As a child, I only have one short memory that I can recall. I believe I must have been around 6 years old, and it takes place in a very basic and dimly lit room. This must have been my bedroom as I remember being sat on my bed with Bur, my stuffed bear; I don’t think I was able to pronounce bear so it must have stuck.
In the room was another bed, a chair tucked away in the corner, and scattered around were a few toys that I would play with. I remember one toy was a small, wind-up torch that I used frequently as extra light in the room. One thing about the room that confused me was the staircase that led up to a door. The door seems to be independently lit but for reasons that escape me.
In this memory, I recall taking my torch up the steps and slowly reaching out for the door ha-
As a child, I only have one short memory that I can recall. I believe I must have been around 6 years old, and it takes place in a very basic and dimly lit room. This must have been my bedroom as I remember being sat on my bed with Bur, my stuffed bear; I don’t think I was able to pronounce bear so it must have stuck.
In the room was another bed, a chair tucked away in the corner and, scattered around were a few toys that I would play with. I remember one toy was a small, wind-up torch that I used frequently as extra light in the room. One thing about the room that confused me was the staircase that led up to a door. The door seems to be independently lit but for reasons that escape me.
In this memory, the door did not seem as important because I had an immense feeling of dread. Being so young, I had a basic understanding of fear, although not enough to believe my life to be in danger.
Both the light in the room and the light at the door seemed to darken. It happened slowly but it was obvious that I was losing visibility. I remember tears were forming in my eyes and the inescapable fear I felt was turning my attention to the chair in the room. Whereas this was virtually invisible, I knew that someone or something was sat on it. Everything was so silent. I held my breath. The deafening silence was rudely interrupted buy my obsession of twisting the handle on my torch to give it more life. I reluctantly switched it on, my fear becoming more obvious as the light cast from the torch was shaking. To get it over with I quickly shone the light on the chair and that’s the first time I saw it. It’s dull, yellow eyes pierced mine and a disgusting grin befell its face, but not in that of the human form. There was no nose, and the mouth essentially supporting the eyes in the center of its spherical head. This thing slowly rose from the chair to reveal its nauseatingly skeletal build, its skin glimmering as though permanently wet. This thing must have been about 8 feet tall, and its arms almost touched the floor. The hands and feet were a similar size, bearing only 3 claws each, making me feel as though I was the prize in this thing’s grabber game at the arcade. Its movement was slow and unprovoked, and I used this as my opportunity to run. I turned all of my attention and the torch light to the door as I scrambled up the steps, the sensation of needing to vomit and shit myself simultaneously caused me to let out a desperate whimper. Tears and sweat in my eyes felt like traitors as I struggled to see how close I was to the door, and just as I reached out to grab the door ha-
As a child, I only have one short memory that I can recall. I believe I must have been around 6 years old, and it takes place in a very basic and dimly lit room. This must be my bedroom as I remember being sat on my bed with my Bur, my stuffed bear; I don’t think I was able to pronounce bear so it must have stuck.
In the room was another bed, a chair tucked away in the corner and… wait; I have been here before, but not like this. An old nightmare prompted my hands to involuntarily wind up my torch and blast it’s beam into the corner and on the chair but thankfully the thing was nowhere to be seen.
I stand up from the bed and wander to the center of the room, taking a moment to pause and stare aimlessly up the steps. I have no idea why they are there or where the door leads, but my 6-year-old attention span is not wide enough to warrant my contemplation any longer. Instead, I reach for one of my other toys, a red ball, about the size of a baseball, and return to my bed to sit and bounce it on the floor.
Bounce.
“Something keeps firing but there has been no change overall.”
Bounce.
“Is there anything you can do, or try, or suggest? Please!”
Bounce.
“Right now, everything seems to be okay. Whatever you’ve been doing has been getting him to work harder and harder every day and that is a truly positive sign.”
Where are those voices coming from?
“I can honestly say that this type of response has not been documented this far into an individual’s experience, so we will keep doing what we can to monitor the situation and act accordingly.”
That’s definitely a male’s voice, but there is no one else in the room.
“I trust what you’re saying but it has been too long… at what point do we lose hope?”
And that’s definitely a woman’s voice – she sounds upset. Although again, there is no one else in the room, so where are the voices coming from?
“There could have been numerous times where we would have prepared you for the worst, but I am confident that we are still far from that conversation.”
The door. It’s coming from behind the door. I drop my ball and hastily move over to the stairs, climbing them at the same pace as before.
