Don't Let Go

Don’t Let Go

Although Mary had barely reached five years of age, she was already no stranger to the doctor’s office. Not just one type of doctor either, but several different kinds that all tried and failed to help her. To Mary, all of their faces had blurred together. There wasn’t one doctor she could attach the correct name to even if she had really tried, though she never really did. Mary had a much bigger problem to focus on.

Not falling asleep. For that was the biggest problem of all.

From a very early age Mary’s parents had fretted about their seemingly otherwise perfect little girl’s inability to sleep. She would cry most almost all through the night, every night. When she hadn’t been crying, she had been staring silently up at the ceiling with a distressing look in her eyes that was anything but silent. Sometimes Mary’s parents had thought that the troublesome look in Mary’s eyes to be more disturbing than her actual wails of panic. That look in her eyes had kept them awake all through the night, as if she had been screaming instead.

It was as if Mary’s insomnia was contagious.

Mary’s parents had begun to take her to countless doctors at that young age and voiced their growing concerns about their miracle baby. It hadn’t mattered where they went, the response they received always remained unchanged. The doctor would look slightly amused and tell them that it was completely normal for children of that age to cry throughout the night and that they had nothing to worry about because their daughter would soon grow out of it. The doctor, without a doubt, would bring up the fact that since their pregnancy had been such a rare outcome for the infertile couple, that it was only natural for them to be overly concerned.

Regardless, they requested that their baby be examined. At that point in time, the slight amusement of majority of the doctors dissolved into not-so-slight irritation, but complied with the parents’ request nevertheless. The results of the examination had always come back normal. Call it a parent’s intuition, but they never stopped believing that their daughter needed help. It took five years before any doctor took them seriously.

By that time, Mary had developed dark circles underneath her troubled, blue eyes that should never have belonged to anyone younger than forty years of age. Her body was as developed as that of a three year old and her skin tone was constantly ashen. Strangers who saw her and didn’t know better often thought that she was a victim of neglect.

She was a frail young thing who adored the colour red more than anything else.

In her detached manner, Mary explained to her parents and the doctors that she didn’t want to sleep because of where she went if she did.

“Do you have bad dreams Mary?” They would ask.

“No.”

“Are they good dreams then?”

“No.”

“Then what kind of dreams are they?”

“They’re not dreams.”

Though Mary saw everything through a constant humming haze, she could clearly see the confusion that marked the faces of the adults around her. How could they not understand?

The consensus reached was that Mary had a severe case of oneirophobia; the fear of dreaming.

It was difficult to come up with a solution since Mary was still so young and it could do her considerable long-term damage if she were prescribed sleeping medication. That course of action would only treat the symptom, but not the root of the problem. Then again, Mary’s parents were desperate.

The psychologist Mary and her parents frequently visited couldn’t get to the root of the problem either and there just wasn’t enough information on childhood oneirophobia that might have pointed them in the right direction. As far as everybody could tell, Mary had never been subjected to any sort of traumatic experience that may have been the underlying cause of her condition. They had hit what seemed like an impassable wall.

The truth was that Mary was glad that they couldn’t do anything to her to make her sleep. Mary didn’t want to fall asleep. How did none of them see what was really there? Mary would much rather deal with the consequences of not sleeping then have to face the monstrosities that lay behind her closed eyelids. Mary hadn’t felt tired for a long time, which helped, but sometimes she saw things.

Things that weren’t there.

Most times she could tell what those around her couldn’t see, but that she could. She did her best not to let on what she was really seeing because it would upset her parents and that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted for them to understand.

She observed these things with a disconnected sort of curiosity. Sometimes she saw shadows that whispered things to her in a language that she couldn’t quite understand. Other times she witnessed colourful shapes that danced in and out of focus. They also talked to her in their secret language. Her favourite was the Pattern. The Pattern helped her and if Mary tried as hard as she could, she could understand what her only friend, the Pattern, was telling her. Doing so, however, made her feel sleepy and that was very dangerous because of where it might lead.

The Pattern was very red and very beautiful.

Every time that Mary blinked, the Pattern would change in ways that made her forget what the Pattern looked like a second before. When the Pattern visited her, she never wanted to look away. That got her into trouble sometimes, because when the Pattern had her attention, it was difficult for her to focus on anything or anyone else.

