Falter Kingdom (17 page)

If only I knew back then that you were right behind me... following me everywhere...

Most of the time, it seems, you are close enough that I can never be completely comfortable. Wait, I'm comfortable? It's amazing to think that I can get used to that. After long, it's a normal situation.

I'll have to admit that this dream really does feel different. Yeah, and I like that, sure, but I can't help but feel like, this time, you're the one that's having all the fun. You kind of force me into that corner, making noise and making me feel like I'm going in the right direction. It's a little bit like a video game, seeing how the smallest details can get a response.

And it's because you can hear my thoughts that I can see how every little thing affected me.

The dark mass I see was you.

When I turn around, we're looking right at me. It's not like I didn't know that when it happened. I knew that. But, like, it's different now.
It's all different, seeing it from the other side. It makes me feel stupid for thinking I could just ignore everything. It was really stupid to think that I could just be like, “Yeah, I'm going to pretend that this is all just usual stuff.”

It really is true, what they say:

You never know what you're messing with until it's too late.

The fear on my face, it's kind of funny.

I'm laughing in my sleep because you were finding it funny back then, and now I'm kind of finding it funny too.

It's actually kind of mean, especially when that fear starts rising to the point where I'm shaking, visibly shaking, but in the context of this dream, I can see why it would be so funny. I was acting like it didn't matter, but I was carrying all the different ideas and things I had seen and heard about from media, from school, from society. But really, I couldn't have guessed how this would fall into place.

I'm standing in the hallway, shaking.

I kind of don't want to see what happens next.

But I know what happens next.

You watch me from inside my bedroom.

I hear the words “You're messing with me” and remember what I was thinking when I said that. Strange to see how things change.

This time, I hear you say, “Let's play a game,” my voice hanging there like it's voice-over or director's commentary. Then the dream kind of shakes a little.

Maybe you're laughing. Or maybe that's me, laughing in my sleep.

It really does feel like forever ago. I can watch this like it's not even me. It's because I can separate both experiences, the dream from what actually happened, that I can make sense of what's happening.

This was the night you took my laptop.

This was the night when I realized that it's just that simple, ignoring what can be anywhere, at all times.

And this dream, it's the one where maybe you're trying to mess with me some more. Maybe you're trying to show me how much of an idiot I've been. But I am able to see from your side, and because I can, I feel like I can get past all that stuff, the human fear and paranoia.

There I am, walking into the dining room, looking under the table.

Now that's a real fail.

We follow me into the family room, staring at me as I stare at the TV. Then it's back around to the foyer. I, like, hyperventilate for a second.

Wow, what am I doing?

Are those tears?

All for a missing laptop?

There's something wrong about that, isn't there?

Is that what you were trying to tell me?

Yeah?

It's like I can almost understand what you're trying to tell me, but you won't just tell me. You're holding back. You want me to walk through the rest of the dream, huh? We're the ones pressing all the buttons.

I go back upstairs.

You get me to go into one of the guest bedrooms when you walk into the closet and shake the door.

I don't remember that.

All the rumbling, it's just you.

All the scratching, it's just you.

I go through all the drawers. Kind of weird to think that a laptop would just show up there. But then again, what do I know?

I remember this part.

I walk back into my room. I pretend to not care and I use my phone as a computer, meaning I go online with my phone. I look completely wrecked. I look like I've lost it all. This is the part that even I didn't see, back when it was happening. I ignored the tears running down my face. I ignored the panic. Look at how I keep checking the time on my phone like a maniac. I keep going back and forth between different apps. I can't sit still. I don't remember it this way.

You watch and find it funny.

You think it's funny, don't you?

Why are you here?

The laptop was where I found it the entire time. You moved it like you moved everything else. But in the dream, you moved it for a
different reason. You are trying to get my attention. I did my best to ignore you.

You just tell me where it is.

I remembered that—how I just knew all of a sudden. And now I know why: you saw how it was fucking me up and you figured enough was enough.

That's it, right, what you're trying to tell me?

Then we watch me watching the video, the video that plays by itself and then crashes the browser.

I start shivering in my sleep.

You are watching me from over my shoulder. You are watching me right from the start. You are watching me until the very end, when I leave for the party. You are right there, giving me a sort of second look at my actions.

I was confused.

I'm not confused now.

I know more than I've ever known, more than maybe Father Albert or anyone else. I know about you. And in the context of this dream, you tell me that it was a joke. You ask me if it was funny. We're two producers behind the scenes of the reality television show version of my life. We're talking like it was all staged but we kept our parts secret from each other.

We talk it up like this isn't anything surprising.

We talk...

And you know what?

It is kind of funny.

I did most of the scaring myself. You didn't have to do anything. That's the funny part. You weren't even really doing anything. I'm laughing. I'm laughing and I can hear it.

Have you ever laughed in your sleep?

You took the laptop, yeah, but that was the joke part. I guess we aren't used to each other's sense of humor. It's cool.

I don't actually want this dream to end. Even though it's really strange and it makes me out to be an idiot, I want to see more.

But then I start hearing the sound of cars outside.

I know that they're back, and I'm—no,
we're
—going to have to deal with them. And she's with them too. Becca's back to play
girlfriend after basically ditching me over the last few days.

I wake up in bed feeling more like I was just visiting a different place. I look out the window, watching them talk to each other, and I just feel like shit. Really feel like shit. I want to go back. To sleep. To that place. To where we were. I want to know more. I want to see more.

But yeah, of course I don't get to.

Because the doorbell rings.

