Part II Of The Nightmare
Author: Lev Lu (he/him)
Throughout the next month, not only has The Grinning Stitcher semi-frequently been haunting me in my deep slumber, resulting in sleepless nights and fatigue, but my body has been feeling inexplicably strange. I attributed it to stress and vicarious trauma of working in the emergency room, and the likely explanation being burnout.
One night after work in the bustling city, during dinner with Eden, my work colleague who happened to also be my best friend, I updated him about the nightmares I’d been having. “I don’t understand this at all. I see the eerie boy once at work in-between the nightmares of him, and it’s like he never existed in person again”, I said while staring at the distance of the wall of the restaurant. “Kyle, I know we’re both horror enthusiasts but this is unlike any game we've played. I’m concerned about you man. Maybe it’s time to take a break from work. You know, do something for you”, Eden replied, returning my attention to the table. I pondered Eden's point about taking time off, and nodded in acknowledgement. “Cheers to nursing and burnout”, I said sarcastically while raising a toast, and Eden clanked his glass against mine.
As I was heading home to the train station, a sudden onset headache struck me, pain equivalent to having a thousand needles embedded in my skull. This was accompanied by nausea, feeling like I could throw up any second. It was unbearable, and strange. In the midst of this internal chaos, I thought, “Was it the food? Do I have an allergy to something? This has never happened before”. After calming myself through deep breathing while seated on a sidewalk bench, I called Eden, who luckily was still in the vicinity. He drove me to a local after-hours doctor on the outskirts of the city, grateful to find a quiet waiting room with only one patient before me. During the consultation, the doctor cleared me of any immediate life-threatening concerns, however, encouraged me to return if symptoms persist or exacerbated. Then, I spent the night at Eden’s place for both of our psychological security.
The next morning, after an exhausting night of being pain and nausea stricken, these unexplained physical symptoms were non-existent, as if last night was a cruel practical joke. No pain. No nausea, as if it never happened. I didn’t throw up overnight, and nothing food related could be pinpointed. Eden had already left for work that morning, leaving a note saying I’m welcome to stay if I wished. I wasn’t rostered on today with Eden, so I decided to plan a one-week vacation for myself. “This is what I need. It’ll be good for me”, I said aloud to myself as I was researching interstate locations to visit on my phone, while simultaneously feeling this sense of guilt. It was still winter in Melbourne, and I opted to head to the Gold Coast up North, hanging out at theme parks and enjoying the warmer, beach perfect weather. Throughout the past four years of working as an emergency nurse, I’d not granted myself permission to take a break. The perfectionistic, workaholic side of me, which also showed itself during my schooling and education years, stubbornly persisted. After recent events with my nightmares, body feeling strange and the pent up chronic stress and burnout, I needed a damn break. “Vacation, here I come”, I thought excitedly in my head after finalising flight and accommodation bookings later that day.
Throughout the next month, work ramped up as the team was severely understaffed, and that intensified the manifestation of physical symptoms, which I attributed to chronic stress again. The headaches, nausea, and a new one, abdominal pain were debilitating at times, but I kept on a brave face to do my job and continue saving lives with my clinical team. Besides, I needed the money for my holiday, which I occasionally second-guessed due to my financial situation and guilt overload for taking a break, only to have the onset of breakdowns remind me otherwise. “One more month”, I thought. “One more month of this hell, then I’ll take a proper break for myself”. Besides continually working in the face of unwellness to scrape up more money, I became more conservative with ‘fun spending’ such as cafe runs for the sake of my planned paradise escape.
Two weeks prior to my trip, while playing a horror game alone at home, I had an anxiety-inducing symptom strike me out of nowhere. It wasn’t a headache or the sensations I’d grown accustomed to. It was a feeling of burning chest pain, which could be indicative of a range of possible issues. Immediately, I paused my game, thinking it was set off by my heightened nervous system from horror jumpscares throughout gameplay, and sat for a couple of minutes. Nothing had improved throughout these brief moments, and a vision I wished to be forbidden appeared in my field of vision. I saw the shadow of a human-like figure reflected on my computer screen in the dimly lit room. Startle jumped with an inaudible screech from my frightened voicebox, I blinked a few times to ensure it wasn’t from the virtual world before my eyes on the screen; it wasn’t.
