I told Peggy how I had viral pneumonia, how I heard voices. I hallucinated. I felt afraid.

  That winter, when I was six, the whites of my eyes turned red because all the blood vessels broke with the force of my coughing. I was afraid to look in a mirror because it looked like my eyes were bleeding.

  My parents must have been terrified. More terrified than they let on.

  They covered all the mirrors in the house so I wouldn’t have to see my scary, sick reflection glaring back at me with bloody eyes.

  Today when they talk about it, they refer to it as “the time you almost died”.

  My sickness started the night the room went all funny. The night I saw that thing that was imitating my dad.

  That’s also when I started to hear the transmissions from The Void.

  I didn’t think much about that time in my life or that thing that I saw. But I knew now, clear as day, the thing that was in my room that night was somehow the same thing that is tuned into me now.

  It waited. It called out to me all through the years.

  And finally, I invited it back in.

  “And that’s another way they get you,” Peggy Watts said. “When you’re weak. That’s a way in. In your case, back then, you were young. A lot was happening to you that you didn’t understand. Very easy to brush away what you were seeing as a hallucination from the fever. And that’s how it was explained to you. And because you were a child, that’s how you understood it. But it was something else. And sweetie when that shape told you they would be waiting, they didn’t lie. This is them coming back for you. The boy with no head. The man. The shape. The menacing. The shadows, the dreams. This all makes sense!”

  She slapped the palm of her hand down on her desk again and the crystals on her bracelet jingled.

  This was happening. That thing I saw in my room, the shadow I’d catch glimpses of now and then as I grew up…it was real. Just like I knew that it was real when I was a kid.

  I had dismissed them as fever dreams, or sickness-induced nightmares.

  Dismissed.

  “Dismissed,” Peggy said. “Because you didn’t know what you were dealing with. You weren’t tuning in to them, so you weren’t giving them any power. You weren’t inviting them in. Your illness explained it away, and you accepted that because you didn’t know what it was that was trying to get at you. Now you know. So, you need to take some steps. You’ve already invited them in so you’re more at risk now.”

  “What steps?” I asked. “What? Sage the bedroom? A circle of salt around my bed? Call in an exorcist?” She shook her head and gestured with her hand as if to wave away everything I said as nonsense.

  “No, it’s not that complicated. Here’s the thing. You are an antenna. If you honed your skills, you could be sitting where I’m sitting making all kinds of money doing what I’m doing with you right now.

  But you can’t because they found a way in and now as long as you are picking up and receiving what they are sending to you, that’s an open door for them. And let me tell you, they will not stop trying to barge into that door for as long as it’s open. So sweetie let me tell you what you have to do, it’ll only work if you listen and do it. But it will work.”

  She paused. “First rule, sweetie–and this is the tricky part about these things–they are only as real as we make them.”

  I nearly lost my mind when I was a kid. At least, I thought at the time I was losing my mind. I thought I was legitimately losing my head, and the same thoughts were going through my brain now.

  I spoke with Peggy Watts for another 45 minutes, well over my paid-for time slot.

  So much of what she told me washed over me, and I’d need to listen to the recording of our session many times to fully understand.

  But for now, I had some demons to get rid of.

  She told me these things—these voices from The Void—are mostly harmless. She described them as guides with bits of information they can pass on to us.

  Some are harder to hear than others, but nothing they can say will hurt anyone.

  But there are a few who try to influence the receptor–that’s me–and use them for whatever plan they have. She wasn’t sure what it was. Drive me to insanity? Create a cloud of negativity? Push me or Sarah over the edge until something drastic happens? It could be anything, but it wasn’t good.

  She told me I was right that these things wanted to cause me harm. To what extent, she couldn’t say.

  But the more I tune in, the stronger they will get.

  “They come for you in those moments when sleep and being awake are fusing together. Your guard will be down. Be careful. They are coming for you. Your first mistake was inviting them in. Don’t feed them.”

  That’s what I kept thinking in bed that night.

  “Don’t feed them.”

  I knew what to do but had no idea how it would work, or if I’d be able to do it.

  It was snowing heavily. Thick, chunky flakes coming down. It was the kind of snow that was going to accumulate. Pile up. Insulate.

  Snow muffles the world. It makes the noises we hear sound less harsh. It buries everything in mounds of soft ice.

  There is something to be said about a wintery night: It can be both bleak and comforting at the same time.

  Tonight, I was hoping the snow would be a blanket, a cover, a comfort.

  “Jim.”

  A man’s voice. Calm. Firm. Strong. I listened.

  Quiet. The snow blowing outside.

  And then:

  “Jimmy?”

  Sarah’s voice. Sounding worried. She never called me Jimmy.

  And that was my first clue that it wasn’t really Sarah.

  I could hear her downstairs, but it sounded like she was right in the room, in the doorway, calling my name.

  This was it.

  “Jim,” an unrecognizable voice said, impatiently. “Turn around Jim. Look at me.”

  Don’t feed them, I thought to myself. Don’t feed them, don’t feed them don’t feed them don’t feed th–I inhaled sharply and held it. And I saw it.

  There was a man crouched beside my dresser six feet away from me. Crouched down, like an intruder, hiding and even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was staring at me in the dark.

  I don’t know if he knew that I could see him, not sure if he knew I knew he was there, so I stayed motionless and watched him.