“Like now! We’re seeing this activity more and more and it’s truly fascinating.”
“Hello?” I shout. “Whose there?”
I reach out for the door han-
As a child, I only have one short memory that I can recall. I believe I must have been around 6 years old, and it takes place in a very basic and dimly lit room. This must have been my bedroom as I remember being sat on my bed with my Bur, my stuffed bear; I don’t think I was able to pronounce bear so it must have stuck.
In the room was another bed, but just beyond that was the chair, now occupied. I didn’t feel scared this time but felt empathetic. It was a little girl, bundled up with her knees to her chest and her face buried between them. She was crying. It was quiet but I could hear the sniffling and the cracks in her voice as she whimpered softly.
“Hi,” I said timidly. There was no response. “Are you okay?” I asked. Despite not feeling scared, there was still an involuntary vibrato in my voice.
There was about 10 feet of distance between us and there was every possibility that she did not hear me. I stood up from my bed and began to walk towards her. I thought maybe incorporating a bit of humor might get this stranger to acknowledge my presence, possibly even get her to smile or giggle.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said innocently, but with a characteristic in my voice that suggested I would only intend harm through playful behavior.
I was still closing the gap, roughly 4 feet away now, but I decided to reach my arm out to pat her on the shoulder and draw her attention to me.
“It’s not you that I’m worried about.”
Those words stopped me in my track. Everything was silent now. My attention was drawn to my own hand, stretched out vulnerably and shaking. Just like how camera focus is used to avert the viewers’ attention in movies, my focus shifted to highlight the little girl again. The silence was sickening; I felt like I could hear my own hair growing.
“I’M SORRY,” she screeched as she simultaneously snapped her head around to face me, revealing a completely featureless face. I was beyond startled and fell straight to the floor, screaming back at her whilst trying to get away.
Her crying intensified but she stayed put, accompanying her tears with shrieks and wails. The lights start flickering and the door at the top of stairs started to shake. She screamed the same words over and over and over again and I didn’t know what else to do. I got my bed and grabbed the first thing I could and launched it at her as I started to run towards the stairs. I looked back at her to see my pathetic attempt at defending myself was to hurl a pillow at her, which went in the complete wrong direction. She looked at me again, but I wasn’t stopping. I scrambled up the steps and reached out for the door han-
As a child, I only have one short memory that I can recall. I believe I must have been around 6 years old, and it takes place in a very dark room. I was laid down and feeling relatively comfortable and warm. I was snuggled up with Bur, my stuffed bear; I don’t think I was able to pronounce bear so it must have stuck.
It was clear I was in bed when the door at the top of the stairs opened, and dim light was cast into the shadows around me. I could see the foot of my bed, the chair in the corner and the other bed, which was occupied.
Footsteps could be heard on the wooden steps which brought all previous experiences flooding back and I pulled my duvet up to my eyes. There was movement in the other bed which preceded a voice.
“Mom, is that you?” I recognized this to be the voice of the faceless girl.
I looked over as she sat up and I went cold again. She was still faceless.
“Yes sweetie, it is,” whispered the mystery voice. I looked to the right as the figure on the steps became clearer. It was my mother. Her long, brown, curly hair was unmistakable.
She approached the girl and kissed her on the forward. Mother was not disturbed by the site of the faceless girl, who I just realized called her ‘mom’. Is this my sister? I really don’t remember having a sister. Heck, I don’t really remember anything outside of this room.
“Are you going to read us a story?” asked the girl.
“I can’t tonight sweetie, but I promise that I will tomorrow,” replied mom, with obvious pace in her voice. “I will read you all the stories you like.”
Mom tucked the girl in and then came over to me and repeated the process. She did not say anything, but I felt as though this was a universal language we shared, where eye contact and smiles dictated comfort and assurance. Although I noticed my mother to have a tired look in her eyes. I felt like I saw a lifetime of weakness and struggle covered over with boundaries made to mask it. Her eyes glistened and her lips quivered as she smiled and caressed my face with her thumb. She leaned in and kissed my forehead, and the warmth made me feel more at home than anything. She sat back up and I could see that a tear had broken free, but she wiped it away just as quickly.
“Well,” she let out a sniffle. “Tonight’s the night!” She exclaimed.
Before I could question what she meant by this, my mother was ripped from where she was standing and hurled into the corner, her body contorting into positions that should not be possible for human beings. The faceless girl screamed as I tried to make sense of what happened. It felt like slow motion as I looked from the direction my mother was thrown over to the faceless girl, and that’s when I saw it. The thing. I held my breath as I watched it pounce over to my mother, who was still alive and letting out a blood-curdling scream. Its claws made light work of tearing through my mother’s flesh who almost instantly went silent as it began shredding her. Blood and gore caked the corner of the room as this thing began to eat my mother.
