Migraines

Ever since we were children, my brother always had the worst migraines. When he was 5, there would be nights where he was up all night screaming in excruciating pain. The lights were turned off and he had an ice pack over his eyes, but it didn’t seem to help much. The next morning he would wake completely disoriented and groggy.

He would have these attacks nearly 5 times a week, so by the time he was 7, the doctors at Saint John’s Hospital knew him as a regular patient. He was seen almost every other week for his pain; the white walls soon became his home and the buzzing of the lights became his music.

Our parents had him pretty late, all things considered, so there was a significant age gap between the two of us. I always felt more like a parent to him than they were, due to them never being there. Sure they’d take him to some of the appointments, but they wouldn’t be home for his screams of agony nor to teach him what he missed in school when he was absent.

I was ten years older than Michael, so I would miss school to take care of him during his episodes, which he had more often than not. Our father would look at us and say,

“We can’t get out of work just because your brother fakes being sick. No one gets migraines that are that painful and that often with nothing to show for it. You remember what the MRI showed don’t you?”

Of course we knew the MRI had shown nothing wrong in his brain but our father was just trying to be an asshole. Eventually, the poor kid just stopped looking for their affection. He was tired of feeling like a disappointment and a failure simply for his condition. It wasn’t his fault that his migraines had gotten even worse over the years.

At this point, he was 10 years old and no longer enrolled in public school. Our father had left and our mother drank herself into an early grave shortly afterwards. Michael didn’t seem too heartbroken. I guess it was hard to grieve someone you barely knew.

To be honest, I don’t think they ever really wanted to be parents in the first place and the second child just sent them spiraling. Of course that doesn’t excuse their behavior, but I always thought that things could have been different if I was never around. Maybe then they would have been happy and we would have been born to a family that wanted us. All I knew was that I couldn’t fail Michael like they did, I had to be better for him.

I was made his legal guardian after our mother’s funeral. He returned to his normal self after a few months, but he was still affected by it, even if he didn’t show it with words.

The poor boy was still having nightmarish migraines almost every day. He would vomit for hours, his vision became tunneled, and he would shake violently until it stopped. Often, he’d wake up with the same pain as the day before until it became normal to him and the screaming stopped. He could barely see anymore, however, he’d often complain of strange visions. One day as I was working in my room, he had stumbled through the door. His short black hair was a complete mess. His pale skin looked even paler. He barely looked like the Michael Edwards I knew at all.

“Danny? I don’t feel well” he said.

“What’s different this time, bud? Is it worse than normal?”

“I don’t mean it hurts worse but…I’m scared” he said with watering eyes.

“Mikey it’ll be alright, just try to get some rest okay?”

“Danny… there’s a man in my room”.

The hair on the back of my neck shot up and my skin felt cold. If there was a man in his room, why didn’t he lead with that? Where was he now? Where was my gun? “Stay here”, I said after grabbing the pistol from my drawer.

When I walked into his room, everything looked normal. His Marvel poster was on his wall and his bed looked normal. The mundane beige on the walls was making me feel a bit uneasy though, yet thankfully no sign of the man he talked about.

“I could have sworn there was a man there Danny.. he had a really long gray face. He wore a black coat and hat. His face looked blurry but he just stood there like he wanted to hurt me. Please believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know you wouldn’t” I said, “I don’t know what you saw, but it’s gone now. Go back to bed kiddo”.

***

He walked into the living room the next morning while I was at the table eating breakfast. I told him I had made pancakes if he wanted any. He said thank you, made himself a plate, and sat down.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked him.

“Well”, he said while looking away from me, “the man never went away until I fell asleep. He just sat there staring at me all night.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Jesus, kid, you wouldn’t bother me” I said. I knew that wasn’t true and I hated myself for having thought it.

“Look, I’m sorry Mike. I don’t want you to feel that way. Especially if you’re scared. I love you and I’m sorry you had to go through that by yourself.”

He nodded and finished eating his pancakes. I thought about saying something else to him, but the words were caught in my throat. He scratched his eyes and turned away from the open blinds. I stood up and closed them.

Apparently his light sensitivity had gotten worse. It never used to be that bad, but now he couldn’t even look outside without searing pain. He had to have custom prescription sunglasses made just to set foot outside the parameters of the apartment.