Why would she want to look away?

The ever-changing thatch work of swirling and breathing rustic hues was much too intriguing to be ignored. Each undefined, alternating panel of the Pattern depicted ancient, cryptic messages that Mary wished she could interpret but she understood that that sort of skill would come as she got older. The Pattern was like Mary’s very own safety blanket that never had the cruel intention of dragging her down into the depths of slumber.

There were times Mary even felt sorry for everyone else who couldn’t see the Pattern, but then she remembered what they couldn’t see when their eyes were shut.

Mary was at the age where she should have begun school, but because of her condition, her parents thought it best that she began school a year later then all of the other kids her age. That gave them a full year to find a solution the Mary’s problem now that they had the attention of the doctors. They were confident that once Mary’s problem was sorted out, she wouldn’t have great difficulty catching up on the material learned by the children her age since the results of the IQ test she'd taken indicated that she was well into the genius range.

Luckily for Mary’s parents, a different sort of doctor had reached out to them after having Mary’s unique case referred to him. This doctor was a sleep specialist who was conducting an experimental treatment of sorts involving children with varying sleep disorders.

His name was Dr. Cane and he was fascinated, in particular, by Mary’s case of diagnosed oneirophobia. What made it all the more curious for Dr. Cane was Mary’s tender age. He’d only heard of a few select cases of oneirophobia, but never once from such a young child. Even then, he had been sceptical of the authenticity of those cases, especially with the newer generations constantly so eager to thrust as much attention onto themselves as possible. Right away, however, Dr. Cane understood that he was dealing with something serious from the very first moment his eyes grazed over Mary’s file. The poor thing looked utterly disturbed. No that wasn’t right he thought to himself, she looked haunted.

Dr. Cane had arranged a meeting with Mary and her family immediately. He was quite sure with himself that he’d found a way to reverse Mary’s problem, despite his solution still being in the early phases of testing. He was hoping that the new drug would be pulled out of the testing phase by the success he was sure it would have on Mary.

Mary and her mother walked inside his office and Dr. Cane immediately cut to the chase.

“The new drug is a benzodiazepine derivative and all indications we’ve managed to attain demonstrate that there is a high chance for it to help, if not, cure this particular sleep disorder case.”

“But is it safe for someone so young?”

“Under the proper use and guidance, yes.”

The mother of the sleep deprived child looked thoughtful and desperate, but mostly desperate. Mary was intensely staring down at the space in between her feet with what looked like a slight smirk tugging up at the corners of her mouth. The contrast between the mother and her child was excruciatingly unsettling for Dr. Cane.

“I think it’s probably for the best to give this a try. You’re the only doctor willing to prescribe her medication.”

“I’m confident that this treatment path will aid her until she is stabilized. Remember, she will only be on this medication temporarily until she begins to form normal sleeping patterns of her own. Then we can gradually take her off of it.”

“Alright. We’ve given absolutely everything else a try, so I hope that you’re right. Thank you doctor.”

Mary hadn’t heard a word of what the new doctor had said because the Pattern had visited her. Plus it wasn’t like she could’ve missed anything she hadn’t already heard before. The doctors’ faces always changed, but their meaningless words never did. Mary had been listening to the Pattern which kept on repeating that she needed “to listen”. The odd thing was that understanding the Pattern this time wasn’t like any of the other previous times. Mary didn’t have to mentally exert herself at all to hear what the Pattern’s message was. It was given to her. She wasn’t sure what the Pattern meant for her to listen to, but Mary had soon been able to look past that puzzling aspect because of the flurry of twisted beauty the Pattern showed her.

The Pattern was a crimson, collective collage of every pattern in the world, for everything ever created had patterns within it that let anyone who could see them understand their secrets.

A blessing and a curse.

Once Mary and her mother arrived home after filling out the prescription, something seemingly fantastic caught Mary’s eye that most of everybody else would have categorized as nothing special. There was a toddler walking alongside his mother, but what fascinated Mary was the ruby-red balloon that was fastened around his wrist to keep it from floating away into the expansive sky where it would surely be forever lost.

