Mental (Complete)

My Spirit Haunts Me

Suddenly I'm in another room. The blackness that had threatened to consume my mind was now gone. I study the space around me. Again, everything is white, just like my own room, but there's no bed. I'm sitting at an ivory desk, basking in the blinding light that illuminates nothing but my trembling body.

There's enough glow throughout the room that I can make out each empty corner, but there's still a stiff, eery vibe dancing against the walls of the small space.

"He's haunting me," I mutter into my fist, eyes flashing from one corner to another, just waiting for him to appear again.

I'm so consumed in my own terror that I don't hear a door open behind me. I only stop whispering to myself when the air in the room changes, telling me I'm not alone. I tense before whipping my torso around to face the intruder.

"Hello," the man says. "You had us a bit spooked earlier. You feeling okay now?"

I don't respond.

He looks anything but scary. His white coat clues me into the fact that he might possibly be a doctor; yet, my body isn't sure how to react to his presence. While he looks harmless enough, there's still the lingering suspicious that he's been experimenting on me.

"Who's haunting you?" he asks carefully, taking a step forward and linking his fingers together in front of him.

I debate whether I should tell him or not. If I admit the things that have been happening to me, then he'll know his tests were a success. And while I don't want to admit it, a part of me hopes that he'll stop his games once he knows they've worked. Which is why I end up voices every fear that's awakened in the last few days.

"Me," I tell him.

"Uh huh," he responds absentmindedly as he rounds the table to take a seat opposite me. "But, who's haunting you?"

"Me," I nearly yell, already frustrated by his calm demeanor. "My spirit is haunting me."

I expect him to laugh, but when he doesn't, I grow still—anxious.

"Can you tell me your name?" was the doctor's next question.

"Nate," I grit out between clenched teeth.

"Nate what?"

I go to answer, but somehow my tongue is stuck in my throat. I have no reply. I don't know how to answer. At my lack of response, the doctor only nods and narrows his eyes in thought, but he doesn't look judgmental. The joy I had expected to see in his eyes at my confession is missing. Instead, he looks defeated. Maybe he'd been hoping for a different result.

His eyes shift to the door behind me, and I watch as he hollers for a Samantha to enter. I turn to watch as a petite brunette struts into the room. She's dressed in scrubs with a name tag dangling from around her neck. She nods in my direction, a timid smile plastered across her homely face, and goes to stand beside the doctor.

"Let me explain something to you Nate," the doctor says after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "We've been watching you for some time now, and—"

"Longer than just a few days?" I can't help but ask, interrupting the doctor's train of thought. He appears flustered for a brief moment before worry lines begin to crease his forehead. "You were watching me even before you locked me up here?"

"No," the doctor is quick to answer. I watch as he rubs his temples, stress clear in the mannerism. "Listen Nate, what I'm about to say will not be easy to hear, but I need you to listen closely. Can you do that?"

I nod.

"Your name is not Nate," he tells me.

"Really?" I scoff, an arrogant edge to my voice. "Who am I then?"