I started breathing heavier as the sensation of chest pain temporarily faded with the rush of adrenaline and fear. I grabbed the torch on my desk, turning it on as I turned around in my chair. Staring at me was the unforgettable vision of The Grinning Stitcher, eyes blank with that awful, stitched smile, standing almost lifeless in front of the door to my bedroom, a couple of metres away from me. I shined the torch at his face, slowly down to his feet, and back up his face; the light completely unfazed him. He looked identical to the first time I saw him in my nightmare and at the cafe, where this vision first appeared in real-life, as if nothing had changed. There was silence in the room, except for the sounds from the pause menu of my game, giving the ambience as if I was the main character in a horror game. I kept staring, frozen in fear with the torch still shining on his face, brain unable to conjure any logical thoughts.
What felt like an eternity passed before I impulsively grabbed my phone to capture the events before me. Torch, still in my left hand, I pointed the phone using my right hand at The Grinning Stitcher only to find the absence of any entity at the door. Darting my eyes away from the screen and at the door, the blank stare never left my soul. A moment of processing later as my fear meshed with confusion, it clicked in my head that I am hallucinating, hence why my phone camera can’t see it. Looking closer into the eyes of The Grinning Stitcher, the facade of a blank stare gave way to eyes of pain and despair, as if he was begging me. This was not something I’d noticed prior. I closed my eyes and groaned as a sharp kick of pain in my chest brought my awareness back to that occurrence, and the boy disappeared completely as I blinked again. “What the hell is this?” I whispered to myself. After texting Eden brief updates of what unfolded, I decided to admit myself to emergency to get this pain checked out on the off-chance it was something medically sinister.
As I was waiting to be seen at a different hospital to the one I worked at, my mind had time to slow down and attempt to comprehend what happened back at home. It was a busy time, with the waiting room being almost full to the brim. The blended noises of patient chatter and overhead lights that for some reason annoyed me. I work in a hospital and wasn’t conscious of the light, but now, sitting here waiting, the lights above feel like my enemy. Upon checking my phone, new messages from Eden popped up. “This is literally a real-life horror game for you, except that it’s not a game. It’s like Jigsaw is playing a cruel joke on you”, one of Eden’s messages read, amongst initial messages of care and concern. “Maybe once all of this is over, I’ll turn it into a horror movie”, I replied with a chuckle of amusement in the moment. Tedious hours passed before I got called in.
After I explained to the emergency doctor my physical symptoms and reasons for hospital admittance, a couple of tests were conducted. Another hour or two passed, and the doctor discharged me, clearing me of any medical abnormalities and foreseeable concerns. I left the hospital with no medical explanation of this chest pain, and the root of it being anxiety and poor mental health being theorised. The pain faded that morning after I left the hospital, being sleep deprived from the sleepless night waiting. I got home and crashed into bed to rest after calling in sick to work.
INTERMISSION
It’s the morning of my flight up North, just after 8am, and I awoke to one of the best sleeps I’ve had since what feels like forever. During the countdown of days to my trip, it’s been unexpectedly, positively eventful. My nightmares have been less intense, images of The Grinning Stitcher being altered in ways I can’t recall upon waking. All I know is that it’s different, but I don’t exactly know what, or why. As for hallucinations in my conscious, awake state, it’s analogous to someone, or something, pressing pause on the movie that is my life; a temporary respite I’ll take. After final house and lock checks, I grabbed my luggage and backpack, heading out the door to the cab I’d booked in advance.
As I was gazing out the window after takeoff, thoughts of taking down every ride at theme parks, adventure, exploring and relaxation in the warm weather comforted my slightly motion sick body. With optimism, I’m hoping to forget the troubles back at home, including the agony of work. Drowning out the sound of the jet engines and wind resistance with downloaded music and podcasts, I started to drift off. Suddenly, the announcement of preparing for landing brought all my senses back to me. “Already? That’s fast. I must have fallen asleep without realising” I thought in my head. I put my seat up, double checked my already on seatbelt, then closed my eyes again until touchdown.
After checking into my hotel along the beachside, I changed into more weather appropriate attire - green camouflage shorts and a T-shirt, along with socks and runners. It was still winter back home, and up North, the weather is more tropical and warmer. My room’s balcony had a clear view of the beach and blue ocean, sunlight illuminating and reflecting upon its surface. The room itself is cosy, a queen bed in the centre with a nightstand, a closet, a mini fridge, basic utensils and a connecting bathroom. It’s simple, but satisfying as my needs are met. I spent the first day enjoying the beach and exploring the novel area on foot.
