James' worsening paranoia about the darkness requires mental health counselling.

Story by Jess Yeoman

Narrated by Jess Yeoman

Foreword and Afterword by Joe Morin

Edited by Joe Morin

THE PROMPT

A guy is afraid of his own shadow... for a good reason.

THE STORY

The Fear

Head to Head Project

Jess Yeoman

James sliced slowly, thoughtfully through his Grade A steak, readying a near-perfect bite. A sip of red wine to follow, always red wine with red meat, or at least so he had been told. His stunning date sat across from him, prodding her green beans around her plate playfully.

“So, James…”

“Mm?” He responded, barely looking up from his plate.

She gazed at him with a sheepish smile, and he knew what was going to come next. Always the same questions on these dates, and no new answers, from either party involved.

“Well, it’s just, you seem to be quite successful, with the whole Wall Street-bank-thing,” she gestured vaguely with her hands as she spoke.

“Insurance,” James said, clearing his throat. “I work in insurance”. Why was the music in this restaurant so damn loud? It was a string quartet, fitting for such a stylish restaurant, but in James' ears it was like radio static, dissonant and distracting.

“Ah, right.” The young woman looked somewhat defeated, but plodded on.

“So you seem to be doing extremely well in insurance, you’ve got fancy degrees under your belt and, well…” she chuckled and paused, hesitant to play all her cards upfront. “On top of that, you’re quite a dreamboat.”

This caught James’ attention, as he looked his date in the eye for perhaps the first time that evening.

“I feel you’re working your way towards a point, shall we get there together before our dinner turns cold?”

The young woman’s eyes fell to her lap, and she let out a small breath. Realizing he had been too harsh, James took a sip of his wine and sat back in his upholstered chair, attempting to soften his composure. The bright lights, amplified by mirrors hanging on every free scrap of wall in the crisp white dining space, were beginning to give him a headache, and likely the wine wasn’t helping either, but he knew it was only fair to play this evening out to the end.

“Sorry, dear, I only meant that I think I know what you’re getting at. Please, continue.”

“Well, I was just going to say that despite doing quite well for yourself, in basically every part of life that counts, nobody really sees you out,” she replied, emphasizing the last word in quotation marks with her fingers.

James paused to digest her words, searching his steak for a good way to respond. It felt like she already knew the answer, though; surely his reputation had preceded him, surely she had heard stories. He sat forward once more, folding his hands in front of himself, and brought his gaze back to his date. She really was beautiful, a modern kind of beauty with some hints of old-money upbringing. Her chocolate curls hugged her cheekbones, and the string of pearls around her neck reflected every sparkle of light in the place. Perhaps she had a point, perhaps coming out of his cave would be alright now and then, as he took in all the light around him.

“Well, it’s really just-” James cut off abruptly. An uncomfortable, familiar chill ran through his core as he looked beyond his date, catching sight of himself in one of the infinite mirrors in the room. The white light bouncing between mirrors and sconces and chandeliers left James disoriented as he stared, but even as he tilted his head to see clearer past the young woman’s shoulder, there was one unmistakable fact: His reflection stared right back for just a second too long, unmoving, unblinking, uncanny.

“So, let’s go over this once more. I know we’ve chatted about it countless times, but I really just need to make sure you’re progressing.”

The vintage furniture pieces and gently ticking clock brought a sliver of comfort to the otherwise unwelcoming room. James was tired of pretending, tired of putting on a show to convince his therapist that he was just fine, but here they were again. The woman waited patiently for James to respond, and when he didn’t, she persisted.

“Look, James, it’s really just my job…You don’t have to enjoy these sessions, but you do need to participate in them, at least enough for me to cross the i’s and dot the t’s”. James looked up at this slip-up, and she winked at him. He didn’t enjoy their time together, no, but he did respect her and her career. For her, he would keep trying.

“As a kid, I was afraid of the dark, as many children are. As a teen, however, this fear only grew stronger, and by young adulthood it became unmanageable.” It was difficult to say the words out loud without sounding too scripted or rehearsed, but that’s exactly what they were: rehearsed, twisted and repeated a million times until the response became an acceptable one.

“Living alone as an adult, I found I had much more freedom to manipulate my surroundings, to make life more comfortable and to eliminate any of that potential darkness. I began to experience symptoms related to paranoid schizophrenia, and began practicing repetitive actions in hopes of protecting myself, similar to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” See, he was even getting the medical terms down now, too.

