"Sanity´s Whisper" by Amber Silver

Private Log
Tuesday, December 16th, 2003
Re: Private session with Cassandra Walters

I have been an intern at the Three Rivers Psychiatric Hospital for one month.  During my time here, I have been under the supervision of the brilliant Dr. Brown. Brown is a woman whom I respect not only for her vast knowledge in the field of criminal psychology, but also for her strength and compassion.  

In fact, it was only under the encouragement of Dr. Brown that I began these logs.  She said that it helps organize one's thoughts and aids in maintaining focus.  I have to admit, even though I had my doubts about keeping a diary, she was right.  As usual.

Today I had a session with Cassandra Walters, a manic-depressed schizophrenic.  Cassandra was admitted to Three Rivers after she lacerated herself repeatedly with a steak knife; she was nine years old at the time.  She claims that a demon, who lived beneath her bed, had possessed her body.  The following is an excerpt from a session we had together:

M:  So you say there was a demon beneath your bed?

C:  Yes.
 
M:  And he... possessed you?

C:  I already told you.  How many times do I have to say it?  Yes!

M:  Why did you cut yourself, Cassandra?

C:  Why do I always have to repeat everything?  

M:  I'm only here to help you, Cassandra.  I only ask you to repeat yourself to fully grasp what happened to you.

C:  Do you need me to spell it out?  There was a... a... thing under my bed.   I'm not religious, I don't know what it was.  

M:  And this thing talked to you?

C:  Yes... yes.  It started with whispers.  Quietly whispering... whispering.  I... I couldn't... make out what was being said... at first.

M:  What did the voice sound like?

C:  It was a man.  A deep, rough voice... sometimes it didn't even sound like whispering.  Sometimes it was just... growling.

M:  Did it sound like your uncle, Cassandra?

C: I'm not going over this again!  Look, I know what my uncle did to me was sick, but crap like that happens all of the time.  It happens to hundreds of people a year, but they aren't admitted to nuthouses because they got possessed!

M:  Everyone copes in a different fashion, Cassandra.  The subconscious is a strong defensive mechanism.  Is it possible that you began having these hallucinations because it was easier to believe that a supernatural demon was violating you, and not your uncle?

C:  [Obviously agitated] I know what I heard, and I know what I saw.  It was not my uncle.  

M:  All right.  Well, you said that the voices became more audible over time.  Tell me about it.

C:  I don't remember... not really.  The whispering began when I was six or seven.  By the time I was nine, it was a voice that I could understand.  

M:  What did the voice say to you?

C:   It said a lot of things... and nothing at all.  [Cassandra's voice drops, as though imitating the ‘demon'] "Hush, baby hush...  dripping blood ... foul... going to hell.  Nothing can be done... no more sunshine.  Going to die... you're going to die." and sometimes, in a sing-songy voice, ‘I'm gon-na get yo-ur to-es."

M:  Your toes?  

C:  It ... it liked to threaten me.  Said he was going to bite off my toes as soon as I closed my eyes.  

M:  What happened the night you were possessed?

C:  I was nine.  I had began to see him several weeks before.  Not his entire body, but pieces of it.  I remember ... a car drove by my window... the headlights shined off the mirror ... I could see... in the reflection... an arm reaching out from beneath my bed.  Only, it wasn't an arm at all.  It was black... it looked burned.  Then in a flash, it was gone, back beneath the bed.  Another time, I woke up and I felt breath on my neck... hot breath.  Wet breath.   I turned on my bedside lamp and there was no one there.  Then the laughing began.

M:  The laughing?

C:  His breath was so hot.  It smelled foul...

M:  The laughing?  

C:  After the whispering turned to words, I began to get really scared.  I would cry all the time.  I never slept.  He laughed at my tears.  The evening I was possessed he had been laughing all night, then he said, ‘It's time'. [Cassandra trails off and is silent for several minutes.]

M: Cassandra?

C:  Sorry.  The night I was possessed he had been laughing for hours.  He pushed up the mattress... scratched the walls... I heard rustling... moving through the shadows.  I thought I was going to die.  Finally, I couldn't take it anymore... I jumped off of the bed and meant to run for my mother's room... but I didn't make it.

M:  No?

C:  No.  When my feet hit the floor... he grabbed my ankle.  Sort of...

M:  Sort of?  

