The Start

1

It happens like a recurring dream.... I’m running through the woods, deep woods, deeper woods than any person who values life should venture. I’m running, running and looking over my shoulders every few seconds, scared out of my wits. What am I running away from? I do not know but I indubitably hope that it doesn’t catch up with me. In my dream I can hear it approaching; the foliage behind me is being destroyed slowly and haphazardly by the seemingly barbarous creature chasing me.

“It’s near! It’s coming!” I shout to the wind, there’s no one else there. If only I had removed this mid 1800s garb that’s restricting my body and legs from making the swiftest strides I can muster. Why am I even dressed in this fashion? What form of costume party did I attend? I am not one known to be fond of these types of follies.

“Ahhh!” the sound escapes my lips before my brain can signal it to seal. I plummet forward, flat on my face. Instinctively, I crawl behind the nearest tree, all the while listening for my ever approaching predator. It is near. He is near. I can feel him! Then I hear the growl and feel its warm breath on my neck.

“It is time!”

That was not a gentle voice. That was a deep, guttural, inhuman growl.

At this point I jerk upright, and realise I’m on my bed, perspiring profusely and gasping for breath. This is the furthest I’ve ever reached in this dream. This is the first time I’ve heard him speak. What is he? I haven’t the slightest clue; but I’ve been running from him at least two nights a month for the past eight months.

A quick glance at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand indicates it is 6:45 am; I should be up now and getting dressed for a fun day at work. I doubt I’d want to sleep more anyway.

I’ve been living alone for the past 3 years and I’ve enjoyed it the utmost, what can I say, I’m more of a solitary soul...but these days I’ve considered more often than before, the possibility of seeking a roommate. I mean, what if he comes one day? There will be no one in my apartment to give testimony that I wasn’t losing my mind.

Wait..... it was just a dream Shana! A vivid, hair raising, bone chilling dream, but....alas.....JUST. A. DREAM.

I must be going crazy. What will Dr Williams think when he hears about me fearing the creatures from my dreams are coming to get me?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My walk to work is rainy and chilly. My raincoat only does so much in ensuring I don’t arrive at the office in a soaked disarray.

“Damned! We’re all damned! Especially you!” I freeze in my soaked high heeled shoes and feel all the blood drain from my face. I can only imagine how pale and ghostlike I must appear now. The damning words were uttered by our resident homeless guy that lurks outside my office building every day. It haunts me, the manner with which he pointed straight at me and shouted my fate.

“He is coming.... he is coming....” He continues, this time chasing my co-worker Ralph Armstrong as he runs out of his taxi and into the building lobby.

“Especially for you Mr Bizzznezzzz Man.... you can’t hide under a shirt and tie forever.” He breaks into a scandalous bout of mirth.

I breathe.... relax.... gasp for breath as though I just ran a marathon.

“He did not mean it for me. Just some high, crazy dude,” I reassure myself not too silently. Just in case, though, every effort is made to avoid said homeless, crazy dude and I’ve already recalculated my route out of the office this evening, ensuring it doesn’t coincide with his.

The office seems its usual boring, quiet place. Everything and everyone is in its usual position. For once in my life, I welcome the normalcy as I sip on a cup of hot chocolate.”

“Shan! Hey, what was with that guy outside? Saw he was around you before. Next time keep your creatures to yourself por favour.”

This has to be the first time Ralph Armstrong has ever even acknowledged my existence.

“No friend of mine. I’m just was annoyed as you are,” I manage in between huge, nervous gulps of scorching hot chocolate.”

Ralph winks and smiles at me, and for a moment I forget all the weirdness of my day.

By the end of that stormy Thursday, I almost found it hilarious that at the start of the day I was petrified over some lame dream I had that clearly was as a result of something I’ve seen on TV months before that must have stayed with me. My mashed potato and smoked salmon dinner and then curling up on my sofa to Bridget Jones’ Diary cast away any eerie feelings that the day brought with it. And then I was off to bed again.

So goes my day .....

At the blink of an eye the weekend came and with it a lot of pressure by my best friend Annie to accompany her jogging on Saturday morning. I haven’t done physical exercises in years and struggle to keep up with Annie...

“Shan! I will leave you behind honey... can’t keep up can we?!” Annie turns smiling to me, stalling while I stop and catch my breath.

“Just go, catch up with you when I can.”

I make my way to the biggest tree in the park and lean against it, slowly sliding down until I am seated at the base where the roots of the gigantic tree are protruding in violent designs. That’s where it hits me. Like a flash of a movie scene, except this scene has a greater effect on me than any movie I’ve ever seen. It’s more of a déjà vu than my imagination. Sitting there, I can almost feel the warm breath of whatever was chasing me in my dream as it’s hiding behind the tree, behind me, and breathing and roaring so that only I can hear. I bolt upright and look around and breathe a deep sigh of relief to note that there’s nothing there. My mind has been tricky these days.

“Everything ok honey?” Annie looks quite concerned.

I must look like I’ve seen a ghost again.

“I’m fine. I should head home. So much chores.”

Annie gives me a doubtful nod and I run all the way to my apartment, ignoring the physical pain of my legs; in fact, running as though my life depended on it.

It’s like a dream that I cannot escape from. Why? Why does everything remind me of that senseless dream? I could spend my entire Saturday wondering these things, or I can open a bottle of wine and toast my loneliness and vivid imagination.

I make my way to the sofa, bottle of merlot in hand. Who said drinking wine and watching TV at 11am on a Saturday is weird?