Two days later, while waiting in line for a popular rollercoaster ride at a theme park, the day thankfully clouded to give a cooler atmosphere in the heat, my phone rang for a video call. It was Eden calling to check-in. “Kyle, what's up dude?” “It's been a chill day so far. I'm just waiting in line for this”, I replied while aiming the camera at the soaring rollercoaster above. I took a pause to put in my earphones for improved sound quality and microphone. “That looks sick. How long is the wait?” Eden curiously asked. “Not too bad at all, given the popularity of this ride. Probably because it's off season”, I said while lowering the camera to show the cue. After continued conversations about the theme park rides, Eden took a tangent, asking, “By the way dude, have you had any weird symptoms or visions on your trip so far?” I thought about it for a brief moment before replying, “No, actually. Not at all. I’ve been feeling excellent and happy, unlike back home. I feel like a kid again; it’s great”. “I’m glad to hear”, Eden replied. Continuing, he said, “This is one horror mystery we can’t figure out yet. More evidence to be collected my friend.” I smiled, seeing myself on the screen while saying, “Let’s turn this into a video game; it might be a hit”. Eden laughed, feeling amused. Eden and I spoke for another forty-five minutes before I was nearing the front of the line to the ride, where we said our goodbyes.
During the next couple of days, I continued tackling the major theme parks, explored the city and surrounding suburbs, captured aesthetic sunrise and sunset photos, mingled with a few locals at cafes and soaked up the vibes of the Sunshine State. I felt bliss and carefree, like a child curious and excited about the world around them. My mind and body felt calm, as if all the pent up stress was purged. The strange symptoms and visions that happened back home did not occur whatsoever, which confused me, however, I didn’t expend energy dwelling on it. I was happy to not be tormented.
On the day of my return flight back, a sense of sadness and longing for more flooded the ocean of what have been positive vibes and experiences. I didn’t want to go back to the reality of my life, however, I knew I had to. I guess this is what the line ‘all good things must come to an end’ means.
During the loud, obnoxious flight back due to the roars of the jet engine and whatever collections of sounds filled my plugged ears, I reflected on my friendship with Eden. We met during high school and have been friends for over ten years. Being the weird, quiet kids at school drew us together, in addition to our shared enthusiasm in video games and the horror genre. Since then, we’ve been inseparable, our friendship only growing stronger through the thick and thin of life. Even when Eden discovered he was neurodivergent a couple years ago, it didn’t change how I saw him. He was, and is, still my best friend. Chuckling to myself as I recalled some shared memories. Rewatching our favourite horror movies together. Console gaming, both competitive and teamwork games. Breathing in nature at beaches and national parks. Road trips to the high country. Following this, a rush of joy in thinking of our shared bucket list flooded me, such as going to a horror house experience, exploring haunted places and travelling overseas together. Going on this solo trip reinvigorated my desire for adventures. With these thoughts, I started drifting into a state of sleep, given my long day and current night flight.
Fast forward a week, I’ve settled back home in Melbourne and have returned to work. As expected, work is hectic, we’re understaffed and I habitually accepted overtime work, temporarily forgetting the burnout I experienced prior to my paradise escape. The high of my vacation faded into the abyss, replaced by the stress and pressure of my job. As a new patient was unloaded from the ambulance and wheeled into the trauma bay I was on standby at, I looked at the young patient, shuddering at the horrific injury. Taking in handover information from the paramedics crew while looking at the teenage boy, who has a dislocated jaw, with a gashed, open wound on the right side of his jaw, next to his lip, something entered my conscious awareness.
“No, no, no”, I thought in my head while continuing to present a professional external facade, trying to hide the rapid breathing. The thought of, “this isn’t happening again” hit me as fear and unease struck my nerves like lightning, as the patient opened his eyes, locking eyes with me for a brief second. The camouflage attire, Asian descent, short hair…it’s too real. Unpleasant memories of The Grinning Stitcher brought me out of reality as my mind spun down an anxiety spiral. My team leader calling out to me after an unspecified period of time returned my senses to the present, and as I looked at the patient’s face again, I saw the unforgettable, stitched smile of what I thought to be history. “It’s still after me. I don’t know why but it’s still after me”, I thought while concealing the tears almost bursting through my facade. I returned my focus to the designated task at hand after the noise of my colleagues’ chatter and hospital equipment became louder in my mind, having no choice but to support what I saw to be The Grinning Stitcher, regardless of my silent pain.
END OF PART II