Mary’s mother had to pull her along to get her moving towards their house. Mary followed because her long-depleted energy reserves couldn’t put up any resistance. That didn’t stop Mary from turning her head around to gaze at the charmed balloon for as long as she could. She wished that the Pattern were here show her what patterns laid in the balloon, for she knew that they would be intricate as they would be captivating.

Patterns. Everywhere.

Mary’s mother knew her daughter well enough to know that she wouldn’t agree to take medication that would induce sleep, so she would give Mary the tablet without her knowledge. Mary was a very intelligent girl, but her mother knew a way around that. She felt terrible for having to trick Mary into taking her medication, but it was the only way to help her one and only child.

At 7:30 in the evening, Mary was called down to the kitchen by her mother. Mary had always lacked the proper appetite for a growing child. It was a daily struggle to get her to eat more than a couple bites of food at a time. It was like she stopped after only a few bites because she grew bored of eating altogether. There was one exception, however, and Mary’s mother would exploit that for the benefit of her daughter.

Mary’s eyes grew wide with delight as he mother set a vanilla milkshake on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t any ordinary vanilla milkshake however. Knowing that Mary adored the colour red, Mary’s mother had put red food colouring inside of it. She added the food dye after she had poured the milkshake into a tall glass and gave it a couple of stirs before giving it to Mary with the spoon still inside of the glass. This way the dye would swirl around and contrast with the white of the milkshake. This was something Mary never got bored of.

Red food colouring wasn’t all that had been added to the milkshake this time.

“It’s time to go to bed sweetheart,” said Mary’s mother approximately half an hour after Mary had finished her milkshake.

Mary hadn’t suspected a thing, not that she’d had any particular reason to.

The inside of Mary’s head was constantly detached from reality and buzzing as an outcome of her severe sleep deprivation, so it was impossible for her to distinguish the effects the slipped drug was unleashing onto her mind until it was too late.

Mary obliged to what her mother had said and followed her mother to her bedroom. Usually Mary held her mother’s hand because it seemed to ease her mother slightly, despite Mary not being particularly fond of the contact. Tonight Mary felt particularly weak and kept her heavy arms at her sides.

What Mary wouldn’t do to have a red balloon to hold on to though.

As Mary was walking, her surroundings flashed around her, as if she were looking out the window of a zooming car instead of nonchalantly dragging her feet along. Mary began to feel slight panic manifesting within her. This never happened. Something was wrong. She wished the Pattern would come and help her make sense of things.

Mary’s mother tucked her in bed, as usual, before switching the light off and exiting the room. Mary was afraid of shutting her eyes for there was a deep pulsating feel radiating from behind them. Her body was telling her to close them and that was why she fought so hard to keep that from happening.

Mary felt relieved when she saw the Pattern beginning to take form on the ceiling she was staring at. The Pattern would surely help, because it always did. But something was very wrong this time. Something had done a terrible thing the Pattern.

And Mary knew exactly what had done it.

The Pattern was dim and had only half-formed. It didn’t matter whether the light was turned on or not, the Pattern had always been vibrant and as red as ever. The images that usually circulated within the Pattern were missing. The Pattern was not well. Mary’s fragile heart ached for her beloved Pattern, for she could practically feel the Pattern’s agony emanating from it.

The Pattern was dying, but repeated one thing as it faded away forever.

“Listen.”

“Listen.”

“Listen.”

Tears began to stream down Mary’s face because she couldn’t understand what the Patten meant for her to listen to, or how she could help her best friend.

The more the Pattern faded, the clearer the other things Mary sometimes saw became. Although it was dark, Mary could still see the shadows urgently moving around her. The shapes were there too. Usually they whispered to Mary in their secret language, now they were shouting at her. The louder their voices became, the more familiar their language got.

Mary understood now that the Pattern had needed for her to listen to the shadows and the shapes that came from the same place as the Pattern.

Something else came from that place too.

At first Mary had to strain herself to listen to everything else that was chaotically whirling around her. Then suddenly it was as if Mary had been able to understand their language the entire time.

“Don’t let go,” they all told her out of unison with one another.

Soon enough the chanting morphed into uncoordinated wails.

“DON’T LET GO! DON’T LET GO! DON’T LET GO!”