I looked over at the faceless girl who had already made a break for it and was halfway up the steps. I watched as she made it through the door and closed it. Despite feeling helpless I could not leave my mother. I scrambled off of my bed to find my ball. I stood up and looked back over to the corner where the thing was massacring the only person I could remember, displaying acts of violence that I had not even considered possible. I let out a scream and threw my ball at the thing who stopped moving as soon as the ball connected with its back. It snapped around and roared at me like a wild animal, still covered in the flesh and blood of my mother whose mangled body was partially obscured by the thing. Before I could react, it ran towards me and grabbed me by the chest, one set of claws being enough to lift me off of the ground and incapacitate me.
Having accepted my fate, I couldn’t even work up the courage to show strength and just closed my eyes and sobbed. I half-expected it to tear me to pieces but instead it through me onto the steps, which I hit hard face-first. I was slightly dazed, but I managed to turn over and noticed that my ball had ended up on the step below me. The thing crouched down to pounce towards me again as I scrambled for the ball. I grabbed it and threw it as hard as I could, missing the thing completely. It pounced again and landed on the steps, towering above me, holding me down to the wooden steps with its claws wrapped around my chest and neck. I rested my head backwards as there was nothing I could do, when I noticed the door… it was open. Just a crack, but there was an other-worldly bright light seeping through, a light that I had never seen before.
I felt like every version of this memory blended into a disorientating concerto of voices, screaming and knocks, as well as sounds I had never heard before. I homed in on a rhythmic sound, a beep. I held my breath and focused, to a point where I felt like I could match the tempo with my breaths. Nothing else mattered apart from that beep. I opened my eyes and kicked this thing with all of my might, knocking it off balance and down the steps to the floor. I let out a gasp and hauled ass upstairs and straight through the door.
“Oh my god, you’re awake! He’s a wake! Someone, anyone, quickly! He’s awake!”
The light faded into a blurry view of curtains, white surfaces and a woman looming over me. I felt like I had just been born. I did not recognize where I was or who this person was.
“Tom, it’s me,” she gasped, with tears streaming down her face.
I struggled to process what was going on. I felt my mouth open but before I could attempt to make a sound, the room was rushed with a few more people all dressed in uniform.
“Miss, please step away. He will be extremely disorientated, so we need to ensure this wake-up process is gradual.” I heard a voice say. “Nurse, please start checking his vitals.”
The next few hours I would slip in and out of consciousness before waking up in a slightly darker and quieter setting. I laid eyes on another woman who was tweaking some lines that were up to my left. I followed them down from the bags and into my hands and arms. I felt my eyes widen and my chest tense.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay; you’re okay,” she said. “I need you to stay relaxed, okay?” She took a seat. “My name is Doctor Phillips and I’m a physician here at River Heights Hospital.” The doctor displayed a sincere smile on her face as she reached her hand out to touch mine.
“Are you able to speak at all?” She asked.
I thought about it for a moment before opening my mouth and letting out a feeble “Yeah”.
“That’s great!” She calmly exclaimed. “Do you know what your name is?”
The doctor pulled out a flat, rectangular item that she laid flat on her legs. She took her finger and swiped it in multiple directions before resting her wrists just at the bottom of it. I furrowed my brow as I tried to understand this but continued answering questions.
“Yes,” I answered. “Tom. Well, Thomas. Thomas Greenhall.”
“Excellent,” she said with a smile. She started tapping her fingers on the object whilst simultaneous asking another question. “And what about your date of birth?”
“Err, March 26th, 1996,” I responded. I had absolutely no idea where this information was coming from, but the doctor seemed happy with my answers. “What is that?” I asked.
“What is what?”
“The thing you’re holding. The flat thing.” I accompanied this with a nod to draw her attention downwards.
“This is a tablet, an iPad,” she answered. “Listen Thomas, the next few days are going to be quite busy for you as you’re going to learn a lot about what has happened and why you are here,” she said with a mildly concerned look on her face.
I noticed that she was speaking relatively slowly, but I understood what she meant.
“What I want is for us to take this one step at a time, and just see if you can answer some of these questions for me, okay? But please don’t let that make it seem as though you can’t ask questions yourself, because you can,” she continued. “Please just try and stay relaxed.”