C:  It wasn't like a grab... I jumped off of the bed and felt pressure around my ankle.  I couldn't move... then I fell... and all I remember is two glowing eyes under my bed. [Her voice rises in pitch and speed]  Then heat went up my leg and my whole body began to burn... the next thing I knew, I was in the hospital.  

M:  You have no memory of inflicting the wounds on yourself?

C:  No...

M:  All right, well, tell me about the beginning of your stay at Three Rivers.

C:  You wanna know if he's still around, right?  

M:  Is he?

C:  I'm not crazy, Dr. Smith.  I'm also not stupid.  I know that you know that I still see things.  I also know that you think I'm a psychopath.  

M: Now, Cassandra, we aren't here to point fingers.  I am only here to help you.

C:  Well, I have news for you.  I can't be helped.  

Cassandra's behavior is oddly unneurotic.  With the exception of her depression and her hallucinations, she seems to be a perfectly functional adolescent.  Her behavior is not eccentric and she rarely requires additional medication; she wouldn't need to be institutionalized were it not for her frequent, violent hallucinations.  She has been scanned, probed, isolated and medicated, and nothing seems to help.   It's the strangest thing!


Private Log
December 31st, 2003
Re: Emergency

I was called way from my New Years eve celebrations by an emergency page by Dr. Brown.  Cassandra had a particularly violent hallucination and had to be placed in the hospital wing.  It figures that she had to wait until the one time I had to relax.  If I didn't know better, I'd say she was psychic.  


Private Log
January 14th, 2004
Re: Emergency explanation

This afternoon I spoke with Cassandra concerning her hallucination two weeks ago.  The following is a log of our conversation:

M:  Hello again, Cassandra.

C:  Good afternoon, Doctor.

M:  I was hoping that we could talk about what happened to you.  

C:  Nothin' to talk about.  

M:  Come along, Cassandra.  I want to know what happened to you.  Dr. Brown says that you refused to speak to her.  How can we help you if you won't talk to us?

C:  I won't talk to Dr. Brown.  She doesn't look at me, she looks through me.  

M: Cassandra, Dr. Brown is a competent and compassionate woman who sincerely cares about your well-being.

C:  Whatever.  

M:  Cassandra...

C:  Fine.  Fine!  I was sound asleep when I suddenly... woke up.  I could hear laughter.

M:  Is it the same kind of laughter that you spoke of earlier?

C:  No, this was quiet... so quiet... I could barely hear it.  It was children's laughter.  Girls.  Playful, quiet laughter.  But... there was something scary about it.  I knew that another incident was going to happen.

M: What exactly was scary about the laughter?  Was it malicious?

C:  No, not at all.  It sounded like the tinkling of little bells... but... have you ever had a nightmare that wasn't scary except for the terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach?  Like, once I had a dream I was swinging, and then this horrible terror grew and grew as I began to swing higher and higher.  It was strange... just like this.  I don't know why the laughter was so frightening... possibly because it sounded so innocent but felt so evil.

M:  All right, what happened next?

C:  I saw movement in the shadows.  Movement... more laughter... and then, there she was.

M:  There who was?

C:  A little girl appeared from the shadows at the foot of my bed.  She wore a long white dress.  She would have been pretty if she had eyes...

M:  She didn't have any eyes?

C:  Well.. I don't know really.  Her face was hazy and there were two black holes where her eyes should have been.  She just stood there looking at me.  I closed my eyes as tight as I could.  I cried.  When I finally opened my eyes, her face was directly over mine.  She screamed this... horrible scream.  It was so high pitched... a terrible shriek.  So angry!  Then, I woke up in the hospital wing.

M:  I want to show you something, Cassandra. [A surveillance video of Cassandra's room is shown to her.  Cassandra does not react strongly to the fact that she is shown as being alone in the video.] There was no one in that room with you.

C:  Yes there was.  You just can't see her.

M:  Cassandra please evaluate what you just said.  What sounds more plausible; that you are the only person who can see this entity, and we are all strangely blind to its presence, or that you are a disturbed young woman who is suffering from terrible hallucinations?

C: You want my honest opinion, Doc?  My honest opinion is that I actually saw her.  You have been throwing around theories and ‘hypotheses' and I have a few ideas of my own that I'd like to contribute.  