The sunglasses helped give him a slightly better quality of life, but in general, he never would have been like the other children. His migraines had progressed so horribly that he couldn’t even attend school anymore. I had withdrawn him and homeschooled him for the past year. “Mikey I believe you, I just can’t see the man you’re talking about. Do you want to sleep on the couch or switch rooms?” I said. He smiled a little at that.

“I think I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I nodded.

“Danny, do you ever miss dad?”

This question took me by surprise, he never talked about our father.

Stuttering, I replied, “Yeah. Sometimes I do. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I just wish I knew what caused him to leave.”

“Me too bud, but sometimes people just can’t handle responsibility. They’d rather pass it off to their children to bear what they couldn’t.”

“Did he leave because of me? Am I why mom died?”

“Of course not. Don’t think that way. You’re a survivor. You were strong when they weren’t. You are the strongest kid I know and you know what?”

“What?”, he asked.

“We don’t lose. We don’t fail. We have each other.”

He didn’t reply, instead he smiled, nodded his head in agreement, and walked to his room. I wish I had half the strength that he did. Honestly, he always seemed to handle grief better than anyone, but especially myself. I wore my heart on my sleeve but he always seemed strong enough to hold it in.

He’d often ask me if something was wrong with him. I would tell him nothing showed up in the MRI and the doctors all said no. He never believed me, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say to him. I wish I had the answers for his pain, I hated seeing him like that. He didn’t deserve any of it.

***

Later the next day, his head was in so much pain that he was seeing visions again. I was told by his doctor that it was normal for someone with migraines as severe as his, so I tried not to think too much about it. However, he would mutter incomprehensible things while in these states that completely baffled me.

I recorded several statements he made, but most of them included the phrase “He is the gate and the key”. It made no sense whatsoever and weirder yet, he had no memory once he returned to his normal self. He would give me a dumbfounded expression and question why he was standing at all. I had shaken him awake numerous times and each time he lost a little bit more of himself for the rest of the day.

I remember one time, while I was teaching him how to analyze texts, he had begun slurring his words.

“I dun remember th’ one” he told me.

“Mikey, are you alright? Have you gotten into something?”

“I um fine ‘dad’, dun worry bout me”.

“What the hell is going on with you? You’re not doing drugs are you?”

“Is not drugs”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s hard to rember things”

I gave him a concerned look. It wasn’t like him to act this way at all and it was certainly not like a ten year old boy. I hoped he hadn’t had a stroke. I prayed for anything but that. He muttered some strange unknown words to himself.

“Get in the car, I’m taking you to the hospital”.

“Awh not agun. They won help”.

“Just go”.

I drove him to Saint John’s Hospital’s emergency room. He was staring into space with his mouth agape. He didn’t seem entirely there at all, more like a shell of who he was. I drove a little faster. He vomited all over my backseat.

“Danny? What’s going on?” He asked me somehow.

“What are you talking about? I'm taking you to the ER. You blanked out and started slurring. You even told me you had a hard time with your memory.”

“Well that last one checks out, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I am not going to argue about what I saw. You weren’t you.”

“Oh? Then who was I? I hope I was Captain America!”

“This isn’t the time to fuck with me”.

He looked understandably shook by that response. He hid away a little and that made me feel a little guilty, but I was pissed, scared, and confused.

“Look, I’m sorry for yelling at you. You scared the hell out of me. I’m still taking you to be seen. I won’t risk anything. You sounded like you were having a stroke, Michael.”

He nodded and remained silent the rest of the way to the hospital.

The hospital was as good as any in Wansborough, Illinois. The parking lot was a pit of erosion. The trees entombing the building were rotted and misshapen with a color that was almost black. The building itself was riddled with bullet holes in the glass windows and every last wall was a beige or off-white. The faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights was maddening.

I told them he needed to be seen for symptoms of a possible stroke, but they already checked him into the system the second they saw him coming up the stairs outside. They knew what to expect with Michael’s condition, but that doesn’t mean they were prepared for it. They haven’t seemed to do a thing to help him over the years.

After a long wait, we were called back to the room. Michael stumbled while standing and grabbed the arm of the wooden chair. I went to ask if he was fine but he nodded his head already.

