This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/NomNomNomNation on 2024-10-18 15:46:15+00:00.
What is it about spirits that we fear so much?
That they'll harm us?
Make us jump?
That nobody will believe us?
For my husband, it's what they can show us.
"I don't want to see!"
It was the first time I had ever heard him truly terrified. We were new to the area at the time, walking through a local park for the first time. After living at our previous apartment for so long, where the landlord had a strict "no pets" policy, we were seriously considering getting a dog.
I asked about when we would go to a local dog shelter. That's when he said it.
"I don't want to see!"
He froze still, too, looking far ahead. Past the horizon - Beyond even any of the buildings past the park's edge.
I tried to meet his eyes, but they stared right through me. I turned to find where his gaze lay, but saw nothing. Turning back, concerned and confused, I tried to get clarification.
"You don't want to see the dogs?"
"Please," his voice now shakey, begging, "don't make me see."
He turned and sprinted in the other direction, in a straight line. As the pathway curved, he did not adjust his route - Running straight onto the grass, and climbing the fence, despite an open gate standing just 20ft to the left.
I ran after him, of course. Even climbing the fence. When your partner makes a break for it like that, as if their life is in danger, you trust them. You assume they saw something that you hadn't spotted. I was too afraid to turn around, to see whoever was chasing us. Yet, as I landed the other side of the fencing, he was already down the street. He hadn't helped me up, or down, or even waited on the other side. Did he care that little for my safety?
Then he collapsed.
The hospital staff were not helpful. A brain scan showed no signs of anything abnormal. They seemed to take my word that he didn't do any type of drugs - Although I'm sure in their many tests, quite a few of them were for hallucinogenics.
"Your husband is perfectly healthy," the nurse told me, "just make sure he rests well and drinks enough water."
"Healthy?" I looked at her with a scowl. "Healthy? You think collapsing to the ground after a manic episode is healthy?"
"Ma'am, I can only tell you what our tests show. We can prescribe certain medications, but we can't imagine it helping. The odds are that this was a strange, one-off situation. Lack of sleep, lack of water, lack of any basic need can cause this type of behaviour."
"What do you think, honey?" I asked my husband.
"I think we should go home."
He didn't seem normal over the next week. He was never quite himself. He would still talk, and help me with dinner - But between all those moments, he felt hollow. Never smiling, or laughing.
One moment in particular, we were watching a movie. I don't even remember the name, just some random crap on TV. But I caught myself watching him more then the screen - Analyzing every little movement of his face. Willing him to do anything that makes him him!
Through all the jokes, watching the corners of his mouth, unmoving. Not even a little bit. What was on his mind?
Believe me, I asked him about the day at the park more times than I can count. And that was just on the drive home from the hospital. But he had very little answers for me. He just insisted that he "saw something" that he didn't want to be "shown again."
He turned to me.
"Sorry," I spoke, "I was just looking at you."
I smiled, hoping for him to return the gesture.
He was silent.
"Why don't you smile anymore?" My own smile faded. "I miss it."
His mouth opened, then closed slightly. Like he had lost his train of thought.
"I don't want to see."
"No, no. Don't do that to me."
"Please, please. I don't want to see."
"No, don't you dare, don't."
He started to get up. I tried to hold him, but he just backed away. He was staring at the living room door.
"Please, don't make me see," he turned and ran. He didn't let the window stop him, he just smashed the glass and climbed outside. As he ran down the street, I heard a tyre skidding on the road, as a car had to brake suddenly to avoid hitting him.
I saw him run right through the garden across from us, and down their side-alley, out of my sight.
It was like he had to run in a perfectly straight line. Escaping by the way the crow flies. Like a slight deviation from this path wasn't even conceivable to him.
This only got more frequent, with his mental wellbeing declining. Every time this happened, he came out of the experience more paranoid.
"I saw it again," he'd tell me, "please, don't let me see it again."
I wanted to help him, but he would never explain to me what he saw. What was he running from?
The weeks turned into months. He stopped talking much at all. I knew when he was about to have an episode from the sudden staring at an empty location.
His escape was always preceded by a simple "I don't want to see."
2 days ago, we were in the bathroom. It's important to note that our bathroom has no windows. It's in the centre of the house, structurally speaking, so they wouldn't be able to lead anywhere. I had just got my husband to brush his teeth after days of him hardly leaving the bedroom. But this was also the longest he had gone without running away for a while.
As he finished washing his face, he looked in the mirror, then turned around, staring at the bathroom door.
"There's nothing there," I hugged him as I spoke, knowing that it wouldn't stop him.
"I don't want to see," he started to cry, "please, please don't make me see again. I can't see it again."
He started backing away, into a wall. It was only then that I noticed he had no way out - He would never leave through the door, not if that's where he was staring.
Without fail, every time, he would run in the exact opposite direction of whatever he was staring at.
I tried to take his hand, "come with me, let's get out of here."
"I can't see it."
"I know, you don't have to," my voice was trembling now. I wanted to help him find a place to run, I was afraid of what he might do if he felt trapped.
He was silent. He had usually ran by now.
"Come on, let's go to the bedroom, and you can run."
"No." He sounded so determined through his tears. "I can't see."
He turned around, punching the wall.
He didn't scream, or flinch. The shriek echoing through the room was my own.
He punched again, harder. I heard his bones crack.
"I will not see."
Blood marks were left on the wall where he threw his fists.
thump
thump
thump
"Please stop", I cried, wanting my husband back, "please, let me help you."
thump
thump
He started to dent the wall. The paint flaked off in the area he was aiming for, precise with his strikes.
thump
thump
thump
thump
I could hardly see anymore through the tears in my eyes, but the blurry flurry of red on the wall made me not want to see.
As he started to collapse, he continued.
thump
Slower with his knocks now, his body simply unable to keep the same momentum and energy that his mind wanted to exert.
"I'm about to see," a puddle of blood on the floor soaked into his clothes where he lay. I held him as tight as I could. "Don't let me see," he continued.
"I won't, I won't let anything happen to you." I'm not sure he understood me in his state, but I kept repeating it to him as his voice got quieter and quieter.
He's in the hospital again now.
He still hasn't woken up.
I haven't returned home.
I'm afraid of what I might see.