Lurking in the Depths of You

“Mr. Elliot Blackwood,” calls a rustic voice. I fumble my keys and wallet as I stand, timidly walking toward the small room, which is composed of only a couple of chairs and a small rectangular table that looks like it belongs in a campervan.

“What brings you in to see us today?” sternly asks the detective. I can’t help but slightly scrunch up my nose at the smell of his breath, reeking of cigarettes and coffee, making me forget why I came here for a split second.

It isn’t long before the fear-induced anxiety continues to rush through me as I try to string my words together. “Someone is following me, detective. I can’t help but feel someone is watching me everywhere I go.”

Only looking a little concerned and almost as if he doesn’t believe me, the detective responds with curiosity as he passes me a glass of water.

“Can you talk us through what has happened?”

I tap my fingers anxiously on the glass, watching the water slightly ripple, my leg pulsing as I try to think of ways to explain what is happening to me. In an attempt to calm down, my shallow and rapid breathing becomes deeper and slower.

“Well, I constantly get this eerie sense that someone is watching me. There is always this lurking presence nearby that I feel no matter where I am. Occasionally, I hear voices that make my stomach turn into knots, often reminding me that I can’t hide nor outrun it.

Last night, I went to the bathroom and saw a shadow in the mirror; it terrified me. When I returned to bed, I looked at the time, hoping it was near morning because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. I looked to my left at the digital clock on the bedside table to see 3:00 a.m. lit up in red. I have never believed in ghosts, detective, but this encounter made me question everything. My body was riddled with fear and the voices grew louder.

At first, I thought I was imagining these things. ‘Paranoia,’ some may call it. But strangely enough, I noticed people would look at me differently and talk to me oddly. I wondered if they could see what was looming over me and sense the same eerie feeling that I feel.”

Awaiting his response, my eyes glance up at the detective. I notice his eyebrows raised in a judgmental way, followed by a very subtle but perceivable grin. “These encounters must be frightening for you, Elliot. But there’s nothing we can do unless there is evidence to prove that someone is stalking you,” he answers dismissively.

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My feet drag along the ground as I leave the old brick station, saturated in defeat and exhaustion. It is near evening, with little sunlight left in the sky and a slight chill in the air. I am scared and on edge, with the eerie feeling still lingering as I wonder what happens next.

My keys rattle while I find the one to unlock my 1995 Toyota Camry. The breeze sends shivers up my spine, and I can’t wait to put on my grey hoodie that has been living in the back seat of my car for the past month. It’s probably due for a wash by now.

“ARGHHHHH!” I scream at the top of my lungs, using every ounce of air I have. In the reflection of the window, a dark shadow much larger than my body looms over me. In one sudden twist, I throw my back against the car, only to find no one behind me. I’m petrified.

I reluctantly get into my car and lock the doors. I convince myself that if someone were trying to harm me, they would have done it by now.

Darkness surrounds me as I drive home on the road that passes only farmland; there are no streetlights or shops in sight for at least 25 miles. I turn the radio up, trying to drown out any paranoid thoughts.

Suddenly, bright lights reflect in my rearview mirror, partially blinding me. The sound of an angry horn triggers my body to enter fight or flight. Driven by fear and panic, I speed up to try and escape the car, watching it recklessly swerve side to side. I lose sight of where I’m going.

CRASHHHHHH!

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“Sir, you have been in a serious accident,” says a young lady’s voice. My vision is blurry and my mind can’t comprehend what is happening. One minute I see red and blue lights, and the next, I see bright white lights and blue gowns.

“You are in the hospital, and we are taking you in for surgery,” the young lady’s voice continues shakily.

I don’t remember what was said after that. All I can see is my body lying helpless on an operating table, surrounded by doctors and nurses.

“Elliot,” whispers a soft voice.

“Elliot, you shouldn’t be here,” the same voice whispers.

Confused but strangely calm, I wonder where ‘here’ is.

“I was only trying to get his attention,” a male voice says distressingly, waiting outside the operating room.

This voice sounds familiar, I think.

“It’s an unfortunate turn of events, and you had good intentions,” reassures another male voice.

I don’t understand how the person had good intentions; as I recall, they wanted to run me off the road.

“I heard a scream outside moments after Elliot left the station. After his concerns about being followed, I went outside to see if everything was okay, but he had taken off. I was worried someone may have taken him, which is why I followed him. My car doesn’t have sirens, so I thought if I beeped the horn and swerved slightly to grab his attention, he would pull over,” the distressed male explains with a crackled voice.

I know this voice! This is the voice of the unhelpful, cigarette-smelling detective I spoke with earlier.

“Mrs. Blackwood, we are so sorry you and your family are going through this right now.”

“My sweet Mumma,” I think, as I watch her uncontrollably cry, her eyes turned black from her mascara and her hair half loose in a clip. I can see my dad trying to keep himself together as he holds her tightly.

The soft whisper returns, “Elliot, I need you to pay attention to my voice now.”

Unsure of who the voice belongs to or where the voice is coming from, I obey.

“You must return to your physical body now, Elliot.”

A part of me doesn’t want to return to my physical body, if I’m being honest. Here, I seem to just simply be. I don’t feel any fear or worries, doubt or sadness, anger or shame—any emotion, really. I feel at peace, almost euphoric.

My mind starts flicking through memories like I’m scrolling through my For You page. Something in this moment happens that alters my state of mind. A shift. I don’t quite understand how, but everything makes sense now. Perhaps, a revelation of perception.

The soft whisper emphasizes:

“The voices you hear are your internal dialogue on a negative loop, feeding you fears and worries, making you doubt yourself and deplete any ounce of confidence you have. The feeling you feel when your stomach turns to knots is the negative thought loop manifesting as anxiety in your body. The eerie feeling of someone watching you is your shadow side wanting to be seen, but you avoid it. The thought of people looking at you strangely or talking to you oddly is a reflection of how you feel about yourself—your lack of self-worth.

You see, Elliot, the shadow you see is a projection of your own inner thoughts, fears, and perception of self. Your shadow will continue to haunt you until you learn to understand it, teach it, and work with it.”

Slowly blinking my eyes, a warm familiar hand squeezes into mine. “Elliot… Elliot, it’s Mumma, darling.”

It looks like I made it back to my physical body after all. This time, with a different perspective.