“So what seems to be the problem today, Daniel? More migraines?” Doctor Martnik asked.

“That’s every day, John” I said, “this was much worse. He seemed to be having a stroke, he slurred his words, his face was drooping, and he looked even paler than normal.” We both figured years ago that we may as well use each other’s first names, since we were here so often that we had become friends.

“Hm.” he replied.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked, a little more than annoyed.

“It isn’t that. It’s that he doesn’t have any symptoms at all right now. If you have a stroke, you don’t just bounce back to normal in a few minutes. Especially if you’re ten. If he had that, he wouldn’t be standing here with us. He’d be in a much worse condition. Have you thought that he was simply in pain again, Daniel?”

“Of course I have, but that wasn’t normal pain. He also said something he doesn’t remember. Honestly, I don’t think it was even English.”

“Like what? What sentence?”

I told him the closest thing to what I heard him say.

I’ll never forget that man’s face for as long as I live. It was like he saw a ghost or some ineffable horror. He stepped back from us, grabbing his chest.

“Get out” he said, nearly out of breath.

“Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?” I replied.

“Leave and never come back. I’ll never be involved with that again for as long as I breathe. Horror follows your brother. I’m sorry to say it as bluntly as this, but he’s as good as dead.”

Michael started crying and I balled up my fists. What kind of monster says that to a 10 year old, especially one that he cared about? I should have just punched him in the face, but thankfully and to my surprise, my brother was more mature than I was at that moment. He grabbed me by the shoulder and said we should leave. I figured he was probably right, even though I hated leaving without hurting this man. We drove home in complete silence.

***

Over the next few months, we continued schooling as usual. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that happened to Michael. He never uttered that incomprehensible phrase again, but his migraines never went away.

He walked out of his room, gave me a smile, and said good morning. It was nice to see him happy for once. I hoped that it would last, but I had unbearable anxiety that it wouldn’t. Nothing good ever seemed to stick around with us. I just wished I could do good for him.

All I wanted was to give him a good life. He never deserved all of the pain that he had endured, and if I could have done anything to take it away from him, I would have. I had taken out multiple loans to pay for his medication and his treatment. Of course, this was through another doctor, we would never have returned to that man after the way he treated Michael.

I still could not shake what he said to us. The look of horror on that man’s face was indescribable. He knew exactly what my brother was talking about, but refused to speak about it. I had tried calling him multiple times, but he always let it go to voicemail. I thought that today would be the last of that.

I looked at Michael and knew what I had to do. The poor kid carried a strong demeanor, but I knew it must be a struggle every day of his life. Often he’d still wake up screaming and crying. When I would ask him what was wrong, he began stuttering and his words became jumbled. I knew that trying to get him to explain would be to no avail.

I asked him to stay at home for a few hours while I went to check on something. Of course I wasn’t going to tell him that I planned on checking out the doctor. He would only freak out and tell me it wasn’t worth it. Honestly, he was probably right. I doubted he would tell me anything about what he knew, but if there was even a fraction of a chance to cure him, it was worth it to me.

I left the apartment and got into my black Chevy Impala. It was as old as I was, but at least it was still kicking. Unlike myself, it still had its get up and go. I had maintained it as well as I maintained myself so I had no idea how it still worked.

I drove twenty minutes away to Saint John’s Hospital. The sky was engulfed in a dark gray cacophony of clouds. Thunder accompanied the foreboding wind and rain struck me in the forehead. I walked through the door of the building and to the ancient and antique desk. The old woman at the desk woke up from her nap and slapped the fly away that made its home on her face.

“Can I help you Mr. Edwards?” she asked in her raspy cigarette-ridden voice.

“I need to talk to Dr. Martnik.”

“He isn’t here. He has been on vacation for a few weeks now.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Luckily for me, I knew his home address. I left the hospital and made my way past the stray dog outside. It growled and showed its teeth at me. I walked faster to my car, but I was ready to defend myself. I carried my handgun on my waist in case I had to unfortunately use it. Thankfully it didn’t bother me and I entered my car without a problem.

I drove to John’s house in the growing storm. The rain had begun to slam onto my windshield with enough force to sound like coins hitting glass. The fog had encroached on the road like an invasive tumor, seeking to drown out all light with it. I hoped that Michael was alright and not too worried.