The doctor smiled. I nodded back and consented to continuing with the questions, a lot of them relating to me and anything that I can remember. For the most part, Doctor Phillips was happy with my answers, but nothing was making sense to me.
Over the next few days, I was visited by different people that would check up on me, give me medication, and sit and have a talk about how I am feeling and to, as they say, get things off of my chest. This is where I would bring up my memories and my mother, but these people would just take notes and not really say anything about it. Someone else also just asked me to read small books to them and would get me to identify objects in pictures. I was confused a lot of the time so any information given to me was done so in small doses, as it seemed as though I would just “shut down”, according to Doctor Phillips anyway.
I lost track of time but there came the day when I was feeling better. My conversation was flowing better, my conversational understanding improved, and I was able to read books without much hesitation. I felt happy and would smile back at those that came to see me.
On this particular day, I was visited by Doctor Phillips who gave me an update on my progress, as well as advised me that she thought I was ready to learn about what happened. Doctor Phillips explained that I had been in a coma for 16 years following an accident at home which involved a fall down the stairs. Initially, I was presumed to be deceased, but a slight pulse was found. After a few days my heartbeat was more easily identifiable, but I was in a coma. Dr. Phillips felt she had to explain what a coma was, and I accepted the explanation. It was thought that I would remain in a vegetative state, until I was visited by my sister, Andrea. Doctor Phillips would note that that was the woman I saw pretty much as soon as I came to. Andrea had been visiting me for the past 9 years, talking to me, reading to me, pretty much anything she could to continue stimulating my brain. This effectively took me out of a vegetative state, and I could respond physically through twitches in different parts of my body. They thought this was involuntary, but when they looked more into my brain functions, they realized that I was making an unconscious effort to try and move. Andrea was advised to keep doing what she was doing, of her own free will, and she never gave up over the 9 years.
“What about my mom?” I asked.
Doctor Phillips looked down to the ground and then back up.
“I am very sorry Thomas, but your mother passed away quite a while ago,” she said.
I felt a rush of anguish as I tried to compute what had just been said to me.
“But I saw her, though,” I whimpered. “I saw her in my memories.”
“And that’s what they are,” suggested Doctor Phillips. “Memories, which I found astounding that you still have them from such a young age.”
She reached out and grabbed my hand.
“Hang onto them for as long as you can, okay?” Her voice seemed to soften. “You still have a long way to go, and I feel as though learning more about what happened all those years ago should maybe come after you’ve rested and recovered.”
The next six months were very intense. I had so much muscle wastage that I endured daily physiotherapy, as well liquid diets to give me more nutrients, fat and protein to start building myself back up again. I was able to walk but would only do so during physiotherapy and remained in a wheelchair otherwise.
I had been visited by Andrea, but we took things slow. I really did not remember having a sister, but she seemed to know a lot about me and my mother, and she was just really pleasant to talk to. Even if we just sat in silence for 20 minutes in my room, I felt a sense of contentment, knowing that I was not alone. After those 6 months, I was allowed to leave the rehabilitation center at the hospital and would move in with Andrea. I continued recovery whilst with Andrea and she would help me with exercises and would be there for support if I required assistance with any activities of daily living, though I mostly managed myself at this point. This setup continued for a further 3 months and for the most part, I was happy.
All this time I lived in mystery, still not knowing exactly what happened. No one ever brought it up, but I realize now that this was hugely beneficial for my recovery. Andrea never pushed to reveal anything, nor would she draw attention if I ever faltered during my slow climb to independence. However, one day, there was a knock at the door. There had been visitors before, usually physiotherapists or other healthcare professionals but on an appointment-only basis. I did not have any friends, nor did Andrea want to introduce me to anyone in her life until I was ready. Andrea quickly looked down at this small device I understood to be her smartphone and she furrowed her brow, but hastily left the living room to answer the door. I heard an exchange of unintelligible murmurs, before I heard Andrea exclaim “not today please” before slamming the door. The house fell silent before Andrea slowly shuffled back into the room.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. I could see Andrea had something on her mind, a look of contemplation I had grown to recognize over the many months of her being by my side.
“That was a reporter,” she revealed. “I knew this day would come but I’ve tried so hard to keep a low profile for you, for the both of us,” she continued.”
“What did they want?”
Andrea let out a sigh before placing her hand on mine and meeting my eyes with hers.