No, I don't know what day it is. I kind of remember a time when I think I was saying something like time feels elastic. But maybe that wasn't me. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was H. Whatever it is, I still don't know what day it is. The first thing Becca says when I open the door is “Jesus, Hunter,” and then she kind of takes it back, realizing that she's around holy people. “Oh, sorry.”

Father Albert says, “Greetings, Hunter.”

The other guy, the one with him, is introduced as Father Andrew.

I kind of nod or something, not really sure. I don't really seem to care. I just want to get this all over with.

I let them in, following them into the dining room. They sit down at the table. I sit across from them, noticing that Becca stays with the two priests.

There's a whole lot of distance between us, huh?

H kind of seems to agree, letting me know that she's afraid of me, the way I look.

What do I look like?

Maybe I look a little different—that's part of it, right?

“What are you looking at?” I catch myself snapping at Father Andrew.

He stares at me, and I know that he's trying to get me angry. He wants to get me angry.

Becca tells me—no, she's actually telling Father Albert: “He really hasn't been himself lately. . .”

So? I'm actually more myself than ever before. Not that she would understand me.

Father Andrew asks Becca, “Where are his parents?”

Becca frowns. “They're busy people, um...”

But it's like both priests put the pieces together without any trouble. I'm thinking, like, “Am I some cliché or something?” Really? It's that easy to figure out how fucked my family is?

This anger, it shows only when they're around.

Father Albert starts the conversation. “Hunter, it appears as though we've greatly misinterpreted our initial assessment. I've returned with Father Andrew so that we might better understand the severity of the situation.”

Yeah, like that makes sense.

Father Andrew says it in plainer words: “We want to measure the depth of the spirit's influence.”

“Whatever.” I kind of say it louder than I should.

Becca looks at me like I'm disgusting. I glare at her. She looks away. What the hell was that? I tell her, “What? Huh? What's your damn problem?” She sniffles, and I'm like, “Who's really the victim here?”

Father Andrew is fearless.

Hey, H, what are you going to do to this guy?

What are
you
going to do? He's holding me down. Do something.

Mess with them. Make this funny.

But then Father Andrew says, “It's breaking you down.”

“Huh?”

He starts asking me questions that I cannot help but answer honestly. It's like I'm not even talking, the answers are slipping out of my mouth.

First question is “Do you see the spirit in your dreams?”

And the first answer is “Yes.”

Second question is “Have you lost sense of time?”

And the second answer is “Yes.”

Third question is “Do you experience moments of chatter, where your mind talks back to you?”

And the third answer is “Yes.”

I answer yes to everything.

And then Father Andrew looks at Father Albert and says, “Advanced. It is near.”

Becca kind of shudders, makes this noise, like she actually cares, and then asks the two priests: “What, um, what happened? What's happening?”

Father Albert wraps his hands around hers. “Breathe, dear. Hunter will be fine. Father Andrew only means to say that our unclean spirit is proving to be more aggressive than expected.”

Becca sighs.

Father Albert smiles. “We are perfectly fine for it is Hunter that resists. As long as Hunter resists—”

Father Andrew interrupts. “As long as Hunter resists the spirit, he will remain himself. The spirit will begin to proliferate itself through his unconscious dreams. It will begin to create a sense of cognitive dissonance, where there is chatter of all sorts.” Father Andrew walks around the table, never breaking eye contact with me. I'm frozen in place. I don't know what to think. I listen on—hearing it all and yet hearing nothing.

“Typical late-stage symptoms include body mutilation, cognitive dissonance, loss or jumbling of senses... one of the most common symptoms, after the spirit has made contact—and it has made contact with Hunter—has to do with the transformation of personality and behavior. Hunter is inside this poor body”—Father Andrew points at me from across the room—“but he is fading, more distant with every consecutive day.”

Becca sniffles. “No...”

Father Andrew shakes his head. “As long as Hunter resists inviting the spirit, it will be akin to a powerful flu. He will not be himself. He has already begun to show the physical signs of atrophy: pale skin, bruising. Soon he will sleep through most of the days.
This is due to the body and mind being exhausted by the battle with the spirit's advances.”

Becca asks, “Will he make it to the exorcism?”

I'm laughing but they don't seem to hear me.

Father Albert tells her, “Dear, he will make it.”

Father Andrew seems to agree. He breaks eye contact with me and I start coughing like crazy. He tells her, “Hunter is very much alive. But he mustn't entertain the spirit.”

When Father Andrew says that, it's like they all turn on me, getting judgmental. Father Albert leans forward and I can hear it in his voice: “Hunter, have you been entertaining the spirit?”

I don't even know what that means.

Becca is like, “Oh no,” but I know it's fucking fake. Yeah, right. She cares. She cares only because I'm her boyfriend of, like, three years. That's a lot of years. She cares only because whatever happens to me, it also happens to her, socially. People will know and associate her with me.

It's not exciting now, is it?

I wear a weird look that they seem to think isn't my own face, my own grin.

“A sinister grin,” Father Andrew observes, biting his lower lip.

Father Albert sighs. “My, my, my...”

Becca says, “What?”

Father Albert stands up. “Dear, I think we should let Father Andrew speak to Hunter in private.”

Becca doesn't put up much of a fight. Duh. No surprise there.

Whoopie.

Father Andrew walks over to me, standing at my side. He puts a cross on the table in front of me.

What is going on, H?

But then I kind of feel it from deep within, knowing that it'll be okay. This will all be okay. So random, it comes to mind and then I say it: “Damn, I haven't been drunk in forever.”

Father Andrew tilts his head to one side. “That's normal.”