There were no other cars on the highway, so it gave me the feeling that I was doing something incredibly foolish. I had never felt more alone than I did at this moment. The sporadic flashes of lightning were my only sources of light as I drove, so I drove slowly and without guidance.

I finally made it to the doctor’s house and saw his Audi in the driveway and a faint light in the kitchen. I peaked in the window, but didn’t see him. I knocked on the door several times, but he never answered. I called his personal phone number again and heard it ring outside in the bush. What the fuck? I thought.

I noticed the front door was cracked open, so I went inside. It was eerily quiet inside the dimly lit living room. His yellow wallpaper was shifting in and out of focus in my vision. I cannot accurately describe it. The wallpaper was grotesque, vile, and an insult to all creation. It was like someone spit in the face of reason.

Looking at it was mesmerizing. If I kept staring at it, I’m sure I would lose all of my senses and become lost in its disgusting beauty. It made no sense at all, but I felt if I kept looking at this, I would go mad. I snapped out of it and pushed myself away from the wall.

I could see in the dim candlelight that the carpet was oil stained and swarming with roaches. Was this really the house of a doctor? I couldn’t quite make out the layout of the home, but I forced my way through the darkness.

I tried turning on the lights, but it seemed someone turned off the power to the house. That would explain the candles, but what explained the silence? It was as if this home was where all energy went to die.

The smell was god awful. It was like a fruity smell mixed with fresh pus. I held my vomit in my mouth and swallowed it as I continued walking through the house. I called his name several times, but heard nothing. My stomach was in knots from both the smell and the dread of the home. I had a terrible feeling that what I was about to witness would change my life.

I turned the corner, stepping past the decrepit chairs and the moldy vegetables, and found the staircase. The railing was made of a rotting wood that was likely some form of oak and the stairs themselves were some unnameable green wood.

I made my way up the creaking stairs, pistol in hand. The smell had gotten worse and my nausea was almost unbearable. My heart rate must have increased threefold. 10 heartbeats later, I found a nearly closed door.

A swarm of flies flew back and forth from the opening, biting me in the neck as I held my hand over my nose. Holding my breath, I slowly pushed the door open. The sound of strained rope and the sight of swinging legs took hold of all of my focus and my stomach finally emptied.

***

My return home was much later than expected that night. I didn’t know how to explain to Michael what happened to his doctor and someone we once called friend. I didn’t even have any further explanation for his condition, nor the strange reaction that Dr. Martnik had when I told him what Michael said during his episode.

I didn’t have anything to help either one of them, so I laid on the storm-soaked ground and wept. I had nothing to help him. Our parents were gone, I made barely enough money to afford for us to live, and the only man who could have given us answers is dead.

It was difficult to force myself through the front door and face my brother with empty hands. He didn’t even know where I went, how would I explain to him what I witnessed? He would think me crazy for even doing what I did, so I just kept it to myself.

Luckily, he was already sleeping at this point. He would have no idea what I had seen. There was no reason to tell him, why bother and worry him even more when he was finally happy? Of course however, happiness didn’t last.

***

I was woken in the middle of the night by a bloodcurdling scream. I shot out of bed and sprinted to Michael’s room. He was scratching at his eyes violently and screaming, “It’s in my head! They’re eating my eyes! The flutes of chaos sing over the mountains of madness! It’s horrible…unnameable. It has no shape, a god-shaped hole. The end of reason. Oh God above, help me!”

I restrained the boy’s arms and yelled at him to wake up. He thrashed about with more force than I’d ever seen in a ten year old. Michael’s ears began to bleed and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. I shook him desperately trying to wake him up. He finally stopped flailing about and lowered his arms. He vomited to the side and turned back to look at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Danny? What are you doing here?” he asked, trembling.

“What am I doing here? You were having a night terror again! You don’t remember?”

“N..no. I remember vomiting and then waking up. Danny… you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you? Me? Mike you had me worried fucking sick” I said with tears in my eyes.

“I’m sorry brother. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know I always do this. I wish I didn’t.”

