Nemesis

     It all started on my normal college school day. I, Ben Kotir, awoke at 7:12am and sat on the apartment's front porch. Across the street was a playground that no one used anymore, due to its age. Already, the morning was starting to warm up; so I refrained from reaching for the blanket that hung limply on the chair next to me. Movement caught my eye so I turned my attention from two playful street cats to the rickety swing set. There were three swings and the first was moving slowly. On a regular day I would have thought his to be the breeze's doing. But, as I was soon to find out, today was not going to be my regular day.

     Before I continue, I will give some background information. I was born and raised in a Prentiss, Maine. My father, a Canadian, met my mother in Maine while looking for a job. He immediately fell in love with her wit, beauty, and spirit. They got married and were blessed with two children, including myself. Ten years later, my mother died leaving my father devastated, my younger sister confused (she was only four), and myself angry. My father remarried four years later. I did not like my step-mother, so I got a job as a bus driver. In addition, I got a part-time job so I could be out of the house most of the time.

     I did this for two years. In those years, my family and I moved which meant my sister switched schools. Thankfully, I was cyber-schooled. Because of the move, I got to drive my sister to school every day. Now that she was ten, she never stopped chattering; she would chi-chat on the bus to me, her friends, and even to those she did not know. She was full of life. Then, one night, something terrible happened...

     The empty swing started moving faster. As I studied it more curiously I realized there was no breeze. I got up, crossed the street, and stepped onto the mulch of the playground. Suddenly, the swing stopped in disagreement with gravity. My breath caught in my throat. I heard a thump and stared at the ground by the swing. Two footprints, looking exactly my size, appeared and crossed the gap between me and whatever it was. Then, I heard a voice whisper, "They know it's your fault." After that, the footprints vanished. Suddenly, my roommate called to me from the front door. Not reluctantly, I jogged to our apartment, dressed for the day, and drove to school. Everything I had to do took my mind off of what had happened. I soon forgot the little episode, but not for long.

     I arrived at the apartment that night, exhausted. Soon, I stumbled into my bed and lied there almost too tired to fall asleep. Then, the happenings of earlier that day cam crashing down on me with such a force, I gasped. The reality of it all was insane. Questions flew through my mind 90 miles an hour. Was it a joke? Was I dreaming? Where had I heard that voice before? Right before I fell asleep, I finally recognized whose voice it was: mine.

     To interrupt my story again, I will provide some more information. The night of... the accident, my sister was on the bus. She got banged up pretty bad. An ambulance took her away. They said that one out of ten people survive from injuries like she. She also told me to say my goodbyes then. My sister was only slightly conscious, but I apologized and bid her goodbye. Guilt gnawed at my soul. After I healed, she was still in the hospital; she was helplessly clinging to life. I would be out driving and everything would remind me of her; the ice cream shop where I would drop her off at to hang out with her friends, the shoe store where I bought her new shoes because someone stole hers while she was in a bounce house, and the railroad tracks we would pass every day on the way to school. My little sister loved trains. She would always say the same thing when we passed: "I'm gonna be a train conductor one day, Ben. And I'm gonna be the best one there is."

     I would see these places everywhere I went. Soon, I could not take it anymore. To make things worse, my father got news from the doctors; they revealed that my sister was not only hanging between life and death, but that there was little to no chance of her survival. If she somehow survived, her memory would be affected terribly. This was an awful blow for my father and I. However, when he remembered that I was the one driving the bus, he directed all of his hurt, anger, and pain towards me. He blamed and ignored me; he wanted nothing to do with me. Instead of being a burden, I packed my things and moved away to college. Although it was three and a half hours away, my father did nothing to stop me.

     To continue... Dreams of the night that changed my life haunted my sleep, causing me to wake by the lack of it. Drowsily, I checked my alarm clock; it read 4:37am. I walked to the bathroom to get melatonin pills and a drink. The light was on, which was not irregular because I always used it as a nightlight; ever since the accident I hated to be in complete darkness. Grabbing the medication, I turned to get a cup by the sink. Then, I was wide awake with fear as I stared in the mirror at a cloaked figure behind me. It was not there before and the door was closed. I know I would have known if someone entered. Again, the figure of my build and height whispered, with my voice, "They know you did it. You do too. Don't linger in denial."