How was it that Mary’s parents couldn’t hear it? The pulsating sensation that had originated from the back of her eyes had spread throughout her entire body, like a swarm of famished locusts moving through an unprotected crop. Mary felt so heavy that she couldn’t even scream because she couldn’t find the energy to do so and her tongue weighed down in her mouth, like an anchor at the bottom of the sea.

“DON’T LET GO! DON’T LET GO! DON’T LET GO!”

Mary couldn’t endure it any longer. The screaming and all of the oddities spinning around her made her feel nauseous. It felt like there were small people inside of Mary’s head trying to break out with their tiny, but lethal, hammers.

“DON’T LET GO! DON’T LE―”

Mary succumbed and closed her eyes for what she knew would be her very last time.

The screaming quickly faded as did the sources that produced them. Mary found herself in a familiar and terrifying place. A place she dreaded more than anything else.

She was all alone in a horrid realm where nothing and no one could help her now that the Pattern was no more. The sky was sinister and dark. The grass beneath her bare feet seemed to be silently laughing at her. Each individual blade was guffawing because they all knew Mary didn’t have a chance. Mary burst out into tears as she accepted the foreboding thought that she would soon be forever trapped like everyone else before her who understood.

Something glinted in the distance. For a brief moment Mary had entertained the implausible notion that the Pattern had miraculously returned to help her. As she neared it, she saw what it actually was.

A red balloon.

Apart from the Pattern’s colour, the balloon was the reddest red she had ever seen. She knew it was the last of what was left behind by the Pattern. Maybe Mary did have a chance of surviving and getting away this time.

The balloon was suspended in the air at Mary’s eye level though there was nothing holding the string attached to it to the ground. Mary took hold of the balloon. Unlike anything else in this unnatural world, the balloon felt right, like an over worn sweater that shielded from the biting frost.

Mary could literally feel each individual hair on her body stand on end. That was how it was like here, everything horrible was intensified, sensations included. Mary tried her hardest not to let her magnified sense of panic get to her. She had to find a way out of this ever-changing and wall-less maze.

Prior to this moment, Mary had always had the Pattern to protect and guide her, more so than her parents ever had, or could. She hoped more than anything that the last remaining piece of the Pattern, the balloon, would be enough to get her out. She was utterly doomed otherwise.

She stood in the centre of the safe zone right now, which was an ancient circle outlined by a sapphire, luminescent, and cryptic pattern that pulsated from the ground and was constantly evolving. Mary’s visits to this place became less frequent as the years past and she learned to control falling into the kind of sleep that always led to this, so sometimes Mary would forget that the patterns within the safe zone was magnitudes more complex than that of the Pattern. The ring around the safe zone had patterns within its patterns. Mary suspected that the patterns inside of the safe zone ring were much like the effect that one could observe when two mirrors faced one another. The secrets the patterns in the safe zone ring held made the Pattern look like a one celled organism in comparison.

Indescribable.

Mary knew that the moment she stepped out of the safe zone those things would come for her. She tried not to dwell on the inevitable and closed her eyes hard as she stepped out of the safe zone. At first Mary saw nothing until she noticed particles of a black mist coming from behind her and over her shoulders until the mist reached a hulking opaque mass that stood and swirled viciously in front of her. Trapped inside of the mist were tortured faces that contorted in obscene angles, but at the same time were impossible to look away from. A hand with seven gnarled, spidery fingers reached out from amongst the tormented faces to grab Mary. The dark mist wanted Mary for its collection of lost souls.

She would fit in quite nicely with all the rest who came before her.

The monstrous hand stopped just before it had the chance to skim Mary’s face. An invisible barrier stood in its way; the balloon. The Pattern still protected Mary even though it was long gone. A hideous shriek came from deep within the core of the black mist entity as it slowly began seeping into the ground. Mary was once again alone with the night sky and her balloon.

The Pattern had shown Mary the way out many times before, but the problem was that the route to her freedom changed each time she was thrust into this land of upheaval and doom. Choosing the correct path to take was especially crucial since there lay a sinister demon worse than anything ever humanely imaginable lurking in the shadows somewhere. The Pattern had warned Mary of this by sending her repulsive feelings and understanding of the deplorable creature. The Pattern had never shown Mary what the creature looked like. If the creature had destroyed something like the Pattern then Mary might have gone insane if she knew what to look for. All Mary had knowledge of was that this feared creature was stationary, so as long as she didn’t stumble upon it she had a chance. And she could run if it came to that.

