were all called to the meeting hall, where we received the devastating news that Katie had taken her own life. The details were not disclosed to respect her privacy and spare the patient further distress.
I retreated to my room, overwhelmed by disappointment and grief. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had failed Katie. In the corner of my eye, I noticed her diary sitting on a table. It wasn’t where I had left it, so I picked it up and opened its pages. To my horror, I discovered that the word “liar” had been etched into every single page, the lines growing deeper and deeper.
John didn’t believe her and wanted Katie to suffer the same fate he had to endure.