    Amazingly, I got the courage to turn around. It was gone. I decided not to take my pills; I wanted to be fully awake, not under the influence of the medication, in case anything else happened. I did not want to think I simply "imagined" it. Not too surprisingly, I did not fall back asleep. Since there was not much else to do, my homework was to be completed. I went to the coffee table and started to tackle my psychology. Soon, I became intrigued with a paragraph on the mind that stated it was its own worse enemy. I quirked my brow, while thinking how the mind could be its own nemesis. Absentmindedly,  I reached for my pencil which I had placed on the left side of my book. My fingers could not find it so I glanced that way; I was bewildered to find that it was no longer there. I shrugged it off, thinking I had only thought I put it there. After all, the adrenaline from the shock was fading and my brain was becoming foggy. 

     Decidedly, I stood and made my way to the kitchen to brew coffee. I walked in the direction of our kitchen, turned the corner, flipped the switch, and saw the cloaked man again in the mirror above the mini-fridge. Now, the mini-fridge was opposite of the stove so I turned my eyes to the stove. I mean, it was only logical that he was standing there. But he was not; I only saw him in in the mirror.

     Although petrified, I tried to speak.  Immediately, I found out that, try as I might, I could not voice anything. I could not even muster a whisper, much less a scream. It felt as if my voice was wrenched from my grasp. My throat burned and it felt raw. Still, thoughts broke into my mind. What was he gonna do? Would he do anything? Who or What is he? Why is he here? Would he speak?

     As if on cue, in a strong and quiet voice he slowly spoke. "The day they died, at 4:37 pm, you caused it! It was not the other driver! You should have been paying more attention. They should not have to suffer - you should! Those kids were carefree. Now, they're gone and suffering. Their parents trusted you! Trusted...me." With those last two words, he sneered. He then left me in darkness and despair.

     

     Friday passed without any incidents. I began to think that this... thing... might stop bothering me. On Saturday, after I had come back from hanging out with my friends, I opened the door to find that the phantom was lounging on the couch in our living room.  Although I had almost started to get used to his absence, it was not extremely unexpected.

     I was bit tired and the "visitor" ruined the happiness I had left. By now, I was upset and said, "Would you just leave me alone?!" I was surprised when he answered. Normally, it was him who spoke first and I who never answered. "No. I will always be with you, whether you like it or not." He then laughed my laugh.

     

     I was not beginning to trust it, but when he said those words a dizziness captured my very being - even to the core and I felt inclined to rest. Part of me did not want to, but most of me could not resist a little sleep. Slowly, I dragged my heavy feet down the hall. I then went to sleep.

     I do not know how long I slept. All I did know was that I needed to get to the bottom of this. Thoughtfully, I wrote down all I knew about the...phantom. 

1. His feet are my size
2. His build and height are the same as mine
3. His voice is mine
4. He knows about the accident and I had not told anyone else
5. He will be with me forever?
6. He likes couches 

     I mused over these things for a few minutes. Randomly, the paragraph on the mind that I had read in my psychology popped into my head: the mind can be its own worse enemy. I had an idea. Now, I could not wait for the thing to return. 

     For a few hours, I waited for it to come. Just when I thought it was not going to show, It did. With a smirk on my face, I got up from the couch. "I know who you are," I said almost smugly. 

"Oh really? And who is that? The ghost of your dead father?" My father died a few years after my sister got in the accident. It hurt me to remember, but I was not going to let him distract me. "You will never figure me out. I will continue to haunt you until the day we die." He sneered again and stepped forward. 

"No," I stated bluntly. "You are nothing more than my own mind playing tricks on me, a figment of my imagination, the Gollum to my Smeagol. You are my own worse enemy." I saw him shake like he was trying to rid himself of something unwarranted. 

"You cannot figure me out," he sounded desperate. 

"No. I cannot." I spoke softly. He stepped back, confused. "But, I can figure myself out. You are no more than a result of me not knowing myself and working through my painful issues and memories."

Heavily breathing, he sputtered, "You- it's-you can't-how? No!"

     I closed my eyes. "Yes. Leave now and never come back!" I expected another refute, but I did not receive any. Surprised, I opened my eyes only to find him gone. I breathed a long sigh of relief, picked up my cell phone, and dialed Bridgeside Counseling Services. "This is going to be a long road, but I'm finally ready."

     A girl answered the phone. "Hello," she said in a happy voice. "Bridgeside Counseling Services. My name's Bethany Kotir. How can I help you?"

     There was no mistaking the voice and name of my sister. She was alive.

.  .  .  .  .

I wrote this story a few years ago:) I hope you enjoyed it!

OMADG