The Voice

The days were short and cold, blanketed in the chill of one of the coldest winters in history. My path home was long, but the alcohol buzzing through my veins kept my mind reeling, my thoughts deflected from the cold and lengthy journey. In my pocket, I twisted the paper hat that Brenda had slipped onto my head while the pounding music of the darkly lit party shook our cores. We were coming to the end of a string of ragers – one every night from Christmas Eve until New Year’s. It was 3AM now on the day of New Year’s Eve as I trampled the snow and straw-grass on the field leading toward my parents’ property. They were on vacation in the Caribbean, so I could see the farmhouse in the distance was dark. I methodically stomped through the icy-crunch grass to the beat of a half-remembered song that had kept playing and playing throughout the party. I whistled loudly, not worried about disturbing anyone. The house was on an acre of land – no neighbors for quite some distance.

Suddenly, my foot slipped out from under me, and I crashed to the ground. Cursing, I got to my elbows and knees. The ground beneath was eerily slick. Deep cracking noises came to my ears. In an instant, I knew my mistake. I knew I had wandered onto the snow-covered pond. I scuttled back as the cracks followed me. A resounding shatter sounded, and the ice caved in, throwing me down in the water below.

No matter how hot I turned the water, I couldn’t get warm. I sat curled on the shower floor, trembling, teeth chattering. I stayed there until the hot water ran out. I dried myself off, layered on sweaters and socks and pants, and crawled into bed, bundling myself in the bedcovers. The sun was poking through the curtains, hopefully bringing some warmth. Exhausted, my eyes fluttered shut and I thankfully fell asleep.

Good morning.

The voice woke me. I peeked out into my empty bedroom.

Get up.

I rubbed my eyes, spying through the open door into the hall, seeing nothing.

Get up.

The voice sounded like my train of thought, burrowed deep inside my head, but it wasn’t my own voice. This voice was cold and unfamiliar. I sat up.

Good girl.

“Good girl?” I sighed, “OK, then.”

I immediately got to work on some preliminary research for my upcoming senior thesis paper. The dense scientific journals were difficult enough to get through ordinarily, but now, this new voice made it almost impossible. I only got through the abstract of Coinciding Energy Flows in Differing Voltage Patterns by Jeremy Leon-Marks before the voice overwhelmed me.

You have a bald spot.

I scoffed and said aloud, “I do not.”

You do. It’s the size of a silver dollar at the base of your part.

I felt the back of my head. My hair was thin but surely, I wasn’t balding. My fingertips grazed smooth flesh. I bolted up and went to the wall mirror. I plucked my compact out of my makeup bag and looked into the reflection of the larger mirror. It was right there – a bald spot. Right at the end of my part.

Don’t you believe me now?

I threw the compact down and went back to my desk. My eyes flitted across the computer screen, rereading the journal’s elaborate text.

Don’t you believe me now?

My breath grew heavy.

“No, no,” I insisted, “Leave me alone.”

I can't.

I stood and crossed the room, retrieving my pill case from my dresser. I had already taken my antidepressant and anxiety medications for the day. Despite this, I opened the next two days of pills and took two extra lithium.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine,” I begged.

Why won’t you listen to me? What do I have to say?

I shook my head.

A spider is crawling out of the bathroom sink.

I crossed the hall to the bathroom and stared down into the drain. There was nothing. No spider, no dirt, not even any leftover dried toothpaste. I sighed, relieved.

“You don’t know shit,” I spat.

I stared at my haggard reflection in the mirror and tried to ease my troubles.

“You’re hungover,” I told myself, “you’re stressed, and you need to sleep.”

I turned on the faucet to splash cold water onto my face. As soon as the water crested the drain, a black thing scampered out, darting toward me. I jumped back. The spider crawled out of the sink, up the wall, and disappeared into a crack in the light fixture.

“No…No, no, no.”

I know everything.

I grabbed my phone and dialed my therapist’s personal number. Luckily, she answered after several rings.

“Hey, Lydia. What’s wrong?”

“I keep…I keep hearing a voice. It’s telling me things I can’t possibly know.”

“OK. Do you feel in control of yourself?”

“I think so. It’s not saying bad things, like, telling me to do bad things. It’s just…It won’t stop.”

“OK. How about this: I can come in tomorrow morning at 9 and we can talk about this. The office will be closed but I’ll leave the door unlocked and you can just come right in.”

“Yes, that sounds perfect.”

The voice spoke to me again and I couldn’t help but relay its message to the doctor.

“Your confirmation name is Joan, your husband broke his pinky last month, and your children are standing right next to you in Liberty Park by the east fountain.”

My therapist was quiet.

“Uh, Lydia, just stay calm and, you know, do something to express your feelings. Write everything down for me to read, OK?”

“OK, OK, I will.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone. Abandoning my work, I threw myself into bed and curled up, trying to physically shield myself from the voice, but it still persisted.

Feeling cold?

I was trembling. I never turned up the heat this morning.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Open your eyes.

“They’re open.”

Then, why can’t you see?

“Just shut up. Dr. Andrews can fix you.”

Heh, you won’t be seeing her.

“Why not?”

You can’t.

“Why?”

You fell in the pond.

I froze, my voice trembling, “Wh-What?”

The voice was finally – painfully – silent.

I threw the covers off, tugged on my shoes and coat, and darted down the stairs.

The thin blanket of snow over the pond was disturbed only by my footprints from the night before, barely covered by the sparse snow that came this morning. I inched my way across the ice, carefully tuning my ears to hear any shifts in the surface. Tiny cracks scaled their way across the ice. I stopped. The hole in the ground where I had fallen in was several feet away. Carefully, cautiously, oh so slowly, I approached the edge. Peering down through the murky water, I caught a glimpse of red swaying.

It was my hair. It was me. I was still under the water.

Poor thing.

My breath was ragged.

“How is it…?”

Poor, poor thing.

I started crying, tears stinging hot on my cold, wind-chapped face.

“What do I do? Tell me! What do I do?!”

The voice was silent.

I watched my own form bob helplessly in the slush, hands reaching limply up to me. Without regard, without any rational thought, I dove in.

Daggers of pain shot through my skin. The cold shock almost caused my mouth to fly open in a gasp, but I contained it. I peeked out, the water stinging my eyes.

My hair was only a foot away. I could feel it grazing my fingertips. I grasped a handful and pulled hard. My body didn’t move. I swam down further, aligning my body with my double’s. I was shocked to meet blue eyes with blue. My underwater body had her eyes peeled open, staring like glassy marbles into my own. I grabbed my body’s shoulders. Instantly, the flesh broke apart in bloody chunks, dissolving into scum, and seeping away into the water. And then, I was alone.

My lungs burned for air. My muscles were tensed into cramps. I swam upward, reaching my hands up above. Instead of open air, my fingertips touched ice. Finally, my mouth flew open, water gushing into my throat. I pounded against the heavy ice above, trying to crack through. It was useless. I was trapped, choking on scummy pond water. My vision tunneled black. Stars warbled across my eyes. There was no hope, no escape. And there, I died again.