Follower
Sherrie was sure it was there, sure it was running amok behind plastered-in ceilings and faux-wood panels. She’d had the exterminators in three times with no luck, four priests of different religious affiliation and more recently a shaman. All told her the same thing – there was nothing in the walls.
They were wrong.
She didn’t bother to tell them it hadn’t started with the apartment she was renting, that the thing had been following her since she was a child, living in her parent’s old Victorian. It came with her to University, slipped into her dorm and even made it through her first marriage in the tiny condominium – something about her seemed to pull it along, no matter where she went.
At first she’d chalked up her surety to childhood delusion – even imagined playmates could seem quite real to those whose home life was less than ideal. But courses in psychology and a deeper understanding of her own issues did nothing to rid her of what followed, and she’d begun to wonder if perhaps her problems were too overwhelming to self-analyze.
Three years and fifteen therapists later and her “concern” still wasn’t alleviated, but her wallet was certainly lighter. Though some of those she’d seen had recommended useful methods of coping and ways to make her personal life function with greater ease, none could address what lay underneath. To be fair, she’d never told them exactly what she needed cured, merely that she felt “shadowed”. Still, she didn’t believe her lack of honesty was what limited the effectiveness of therapy – it was because head-shrinks couldn’t cure real problems.
It was a lamp by her bed that finally tipped her off, a little ceramic thing with blue flowers James had given her for a silly first anniversary gift. They’d parted on poor terms but he had been a good man, one who was simply too “normal” to deal with her swings in mood and changes of heart, and she’d always treasured what he gave.
A long day of work had exhausted her, and when she first saw the lamp shattered on the floor Sherrie assumed it had been vibration from the subway that ran underneath the building. The muffled, cackling laugh from her walls told another tale, and she’d known with startling, certain clarity that she was not alone.
She moved only marginally in her chair, making sure the blanket covering her did not move. It had taken months to develop what she believed was a viable plan to catch whatever plagued her and she wasn’t about to ruin everything with a stray movement or foolish sound.
An early-morning grease fire did the trick; she’d showered, dressed and stumbled into the kitchen to make breakfast before work as usual, but made a “mistake” that sent billowing smoke out into the apartment. Sherrie put the fire out quickly and made for the front door, doing her best to make it seem she’d left for the day, muttering about what she’d do when she got back. Before the smoke had a chance to clear, however, she’d leapt under into her blanket-covered chair and taken refuge.
Her work knew she wasn’t coming – she’d taken a week of vacation to ensure her chances were as great as possible to not only catch but confront the thing that lived inside her walls and had crawled inside her life.
Sherrie shifted again. After only half a day the ordinarily comfortable recliner had started to feel like rock under her hands and knees. She’d been careful to pick a position that gave her the largest view of the room with minimum effort, but was paying the price.
Desperation began to settle in – even with certainty that something lay beyond the walls, Sherrie started to question her subterfuge and wonder if the creature needed to leave its home at all. Perhaps it fed on cobwebs and drywall dust, and if so, it was well-supplied.
A moment caught her eye at the living room heat register, and she watched as it was pushed slowly away from the wall and then toppled to the floor. Out of the black hole a figure emerged, tall and thin and covered in angry scars. Its face was gaunt and hungry, and deep eyes stared out from a too-small head.
“You!” Sherrie shrieked, throwing off her blanket and charging across the space, slamming into the thing’s shoulders and bearing it to the ground. “I’ve found you!”
The figure under her smiled, a twisted reflection of her own pearly whites and then smoked into nothingness, sliding up and into Sherrie. Rigid agony slammed into her and tears began to flow, desperate sadness came crashing through.
Understanding came along with weeping, knowledge that what she’d seen was not only real but necessary. Sordid details of her life were coming into sharp relief, half-remembered images suddenly drenched in color and sound. Displacement was a term she knew, a concept familiar to her but Sherrie had never believed such a manifestation was possible, that a body could do so much to protect itself.
Three more giant sobs and the burdened part of her came wrenching free, spit back out into the world to slip away through the open wall. Sherrie could hear it scrabbling, scratching at the ceiling and ringing off the pipes.
“Thank you,” she whispered, forcing herself to stand. “Thank you!” She repeated with greater force. “And I’m sorry!”
There was a rattling above her, a rhythmic shaking of the walls in response to her words. She could not say why but the noise sounded…appreciative.
With a small smile, Sherrie took a seat and turned on the television, settling down into deep upholstery. All around, the sounds of her visitor, her passenger calmed strained nerves and gave her, finally, a sense of peace. Not all could be washed away so easily, not all could be changed, but she had found her demon and confronted it, emerged on the other side unscathed.
There was something in her walls – something real. Something right.
- D
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