“They want an interview with you. They say they want to speak to both of us, but I know it’s just a ruse in an attempt to speak to you about… that night,” she explained. “Please don’t think that me telling you that is an attempt to get you to ask about what happened but you need to understand that reporters will continue to visit until-“
“I’m ready,” I advised. I couldn’t bear to continue watching Andrea having to cover for me, nor could I keep myself in the shadows. “I want to know what happened that night. I want to know what happened to mom. I want to know what happened to me,” I said with an unapologetic certainty.
“Only if you’re sure?” Andrea asked.
“I am. But this is for me,” I continued. “I’m not going to speak to anyone else about it. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction.”
Andrea looked at me and gave a weak smile. “I know, and I don’t want to speak to anyone either,” she agreed. “Do you want a cup of coffee before I start?” She asked.
“No thank you. Let’s just begin, please.” Andrea closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, before silently exhaling a breath that shivered into room. “Unless you don’t want to tell me today?”
“No, no; it’s fine. You’ll understand once I get into it.” Andrea corrected her posture and then locked eyes with me. “Our childhood wasn’t the most pleasant. Despite having the most wonderful mother, our father was a cruel man. It didn’t matter that he was complicit in the conception of the both of us; something just clicked, and he decided that we couldn’t see the world outside, nor could they see us. Our father confined us to the basement of our family home; a small room containing only a bed for each of us, a chair in one corner of the room, some other bits of forgettable furniture and some toys to keep us busy. You were infatuated with the ball and torch, and this little stuffed bear that you used to call-“
“Bur?” I asked.
“Yes! I can’t believe you remember that,” Andrea said with a shocked expression. Andrea stood up and went to a basket behind the sofa. “I kept him all this time.” Andrea passed me Bur.
“Holy shit- I mean… oh my,” I exclaimed. Andrea let out a giggle at the same time tears started to form in her eyes. I looked at Bur closely, before placing him on my lap, a very small feeling of joy sat in my chest before I requested that Andrea carried on.
“Our father had us locked in the basement for as long as I could remember and kept the key on his person at all times. Mom would be the one who would look after us, but only when father said so. He would never allow the door to be unlocked when he left for work.
“Father used to hurt mom a lot. She would come down daily with a new bruise or cut but she would always put a brave face on for us. Whenever mom accidentally let her emotions slip in front of us, we would take the brunt of it. Father hurt us both, a slap, a punch, a kick. There were a couple of instances where he picked you up and threw you across the room. It was truly disgusting.” Andrea wiped away tears and sniffled between breaths.
I couldn’t really think of anything to say, so I said nothing and allowed Andrea to continue.
“Mom would always step in, but she would take even more abuse from him, calling her words that make me quiver even today. Although I was so young, I hated that man.” Andrea’s crying intensified for a moment, so I lent over and placed my hand on her knee. Andrea let out a breath and sniffled again. I passed her over a tissue so she could wipe her eyes.
“This is really helpful, Andrea,” I said. She smiled.
“There was a short period of time where we were forgotten about completely. I think it was about 2 or 3 days where we weren’t fed but had some water left with us. Mom finally came down and I remembered her kissing my head and being ever so apologetic but assured me that things will change soon.
“At this time, mom didn’t have any new injuries, so my guess is that she was showing more affection to father and taking his view on not giving us as much attention. It was heart-breaking as a child to think your mother had also abandoned you, but she went on and on about things being different. I don’t think I ever believed her, until one day I heard the door unlock and mom came down. You were asleep at the time and she simply told me to not make a sound until I saw her again, and do not touch the door. Fast-forward to the following morning, mom came bursting through the door with a duffel bag. She threw in anything that would fit and told us to wrap up in our blankets as we were leaving right at that moment.” Andrea paused.
“Are you okay?” I asked, noticing Andrea’s horrified face.
“I just remember seeing father at the top of stairs and I just stared at him. Mom noticed I was staring and tears started to stream down her face as she realized what was going on. Father came down and grabbed her by the hair, and threw her backwards down to the concrete. The sound of her head hitting the floor was sickening and I couldn’t do anything but hold my breath. And then…” Andrea struggled to get the words out as she unleashed a painful cry.
Tears started to fall down my face as I could feel the hurt in Andrea’s voice.
“And then he started to stamp on her face, over and over and over again. He got down to her level and saw his arm begin to flail. I didn’t know what was happening at first, but when he stood up again, she was covered in blood. That’s when I noticed the knife, and that’s when I realized you were in full view of what was being done to her. I screamed and curled up tighter on my bed, as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her lifeless body up the steps. You suddenly took off after them before I saw father kick you in the chest and you dropped straight to the bottom of the staircase, flat on your back.”