That one hurt me. I didn’t mean for him to feel this way and I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I didn’t say that. Instead, like an idiotic asshole, I said,

“Well, maybe if you were just fucking normal, we wouldn’t have to be here! Why aren’t you getting better? We’ve been to the doctor many times and still, nothing! They don’t even know what’s wrong with you, but I still try and try to help you, but I can’t! I can’t fix you damn it! I’m not your dad and I’m not a miracle worker!”

The look in his eyes was one of a broken child. It was the fear he’s always held deep within and I just made it come true. Effectively abandoning him, I had crushed my brother whom I loved because of my own issues. It wasn’t his fault that he was sick, but I took out all of my pain, my anger, my guilt on the only person I loved.

I started to say, “Mikey, I’m…” but he had already left the room and ran to his usual spot outside. I knew where he was, but I didn’t follow him. He needed to be away from me and I would only make it worse.

***

He didn’t talk to me for a few days after that. Progressively however, his migraines had gotten worse. I’d heard him shrieking again and again, but when I tried to open the door, it was locked. He’d rather have been alone during those times than with me helping him, and I supposed it was well deserved.

I let him be for a few nights, against my better judgment. I convinced myself that it would be better without me there, but I knew deep down it wasn’t true. I finally knocked on the door after a few days and he answered.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I just wanted to..”

“Save it,” he interrupted, “you don’t want to be around me and you know it. You’re just like our parents”, sounding shockingly older than usual.

“Mikey, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

Michael grabbed his head in pain and his eye twitched.

“You are sick of me… just like they were!”

“I’m not sick of you! You’re my brother and always will be.”

“Get out!” he shouted at me.

“Fine. I’m going on a walk.”

He slammed the door behind me.

***

I walked outside in the darkness. It was pouring rain again, but I didn’t care. I needed this walk.

The wind was howling with the sound of a low flute and the air felt cold as ice on my skin. I felt the helpless pain of regret and sorrow as I continued on through the dimly lit sidewalk. The trees with fallen leaves on both sides of the path enclosed me like skeletal hands while I walked the sidewalk.

I didn’t care anymore. I knew it was impossible to help Michael, even before he hated me. I thought of every way possible to make it up to him, to tell him I’m sorry, to show him I’m not our father. Nothing seemed to be a good idea, God, I just felt so powerless.

I turned the corner and spotted a man in the distance sitting on the sidewalk in the middle of the rain. His back was facing me and he looked frail and weak. His clothes were torn and ragged, but he seemed harmless enough. I walked in his direction and tried to go around him, but he quickly turned to me. Upon seeing him, I gasped in horror. Both of his eyes were ripped out of his skull and dry blood covered the empty voids where they used to be.

In a voice that sounded like nails on glass, he said, “He’s heard the whispers. I can smell it on you.”

Sweat covered my forehead and rage filled my heart, but I was also frozen in place, helpless to do anything against this horror of a man.

“He is the gate and the key to eternal life” he croaked while laughing.

The man turned and disappeared behind the shadow of a gnarled tree. I ran after him, but he was already gone. I had no idea what he meant by his words, but one thing was for certain: Michael was in danger. I sprinted the entire mile back home.

Michael’s bike was here. Good, he’s home. I ran and threw the apartment door open. It smelled the same as the smell in John’s house, rancid meat and fresh fruit, the smell of death.

I sprinted up the stairs as fast as I could and threw his door open, but he wasn’t there. I went back downstairs and searched every room that I could but didn’t find him. I overturned the furniture, checked behind the curtains, and shouted for him. He was nowhere to be found and I became frantic.

I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him, so I prayed to find him. It was my responsibility to take care of him and I couldn’t fail. He was more important to me than anything in the world and I betrayed him. I left him alone when he needed me the most. I begged whoever would listen to not let it end that way.

The feeling of flies biting the back of my neck made me turn around, and I saw Michael looking in the living room mirror. It seemed like he didn’t even recognize himself, he looked sullen and remorseful.

I ran to him and gave him a hug, but he didn’t even move. Instead he just looked in the mirror with a blank, mournful expression.

“Mikey… are you alright?” I asked him.

“Daniel, please believe that I tried to stop them. To stop…this” he said while looking down at his trembling hands, “I never wanted this. The host wasn’t supposed to be him”.