The therapist nodded lightly, following along with her notes as James spoke.

“And as time went on, did you find these compulsions had an impact on your day-to-day life?”

James had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. She already knew the story, why did they need to play this stupid game again? Just because he wasn’t able to hide his nerves at the restaurant the other night, didn’t mean he was out of control. He was a pro by now, with years of experience pulling himself out of the darkness, fighting with shadows and making his own light. He always made it through by whatever means necessary, for as long as he could remember, and he certainly didn’t need a therapist to rub it in his face that everyone around him thought he was fit for an asylum.

The therapist could sense a shift in James’ demeanour, his cool exterior slipping to reveal a fidgety, agitated young man. His eyes shifted around the room, stopping at every dark corner as he processed whatever troubled thoughts must be circulating his mind. She felt somewhat guilty spurring him on like this, but being assigned to his case to monitor his well-being, she had to follow through with the questioning, no matter how difficult. She had seen a number of cases like his, of course, but James had always stood out to her as being unique, especially after the last several years of their sessions together. The elaborate stories, the coping mechanisms, the overactive imagination, it all felt different somehow from her other clients. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and it was nearly undetectable, but something was there.

James took a deep breath, and as if nothing had changed, regained his previous composure. A practiced smile appeared on his face as he responded.

“My compulsions were at one point a challenge in my daily life, true, but they were a challenge that I have overcome. I no longer require my apartment lights to be turned on at all hours of the day, I am able to stay at the office alone after hours as needed, and I even enjoy some nightlife on the rare occasion.” He hoped keeping things casual would help to lighten the mood of their session, as well as to wrap things up a bit quicker. All she needed was to hear the right answers, after all.

The therapist looked at James, scanning his face for any clues into his real, unfiltered self, but came out empty handed. Reviewing her notes one last time, a thought sprang to mind, and she framed her next question carefully.

“The mirror though… That’s new?”

The forced smile dropped from James’ face.

“What?”

Concerned of possibly pushing her client too far, and conscious of the limitations of her job, the therapist hesitated.

“I feel like we’ve only ever talked about your fear of the dark, but it seems like there wouldn’t have been any of your regular triggers at the restaurant that night. Those who saw you out at that time reported your reaction to some mirrors, or maybe to your own reflection.”

James swallowed hard. The mirror was new.

The air seemed to thicken between the therapist and her client, and she could feel that she had pushed a button that maybe even James didn’t know existed.

James stood alone in the elevator of his apartment complex, the dim lighting getting under his skin; not dark enough to cause unease, but also not bright enough to be at all useful. He held his keys tightly as he turned them in the lock of his unit, keeping them from jingling in an attempt to maintain the silence he had finally recovered in his mind.

His apartment was just as he had left it, arranged and coordinated in a way he had perfected over years of trial and error. The standard pot lights of the unit were on and gave a reasonable glow to his home, but the real illumination came from a variety of bulbs that had been hung in a methodical, concentric pattern. It was always a bit overwhelming at first glance, but James’ eyes adjusted quickly as he settled into his safety.

His cellphone rang, startling him. “Mom” appeared on the screen. With a deep breath, James swiped to answer the call.

“Jamie, baby! How are you?”

“Hi, Mom. I’m ok, but please, just ‘James’…” He hadn’t been called that name in a very long time, and he planned to keep it that way.

“Oh, sorry honey, I always forget,” his mom chuckled. “I’m just calling to check in on you! It’s been so long since we’ve gabbed.”

James couldn’t help but smile. No matter where life had brought them, his mother would always be there, trying her best.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Mom, just been crazy lately.” If only she had any idea what he had been going through. She didn’t know that even after all these years, after all the seeking help and all the work he had done on himself, the Fear remained. It was easier just to chalk it all up to work, or the dating life, or whatever other trivial things mothers concerned themselves with.

“Of course, I can only imagine! You’re really moving up in the world, kiddo.”

James winced at the pet name. He hated it. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he was an adult, he had his own place, he had control.

“Mom, please.” He bit his tongue, trying to keep from being harsh, she didn’t deserve that.

“What, are those higher-ups giving you a hard time again? You pay them no mind, you do what you gotta do, be true to you, honey.”