“You can stop, you know?” I saw Andrea was really struggling to carry on. I felt as though this was too much for her to recall. She started to compose herself before continuing.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You deserve to know. It’s just I can’t ever forgive myself for what I did next,” Andrea continued.
“All I could hear was destruction coming from upstairs. I knew mom wasn’t fighting back, so I just thought father was wrecking the place. I ran over to you and tried to wake you, but I thought you were dead. I couldn’t move you or lift you and I didn’t want to wait around any longer. I just left you there, all alone on the freezing cold concrete. I knew I had to get out of there and get some help,” Andrea’s distress was more apparent than ever. “I ran up the stairs and felt like I was in a maze. I’d never seen beyond the basement before and just ran around the house looking for more doors. A door meant a way out. That’s when I stumbled across father, still going at mom. The sight of her still gives me nightmares today. Years and years of therapy hasn’t been able to help me understand or rationalize what I saw.” Andrea seemingly went numb, and her eyes sunk slightly.
“You don’t need to tell me, Andrea.” I tried to comfort her.
“I need to. I need you to understand.” She looked at me, and then looked down at her hands as she began to pick at her fingers. “Mom was unrecognizable. She had knives and other utensils, as well as broken plates and bits of glass sticking out of different parts of her body. There were pots and pans doused in blood and gore strewn across the kitchen. It was all over my legs and feet.
“Father was still bludgeoning mom with the corner of a kitchen cabinet door.” Andrea paused. “A fucking cabinet door!” There was bewilderment behind this exclamation. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I turned and saw a door between two tall windows. I ran and opened the door to see the outside world. The brightness was nauseating and everything looked so alien, and I couldn’t bring myself to move.
“I saw another man in the distance who was watering his garden. He turned to look at me, before looking away and snapping his whole head back in my direction. “Are you okay?” He shouted as he dropped his hose and started walking towards me. I was scared but still couldn’t move. He got close and he must have seen the blood on me and the scene behind me. I remember that he grabbed me with such urgency before bolting back over to where he came from. He incoherently screamed as took me into his house and placed me down with another lady. He scrambled in a draw and pulled out a gun. “Call the police”, I remember him exclaiming as he ran back out.”
I felt like my jaw was on the floor. I wasn’t crying. I was in disbelief more than anything.
“The lady embraced me and spoke on the phone. Absolutely everything that happened within those 5 minutes was all so new to me that it didn’t feel real.
“The police arrived not long afterwards, and it was all a blur. I was taken to the hospital straight away and had nothing but nurses and other professionals by my side for the next 7 years. I was in the foster system until I became an adult, and despite my trauma and emotional difficulties, I found a love for food and cooking and was supported into a kitchen job.
“Around the same time I turned 18, the details of that night were revealed to me; that the neighbor had shot and killed my father, who apparently didn’t even turn around to acknowledge the neighbor after making it clear he had a gun. I’m still in touch with the neighbors. They’re such a lovely couple.”
“And what about me?” I interrupted, albeit unintentionally bluntly. I didn’t quite know what expression my face had to accompany my question.
“And that’s when I found out you had survived and were in a coma.” Andrea said. “For the next 9 years, I came and saw you every day, doing whatever the doctors suggested to aid your recovery. I never gave up,” Andrea exclaimed. “I lost every-fucking-thing else, so I was not giving up on the one person that I felt I had abandoned.” Andrea brought her hands up to her face as she began to sob.
“You did what you had to do, Andrea. I can only thank you for that, as neither of us would have been here today otherwise,” I suggested. “Your bravery, your hard work and determination, and your willingness to save me should outweigh any feeling of regret that may be plaguing your mind.”
I closed my eyes and embraced Andrea for a few minutes in an attempt to calm her down. Since waking up, I believe this was the most physical contact we had had as I was still hesitant to reveal my vulnerabilities; beyond the obvious, anyway. I had an immense feeling of comfort and sanctuary in the arms of my sister, a feeling that garnered sufficient confidence to allow myself the chance to express some honesty. It’s not like I’ve been dishonest about anything, but I was withholding information about my experience so far in the real world, beyond that of the realm I inhabited whilst in an unconscious state for a decade and a half.
I slowly opened my eyes to see the one thing I expected to see, but dreaded all the same. The thing was stood in the hallway, partially obstructed by the doorframe to the living room. It’s yellow eyes bored straight into mine, summoning whispered words that only I could understand.
I won’t go back. It can’t make me go back…