I awake to my incessant ringing which, once awake, I realise is my house phone. A quick glance at my clock offers an indirect explanation to the constant nag of the ringing.

“Yes?”

“Shannon Margaret Wilkinson! You told me you’d be here by 2 for lunch. Do you have any idea how worried we became? I’ve been calling you for the past 2 hours. Well you know.... your father needs to eat on time, so we’ve already eaten. You make sure to pass by I’ve packed you a box maybe you can eat it for dinner. Made me sick with worry I tell you!”

All without stopping to breathe.

“I’m fine mom, fell asleep is all.”

And she’s gone before without acknowledging my response.

I decide that a walk in the rain over to my parent’s home will probably do me some good and so I set off decked in the first warm hoodie and rain coat my closet coughs up. My parents live on the outskirts of the city, just before it becomes a suburb, around twenty minutes’ walk from my apartment, which is in the middle of a busy but small town east of London.

My head bowed down, I make my way ever so slowly down the sidewalk, past all of the pubs and small cafes which are surprisingly filled with folks, maybe sheltering the unexpected rain? Whatever the purpose, they look exceedingly cosy. I smile at the possibility.

“Watch where you’re going lady!”

Resident homeless man shouts at me as I bump into him.

“Sorry.” I manage to glance a proper look at him for the first time since I’ve seen him around. His eyes are a piercing blue, like an ocean; but not the ocean I’m accustomed to, but rather, a beautiful, warm, glistening in the sun Caribbean ocean. As ridiculous as it sounds, those eyes seem so familiar, and the reason eludes me. his entire appearance seems out of this decade; out of this century. I could picture him walking side by side with me in my recent 1800s dream, as I’ve come to refer to it as. We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, but in reality is a mere 30 seconds, before Homeless Man breaks the silence.

“It’s you?!”

Not sure if that was a question.

“You’re scared? Don’t be scared. Don’t run from him next time. Don’t fight the inevitable.”

“What the....? Please, excuse me.”

I attempt to push my way to the side to avoid this banter.

Homeless Man moves away swiftly and allows me to pass, a move I didn’t expect.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2

The warm shower bursts open with a gentle touch and I allow the warmth to envelope my body and steam to build on the glass, obstructing my view of my bedroom, and, in a sense, allowing me to escape from my normalcy and savour this cocoon.

It’s somewhat of a ritual for me to replay the events of the day while I shower, and oftentimes, sob uncontrollably at my lonely existence. Here I am… two masters degrees, 10 years of corporate success later, and my life is filled with monotony and no great contribution to any other person’s life. I mean… I almost felt a deep connection with a homeless guy today. If that isn’t tragedy, I don’t know what is. So lonely is my existence that I feel like I’ve started to imagine things, and have strange, exciting dreams to compensate for the lack thereof in my life.

The loud sudden ringing of my phone pierces into the silence of my apartment and bolts me out of my reverie.

“I’m coming already!”

Not bothering to wrap a towel over my drenched skin, I swish my way to the nook on the wall, leaving a watery trail to guide me back to my shower.

“HELLO!”

No answer.

Phone cuts.

“Idiots!”

Sigh.

Shower turns on; phone’s ringing restarts.

“Damn you!”

Turns off shower and follows my previous trail to the phone.

“Listen, if you little kids have nothing to do, pick another number to harass ok?”

There is some loud static followed by an automated female voice “Shana… Elizabeth…Wilkinson… born… 1988… parents… Dana and Patrick Wilkinson… dog… Spottie… Died… 2003… food poisoning… Shana… Eliza…”

“Who is this?” I shout to the other end of the line.

My eye brows are tensed together… my breathing accelerated.

“Who the f**k is this?!”

Static.

Line cuts.

I drop to the floor both palms of my hands rubbing furiously at my forehead, as if trying to erase the past three minutes from my mind, the phone dangling from the wall, the consequence of my refusal to return it to its nook.

Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead and slowly thread down my face, an indication of my fright and alarm.

I must have sat on the floor for over an hour. My skin no longer exhibited dampness from showering. I was dry, naked, confused, and scared.

“What is happening to me?” I asked to the blank wall in front of me. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if the wall responded. In fact, I’d most likely welcome the response, and made friends with the wall.

My sobs turn into a sarcastic chuckle as the realisation of the insane conversation in my head emerges.

I know that the following day would bring answers as I no doubt would have a talk with the landlords who would, in turn, seek answers from the telephone company as to whom was harassing their tenant. Until then, I had my wild, adventurous, sometimes overly insane, imagination to keep me company.

Pulling myself together, slowly I made my way to my kitchen, heated some water and brewed some Darjeeling Tea. This small guilty pleasure was often my escape from the sharpness of my days in a cramped office where I seemed to be spinning in circles and not advancing in any real direction.

The Tea in front of me was obtained from one of my trips to Asia during my stint as an investigative journalist. This was before the big break up; the ending of my happy ending. I was a happy journalist back then, uncovering facts and enlightening the world on topics that were previously taboo. I felt a sense of purpose in my life. And Joshua… Joshua was the motivation. He gave me the strength to do everything in my life. He was the sole reason for living. Without him, I felt like mere existence. It’s funny how one sip of tea from a small white cup could reawaken these vivid memories and act as a temporary distraction from my weirdness of that prank call.

I fall asleep with a mixture of incoherent thoughts inhabiting my mind.

Author's Note

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