M: Cassandra, I don't think it's healthy for you to try and diverge into self-analysis.

C:  I think that there are ghosts and spirits and demons, Doctor.  I think that they just float around the world, and I also think that some of them are just... mean.  Adults can't see them because they don't want to see them.  No, that's not right.  Adults don't see them because they've been trained not to see them.

M: Oh?

C: Yeah.  Children are trained from infancy that they should believe in the tangible.  Whenever they hear or see something, they're told, ‘it's just your imagination' or ‘you're just seeing things'.  Children are very impressionable; they conform and adjust to societal beliefs.  Eventually, they stop believing in the boogeyman, Santa Claus and ghosts.  Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad thing.  I sure as hell wish I didn't believe... but I do.  

M: Are you saying you believe in Santa Claus?

C: For God's sake!  It was an analogy.  I was trying to explain that human beings lose their impression ableism as they age, but only out of fear.  Like you said, the subconscious is a strong self-defense mechanism.  

I called the session to end shortly after.  I have been reviewing the session repeatedly and something just isn't sitting right with me.  It's what Cassandra said about how children see ghosts because they haven't been socialized to block them out.  To be honest, I've had the same theories myself.  Just foolishness, I realize, but I have had my fair share of ‘ghostly' experiences.  Everyone has.  Still, it's an interesting theory.


Private Log
February 2nd, 2004
Re: Cassandra

I just realized that I write exclusively about Cassandra and never of my other patients.  For some reason, I feel compelled to speak of her.  We had been having a lot of very successful, interesting sessions over the last several weeks.  It has been seventeen days since her last hallucination, and I was beginning to think she was improving.  However, today's session was less than satisfactory in regards to her progress.  As usual, the following is a copy of our conversation:

M:  Well, that's good at least.  You should be pleased.

C: I am pleased.  Seventeen days without a posse-... incident has got to be a record or something.

M: Actually, I think the longest you have gone without a hallucination is eleven days.  Congratulations.  I see that your medication has been decreased as well.  I must say, you have been making some progress.

C:  [Long pause.] Yeah... I guess.

M: What is the matter?  Is something troubling you?  Cassandra, what is it?  

C: [Begins to cry noisily] You can't put me back on the medication.  I'm doing so good!  Please... please don't tell Dr. Brown.

M: What is it?

C: ...I lied.  I have to tell you!  I haven't stopped seeing things.  But, the visits are different.  You're angry, aren't you?  I'm so-so-sorry... please don't put me back on medication!

M: Cassandra, I'm not angry with you.  However, you absolutely must start being honest if you want me to help you.  You said the visits were different, how so?

C: Promise me first that you won't put me back on my meds.

M: You know that I can't promise you that.  Medication is not a punishment; they are prescribed to help you.  Tell me what's changed.  

C: Oh-oh-kay.  The little girl still comes to see me.  Almost every night.  Once the lights turn off... I'll hear her breathing.  Sometimes I hear her talking... and then, each time, she stands at the foot of my bed, half in darkness and half in light.  

M: So... what's changed?

C: [Incredulous] She doesn't possess me!

M: Okay... well, why are you breaking your silence?  Why was it so crucial for you to tell me?

C: That's the thing.  That's the thing.  She stands at the end of my bed, whispering.  Whispering.  I hear her all night.  I have to listen.  She gets mad if I don't.

M: What does she say to you?

C: She says that things are changing.  She says that I'm going to have company soon.

M: Oh?  Company?  Who?

C: I can't say.  

Cassandra refused to talk any more on the subject, and the session was terminated shortly after. I'll have to speak with Dr. Brown about this.


Private Log
February 3rd, 2004
Re: Company

Last night, after my session with Cassandra, the strangest thing happened.  My mother left me a collection of antique porcelain dolls which I keep in my living room.  Seven beautifully carved dolls arranged around a child's tea table.  Last night I woke up at four-thirty for no reason.  I got up, I walked to the bathroom and when I passed the living room, I noticed that the dolls were no longer arranged around the table.  Instead they all stood in a straight line across my mantel.  I know that I didn't move them, and my husband denies moving them as well.  The weirdest thing about it is that after I returned to bed, I will be damned if I didn't hear whispers all night.

I spoke to Dr. Brown this morning and was strongly reprimanded for being pulled into Cassandra's delusions.  She threatened to remove me as Cassandra's primary doctor.  