Since Mary found out that the balloon protected her against the ghastly creatures and beasts she would soon encounter, then that meant that the remnants of the Pattern would be able to lead Mary out of the living nightmare she was trapped in. Mary looked up at the splendid red for any sort of hint of which way she should begin walking. She looked and looked but its red surface gave absolutely nothing away. Mary searched for a reflection, anything, that might give her a clue. She was moments away from abandoning her cause and choosing a direction at random when her answer came along in the form of a cool breeze that tickled the back of her exposed neck and arms. Actually the breeze was more of a prickle than a tickle, but Mary foolishly dismissed that.

Mary had never felt the wind blow in these parts of the unknown, so she assumed it was the sign she needed to find her way out. She headed in the direction where the wind was blowing the balloon.

Mary continued on wandering for what felt like hours, of course all real-time perception of time was lost in this place. She couldn’t compare this path out to the other times she had gotten out because the path always changed. It could be a possibility that the malevolent forces that lurked in this place were making Mary feel like this journey was particularly long because they wanted her to begin dappling with the prospect of self-doubt. Regardless, Mary continued on.

There was something more eerie than pushed Mary over the ledge and into the cloud of self-doubt. Apart from the creature (if you could call it that) that Mary had encountered at the very beginning of her journey, she hadn’t seen a single other thing.

That was very strange indeed.

Usually Mary would have been constantly bombarded by ghastly apparitions that made her want to tear her eyes out and scream until the day that she died. Mary did hear the occasional chuckles of mockery that were carried by the wind.

She tightened her grip on the balloon and gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. She savoured it.

Every step that Mary took made her feel more fatigued than the last. It didn’t make much sense to Mary, as this was the only place where she never felt tired. She would have to stop and rest soon. Mary wondered what would happen if she fell asleep in this strange world. She had never considered it before, but maybe if she did, it would bring her back to the place where nobody understood. Mary would try it, not because she was particularly confident in the idea but because she was too utterly exhausted to continue on for the time being.

At first she believed what she saw up ahead to be a mirage because she could have sworn it hadn’t been there a moment ago. She dismissed it as a delayed reaction that was the outcome of her overexertion. The tree was perfect though. There couldn’t have been a better place for her to rest since she could already tell its trunk was massive and would keep her hidden from anything that came her way. It really came into perspective how immense the weeping willow tree really was as Mary reached it.

Something felt very wrong.

Although the wind had stopped blowing, the wispy branches of the barren tree were moving towards Mary, the opposite direction the wind had previously been blowing in. Mary was in a trance as she gazed up at the intricate branches dancing above her head. Some of the string-like bits morphed into the outlines of what looked more like claws than hands. There must have been at least hundreds of them and each one was outstretched towards defenceless, little Mary.

Mary was completely enthralled and mesmerized by the horrific sight. She knew that this was the tree that let her understand. The thing that let the Pattern understand.

That let everything understand.

Mary’s empty hands were both at her sides. She hadn’t even noticed that she had let go of the balloon. The Pattern usually protected and guided Mary. The balloon was part of the Pattern; it protected but did not guide. She had walked right into the birth of sin’s trap. She was placid as she realized she had let go of her protection.

I wish I could say that Mary stared up at her consciousness as it floated away, but she remained transfixed as the menacing fingers that destroyed what little space was left between them and Mary.

Don’t let go, Mary thought.

It was the last thing to ever rattle around in her head.

҈ ҉ ҈

Mary’s mother awoke with an uncharacteristic sense of apprehension that brewed inside the pit of her stomach, like semi-fermented, warm fruit juice left out in the sun.

Mary.

Could the new medication have worked? She slowly opened the door to her daughter’s bedroom. Initial panic leeched into confusion.

In place where Mary should’ve been was a floating balloon. It was the reddest shade of red she’d ever seen. Until now, she had never thought it possible for such an intense shade of red to exist. The string of the balloon wasn’t attached to anything, yet the balloon didn’t float up to the ceiling.

“Mary?” She called tentatively, her voice quivering.

The balloon burst and the sound ricocheted off of the walls in such a way that made Mary’s mother wince.

She finally understood.

Mary had let go.