― Ray Bradbury
Apparition
Somewhere out there is a cache of videotapes documenting my past indiscretions.
Their very existence haunts me.
I'm obsessed with horror I may finally be found out. Scary to think someone may upload these to the internet and a stranger will press play and parachute into my most intimate moments...
I'm in a waiting game at the moment, not knowing if my reputation will be ruined. It's like the interval between lightning and thunder―you see the flash and wait..and perhaps there is such a long delay you think the storm is too distant and no one will hear it.
But then comes the low rumble across the heavens. There's no shelter and no mistaking...
You're in the storm and going to be drenched.
I'm sweating and shivering at the same time―how can that be?
I go to pour a scotch but think better and put down the bottle. I make a hot chocolate instead and sit by the fire.
I thought I had things in hand. Went out today and bought Gizmo a cat tree and placed it by the window so he could stare out at the terrace and watch birds.
But all he does is claw the scratching post. Why that bothers me I have no idea and how that relates to being outed on the internet is beyond me.
I feel trapped and hemmed in, at the mercy of another's whims. Jung would love this. So much projection.
I'm drowsy, drifting in and out of sleep, but a sudden movement startles me awake.
There's a huge dark shadow looming over me. I scream like a girl, the terror paralyzing me, until my eyes refocus from being half-asleep and I realize the monster is Gizmo perched on the top of the cat tree.
I actually blush with shame―how could I be so weak and fearful?
This whole business of corporate espionage has totally depleted me.
I shake my head in disbelief I could let something so insignificant horrify and unman me.
I shut off the lights and head to bed, reminding myself to set the security alarm.
Gizmo is down off his cat perch and ends up curled beside me, pressing his tiny body close to mine for warmth and security.
At least one of us feels safe.
The night lights are on and I’m too exhausted to struggle any more. Within minutes I’m fast asleep.
I recall seeing 1:00am in red digits projected on my ceiling―but it’s now 3:00 am and I’m fully awake and listening.
Both night lights are flickering—the one in my bedroom and the other in the hallway. I prop myself up on my elbow and scan my surroundings. Nothing…nothing that is, that I can see, but I sense someone.
I reach for my cell on my night table and open the security camera app. Eight boxes are displayed showing the condo and terrace, but there are no motion alerts and nothing visible other than vacant areas.
I sit up in bed and ponder the prospects of making a drink or boiling the kettle when I hear the same familiar eerie sound I heard previously during my night terrors.
The hair on my arms stands up. I check the cameras but still nothing…
And then I see it.
In the gloomy hallway a black shape forms in the flickering light.
As I stare the shape assumes a face―Guinevere, peering at me from the doorway.
A deathly chill passes through me and before I can respond in any way, she disappears.
In seconds, I'm on my feet and stealthily examining the condo but there's no trace other than the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the hallway.
I've done some reading on ghostly apparitions and know enough to recognize this is a form of spiritual oppression―the whole purpose is to terrify me, which the experience has definitely done and make me feel dispirited.
This is what Beatrice meant when she said her apartment felt like a scene from The Exorcist.
Strangely though, I don't feel dismayed but angered and determined to not allow Gwen to demoralize me.
Awakening from a dead sleep to confront a spectre is unnerving, but the act is so invasive it emboldens me―makes me even more eager to confront Gwen once and for all in a showdown.