Private Log
February 13th, 2004
Laughter

I am a doctor.  I spent eight years at university and another year being mentored at the finest mental health facility in the eastern United States.  I am not religious; I don't believe in the paranormal; I don't believe in superstition; hell, I don't even believe in luck.  Yet, I have no other explanation for what is happening at my house.

Last night I heard the giggling again.  It's just as Cassandra described it; the soft, barely audible giggling of little girls.  I got up and turned on every light in the apartment and I found nothing.  I checked and I found that there was not a television or radio on in the entire house.  All of the windows and doors were closed.  My husband and I live alone in our apartment, in a small home.  The couple in apartment two do not have children and claim that they were not awake at three-thirty.  I can't think of a single thing to account for the giggling.  My husband is getting annoyed with me.


Private Log
February 17th, 2004
The dolls again

I'm beginning to get nervous.  When this whole nonsense started, I thought of it as a learning experience.  I was driven to find the source of the unusual happenings and then put it to rest.  But things aren't content to die; they're getting stranger.

Last night I woke up and one of my mother's dolls was on my bureau.  It was queer;  I had been sound asleep and then awoke for no reason, only to find myself staring into her hard, porcelain eyes.  My husband left this afternoon on business, the doors are all locked and she was not in my room when I went to sleep.

Who put her there?


March 3th, 2004

I was taken off of Cassandra's case today.  I haven't had any sleep in four nights and I went to her for council.  Dr. Brown overheard me, broke in on us in the middle of our conversation and had me escorted from the hospital.   The following is the record of our conversation:

M: I was hoping you could explain to me about the little girl.  Do you still see her?

C: Of course.

M: Who is she?

C: She isn't anybody.  This thing may look like a little girl, but she isn't.  She isn't.  There are ghosts of people and there are demons.  She's a demon.  You see her, don't you?

M: Of course not, Cassandra.  What makes you think that?  

C: Because she told me.  When I said that she said I'd have company, this is what she meant.  Now you can see her too.

M: But I don't see her.  

C: But you hear her, don't you?  You don't need to say anything.  I know the truth.

M: Why?  Why do I hear things?

C: You had ghost experiences when you were little -

M: How do you know that?

C: - and that makes you vulnerable.  In your heart, you know that ghosts are real.  It makes you susceptible to them.  

M: How can I get her to leave me alone?

Doctor Brown: That is quite enough!  Doctor, come with me.

C: You can't.  There isn't anything you can do.

M: Why not?

C: Because she is in control.  See you later, Dr. Smith.


March 6th, 2004

I've trying to keep myself busy since I was fired.  I read a lot, and I can't stop cleaning the house.  No matter how much I clean, I always find more dirt.  Today I just stood in my living room and turned around and around in circles.  It was as though with each new rotation I could see the dirt getting thicker and thicker.  I dusted the house fourty-seven times today and I vaccumed seventeen.  Maybe I'll do the dishes tomorrow; all of them.  


March 17th, 2004

Over the last two weeks I have begun to see strange things.  First, when I was in the shower, I saw a little girl through the glass.  A little girl in a white dress. When I pulled open the shower door, she was gone.

The day after that, I was lying on the couch and watched as my carpet lifted off of the floor as though some small animal was beneath it.  The form slowly moved around my living room and stopped beneath the tea table where my dolls sit.  So, I did the most logical thing possible; I tore up the carpet.  You should have seen my husband's face; it was comical!  

Then, a week ago I was up all night.  I heard breathing reverberating throughout the house.  Soft breathing.  Then I heard the damned laughter; only now it's getting deeper and malicious. 

Two days ago, I was awoken when I felt something grab at my toes from beneath the blanket.  I screamed and I screamed.  I didn't stop screaming until my husband turned on all of the lights and pulled the blankets aside.  I have scratches on my feet.

I see people watching me from the shadows now.  I can feel eyes on me all of the time.  In the darkness.  They watch me from the darkness.  And they watch you, too, but you can't see them through your socialized eyes.

But that's enough of that; this will be my last journal entry.  I'm not allowed to write any more because I've been told that it's 'bad for my nerves'.  Funny that, I think my nerves are fine!  Oh, well I have to say good-bye.  My husband is done packing and now I have to leave.  Dr. Brown is waiting.