The Demon Inside
So as you know, I fell asleep in the park, well I hope you know that. I really did drift off in the sun, on that park bench… I know what the reports say, what the papers have been saying but I want to tell you the truth, no matter how crazy it sounds.
I woke up in the flat, on the hallway floor, covered in blood. Her blood, my blood, I don’t know. I was laying in a pool of it. Glass and splinters of wood scattered around me, everything was trashed, torn to pieces, the carpet was in ribbons, the wallpaper had been ripped off the walls. For a moment, I’m not sure how long, I sat in shock, staring at the chaos around me. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, my teeth chattered though sweat dripped down my spine, a scream stuck in my throat.
I heard something smash behind me, a glass vase being thrown with violence. I jumped in the air and the scream was forced from my throat. I crawled towards the front door screaming myself hoarse, screaming for help, crying. I was scratched up pretty bad but otherwise uninjured as you know. I was confused, terrified, I didn’t know what was happening. The police must have already been on their way because they arrived in minutes, that part was all a blur, they wrapped me in a blanket, put me in the car, they were sympathetic, kind even. Then they found Stacey, they found the body. After I was patched up, I was raced to the station, put in a dingy room with nothing but a metal desk and 4 matching chairs, a tape recorder was placed in front of me, turned on, I was questioned and questioned for hours.
I answered them with as much truth as I could, the problem was I just didn’t know the answers they were looking for.
I told them about the doctors, I told them I had been followed, about the noises, blacking out, I told them everything, I thought they would help. I was numb, in shock, I told them everything I knew. I should have asked for a lawyer, I should have asked for a doctor! I should have asked to call you and explain everything to you myself, asked you for help.
After the 5th repetition of my story, I saw understanding dawn in their eyes, the barrage of questions stopped. I thought they believed me, I thought they were going to help… The two detectives left the room, sympathy on their faces, patting my back soothingly as they passed. Words cannot express the relief I felt in that moment.
I let my head fall onto the table in front of me, covered my head with my arms and cried, cried harder than I ever have in my life. I was so confused, they wouldn’t tell me anything, of course at that moment in time, I didn’t know what had happened.
Where was Stacey? Was she okay? Who had done this? The questions kept striking, pounding my head over and over. On and on I cried.
I was so lost in my own internal drama, I hadn’t noticed anyone coming into the room. An ice cold hand landed on mine, shocking me back to reality. Before me sat a woman, plain looking, large black framed glasses, her wide owlish eyes scrutinizing me.
“How’re you feeling?” She asked, voice quiet, trying not to startle me more than she already had I guess. Her eyes were hypnotising, pulling my gaze inwards.
“Scared” I answered honestly, in a small trembling voice. “Confused”.
“That’s understandable” she rubs my hand, her icey fingers sending chills down my spine. “My name is Amanda, I’m here to help you, try and work out why you’re so confused, I know you’ve been through a lot but I have some questions and I really need you to think hard and answer me honestly, okay?”
I just nod my head, who was this woman? Why was she here? I had already told the officers everything I knew, I thought they understood, had stopped trying to pry information I didn’t know from me. I honestly expected her to ask for the story again and was already preparing it in my head, sorting out the jumbled mess that was going on inside. Instead what she asked shocked me to the core.
“Have you ever experienced psychosis before?”
I sat in stunned silence for a full minute, processing what she had asked me. They didn’t believe me, they thought I was crazy, maybe I was, maybe I am, I don’t know anymore.
“Never” I stated with formality.
“Do you have any history with any other mental health issue?”
She glanced down at a folder on the table I hadn’t noticed until now. “Do you have a family history of any mental health conditions?”
“Not that I know of”
“You need to tell me as much as you can so I can help you” she said with fake sincerity.
She didn’t want to help me, If she did, she would have believed me. Would have helped me work out what was haunting me, how to stop it. She didn’t help, she medicated me, locked me away. Shut me somewhere out of sight, out of mind. I hate her.
As you know, that’s how I ended up here but what you don’t know is what happened inside these old, echoey walls.
The nightmare wasn’t over yet.