James had hoped she wouldn’t remember the slight conflict he found himself caught up in when he was first promoted to his new position. The guys in the upper management jobs loved to razz him for being a so-called “softie”, jabbing at him to get his shit together if he wanted to swim with the big fish. Those jabs may have been meant as a light hazing, but they reopened scar tissue that had taken years to heal.

“Nah, it’s not that, Mom.”

“Listen, baby, you can’t take all that to heart. I know that when you were a kid…” His mother trailed off, picking her words delicately. “Well, I know things weren’t always easy. He didn’t know what he was doing, your father. He said some things, did some things… He was too harsh, but he didn’t know.”

A loud POP cracked the air as one of the bulbs overhead shattered, sending tiny crystal shards flying across the room. The broken bulb swung, knocking into the many others hung close by, casting light in all directions in a rhythmic, eerie sway. James could scarcely hear his mother’s muffled voice on the phone as the light and shadows danced. He held his breath as he watched the shadows grow longer, taking over the floor and walls, noticing his own shadow begin to tower above him. He stumbled in terror, barely catching himself on the polished granite countertop, and gazed up at the hands of his shadow thrashing at the walls, eager to break free. The shadow’s hands lunged at James, shoving him to the floor and knocking him out cold.

“Look at this kid,” a man’s deep voice boomed in the void. “Such a wuss, an embarrassment, a COWARD!”

James heard his mother’s tears faintly in the distance.

“Get up, kid!” the man shouted.

James awoke with a start, finding his apartment much darker than before his collapse. It seemed that the power surge had taken out a large portion of his cherished lights. This was exactly what James had dreaded; the Fear had been there before, had always been there, but now it was… changing, evolving. It felt like in spite of all the success earned, the wealth accumulated, the power attained, The Fear was still growing stronger.

James set to work, still shaky from his encounter but more determined than ever. Tearing open his bedroom closet, he uncovered countless home video cameras, decades old, that miraculously still worked. He had tracked them down from every local pawn shop he could find, for some reason the old technology felt more secure than any cellphone money could buy. The idea initially came from his therapist, who suggested James film his hallucinations to provide assurance that they were not in fact real, and that he was not in any danger. This was an intelligent theory, and though he hated to admit it, he trusted his therapist’s judgment deeply; now that he really thought of it, she was perhaps one of the only people he could trust. But The Fear was real, the danger was real, and he needed proof once and for all, for himself and for all those who wouldn’t listen, or wouldn’t see.

James figured the place must have looked insane to any outside viewer, but what did he have to lose? At least his money was finally useful for something. The spiral of broken light bulbs on his ceiling had been removed, and replaced with brighter, hotter ones. With every camcorder pointed in every possible angle, and every light in the apartment turned on once again, it looked a bit like the set of some demented talk-show; James couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Next was just the wait, which he knew would not be long.

James felt a chill run through his veins as the power surged just as before, only stronger this time. The circle of lights overhead went from bright to blinding in seconds, and once again exploded, fragments of glass and metal shooting in every direction. The only remaining light in the apartment came from a handful of tealights and candles, and the faint glow of the camcorder screens, providing barely enough light to see his hands in front of his face. As his eyes adjusted to the now dim room, James felt the same chill creep up his neck, like icy fingers inching closer to his jaw, pulling his face towards the darkness cast by his own Shadow.

“Did you think you could overcome me?” The Shadow asked in a hoarse whisper.

James could feel the grip of The Shadow tightening, digging into his skin, and watched as the soft comfort of light disappeared.

“Did you think that after all these years, you could finally best me, your own image? Do you think you are immune to The Fear?”

James screamed as The Shadow’s claws dug deeper. His head jerked back stiffly, and the void of The Fear filled his mind.

James looked around his room, astronaut-print wallpaper peeling along the trim and a single night light struggling to illuminate the dingy space. His hands reached up to feel hot tears on his cheeks, his ears burning despite the cold draft sneaking through cracks in his windowsill. His eyes searched the dark for answers, but it only filled his small heart with despair.

He looked up to see his Father leering, smirking, laughing at him. Father reached down to James, yanking him up by the collar of his pyjamas, huge hands bringing him level to icy, grey eyes. James could feel the anger in his Father’s breath.

“Look at this kid, pathetic,” Father sneered. “Afraid of your own shadow.”