TURN AROUND: By Chris Allinotte
Thursday, September 16th, 2010Madness is following me.
I’m not being dramatic. There is something following me that wants me to go insane. I don’t know if it’s a ghost, or a demon, or if it even has a name, but it’s there. I know it is.
I started feeling it about a month ago. You know that sensation you get on the subway, or even just walking down the street – that absolute certainty that someone’s watching you? It starts as a prickling, at the base of your neck then the tips of your ears get hot, you start to breathe more rapidly, and your heart speeds up. That’s what it feels like for me all the time. All I have to do is turn around, and it’ll be over, and I’ll be insane.
That’s the rule. Don’t ask me how I know, I can’t tell you. It, whatever it is, needs that moment of surprise. It needs me to whirl around and see it. That’s how I’ve managed to stay a step ahead – I don’t turn around anymore. What I do instead is turn left, and take one step. Then I turn left and take one step. If I’m travelling, at least a little bit, it can’t catch me by surprise. That’s what it needs.
“What about mirrors?” you might ask; I thought of that. Of course I did. It’s no good. It’s the same as turning left – if I’m not actively turning to confront it, it won’t be seen.
It drove my wife, Patricia crazy. I’d have to do a circle of the bedroom just to change my shirt. She insisted I see a shrink. I saw three of them, it never lasted. They each asked me to shut the door behind me, and I told them to go fuck themselves. The last one caught on, and closed it for me. After listening to my story though, he prescribed Zoloft, and, as I was leaving, called my name. I took a couple of lefts, and told him where to go too.
When Patty found out that I stopped going, she left me for good. It was about three weeks ago now, and whatever this thing, this phenomenon is – it’s getting worse. I don’t know how much longer I can last.
The thing plays tricks, too. Two weeks ago, I was in the mall, and suddenly I was smelling Kelly McNeil’s perfume. It was that light vanilla scent that was so big in the nineties. The smell seemed to suddenly be all around me, and I was barraged by memories: nuzzling Kelly’s neck, the taste of her skin, and the feel of her lips. For a few seconds, I could even feel her breath on my neck. Hell, I could even smell the sour apple candies she was always eating. I didn’t turn around. That was hard.
It was even harder last week, when suddenly someone stuck a gun in my back.
“Turn around,” said a gruff man’s voice. “Or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
I didn’t turn around, and it eventually went away – though I’d say I’m well and truly screwed if I get mugged for real.
Now, the thing has stopped playing tricks. It’s realized that pushing me makes it easier to resist. Instead, it’s just there, prickling my neck, heating my ear tips, and it’s never gone. I sleep on my back, and it feels like it’s in the mattress, watching me.
Yesterday was my last day at work. They cited downsizing, but it’s obvious. Looking back just briefly at the way I’ve behaved – turning my desk around so everyone has to approach me in profile, and breathing hard almost all the time, because I can feel the presence there, just … fucking … staring at me.
I’d have fired me in an instant.
I’m making this recording because it’s over. The thing wants me insane, and I’m really close. In trying to save my mind, I’ve become obsessed. It won’t let me stop thinking about it. Everywhere I go, no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, it’s there. When I sit down in the bathroom, it’s perched on the goddamned toilet tank behind me.
So … I’m going to turn around, and face whatever this beast, demon, ghost, whatever it is. I’m sorry Patty. Maybe, once someone finds me, and checks me into an asylum someplace, I’ll get well one day, and try to give you a call. I love you.
I’m turning around now.
…
Huh…
How about that? It’s a puppy.
Just a cute little brown and black puppy, sitting there with his tongue hanging out. Looks like he’s smiling too.
Imagine that. Holy shit.
I’ve been so scared, and it’s just been this … this puppy … this cute little puppy following me all along.
Just a puppy.
Hee hee.
Just a puppy. I can’t believe it!
Just a puppy.
…
Just … a puppy?
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©2010 Chris Allinotte
Chris Allinotte lives in Toronto, Ontario, with his wife and children. His work has most recently appeared in the anthologies “Ghosts and Demons” by Static Movement, and “Novus Creatura” by Aurora Wolf Publishing. Chris blogs about his writing at http://chrisallinotte.blogspot.com