  His profile was sinister, his shadow sat, lurking, waiting.

  I could hear a small hum building. A buzzing.

  I sensed him moving. Crouching lower, like a cat about to pounce.

  I kept my eyes fixed on him, but I could see out the window next to him that the snow continued to pound down outside, billowing, blowing. I could see it drifting and piling on the streets.

  Insulate. Muffle. Bury.

  The thing, the man, began to creep towards the bed, the shadow. Arms freakishly long. Proportions off.

  The buzzing getting louder. I could hear it shuffling slowly toward me.

  This was real. This was not a dream. This was happening.

  Except it wasn’t.

  “First rule, sweetie–here’s the thing about these things–they are only as real as we make them.”

  I closed my eyes calmly, despite every instinct telling me to get up, scream and run for safety. I shut my eyes gently and tried to envision white noise. Static. Dead air to drown them away. Snow to bury away the sound. I thought of the snow. Tried to focus on hearing the snow come down.

  That was the key. Find something else to drown them out. Focus on that sound. Find your peace in it.

  That’s what Peggy Watts had instructed me to do.

  Simple enough, but easier said than done.

  “It’ll get easier, hun. There is a hole in you that they want to come through. Plug it. Tune it out. Focus on other things. Ignore. Dismiss it. It’s just noise. Don’t give it any power.”

  I kept my eyes closed.

  I’m just a guy in bed. I’m just a guy in bed. I’m just a guy in bed.

  And then I heard it whisper:

  “I’m right here, Jim.”

  I focused on my breathing. Kept my eyes closed. White noise. Quiet. Calm.

  I was trying to not let my heart beat out of my chest, to slow it down. I felt a cough coming on. I felt the cold burn of a fever shiver over my body. I knew if I opened my eyes, the thing would be inches from my face and I’d lose it.

  I’d lose my head.

  So I kept my eyes closed. I kept breathing. I could sense it. I could hear the buzzing grow louder. It was terrifying. Tense. Erratic. Amplified.

  They are only as real as we make them.

  My thoughts turned to my childhood. Mountains of snow, my dad shovelling the sidewalks and me helping with my small plastic scoop.

  The surprising warmth of the walls of the snow fort my father built for me.

  The blinding neon light of the sun reflecting off the crusted snow, sparkling.

  The way the wind would blow, creating snow drifts. I focused on the sound of the wind and the way it melted everything away. In real life and tonight, in my head.

  The sound of the snow coming down suffocated out the buzzing. I focused. I tuned in to the static as the rest fell away.

  Snow softens. Smothers. Stifles.

  In this case, the smooth static sound I was focusing on was going to asphyxiate whatever it was that was after me.

  I would not tune in. My antenna would only pick up static. Snow would block the signal.

  And as the snow continued to pile up and wrap our neighbourhood in sparkling white flakes, I could feel the thing retreating into the shadows, and further.

  Sleep took me.

  I awoke in the night and Sarah was sleeping soundly beside me.

  The room was bright from the moon reflecting off the white layers of snow in the neighbourhood.

  We were warm in bed. I heard the buzz start up again, but I closed my eyes, smiling – and focused on the sound of the snow.

  We slept through the night.

  The same way I broke my radio antenna as a kid when I accidentally dropped my boom box, I disabled the antenna that picked up transmissions from The Void.

  “Focusing on nothing and clearing your mind is a tricky thing to do,” Peggy Watts had told me.

  That night in my bedroom I thought of snow to muffle it all away. Plugging up the hole.

  Safety.

  Just like anxiety, the more you feed it the worse it gets. Sometimes a simple focus on breathing, heart-rate and a whole lot of calm and comfort helps ease the sting of fear and paranoia.

  A simple concentrated effort to stay present and focus on what’s real is easier said than done.

  Peggy Watts mentioned a white noise generator as a tool I could use to help drown out the other noises. And it helped. I turned it on every night and I focused on the waves of static it sent out.

  Not only did it drown out the voices at night, it was a sleep aid too.

  And this is how it would be. Because this is how it was.

  My head was an antenna. When I was a child something bad found a way to connect to it and broadcast directly to me.

  If I couldn’t hear it, it couldn’t hurt me. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it couldn’t get me.

  That’s a tough thing to remember when you see a shadow in the corner of your room, creeping up on you.

  It’s difficult to stay calm when you hear voices telling you that something wants to hurt you.

  It’s near impossible to stay sane when you see the image of a child with no head, arms outstretched and fingers wiggling, searching, grasping.

  Some drown it out with drugs.

  Others drink it away.

  Some of us end up on street corners in conversation with the Void or in hospitals with padded walls staring directly into it, lost in chaos.

  I turned the white noise machine on and closed my eyes.

  “Jim,” the voice said, “You there?”

  But no one was listening.

  About the Author

  Dan MacDonald is a radio personality in Windsor, Ontario and Detroit, Michigan. He’s active in community theatre, and is a collector of vinyl records.

  If you liked this book, try…

  In the spirit of seasonal ghost stories, this wintry collection will send a tingle down your spine, but may also warm your heart.

  Six short stories range from waiting for a mysterious midnight train, attending a party with an unexpected guest, a life-changing reunion for a miserable family, receiving a holiday greeting unlike any other, a visit from an unusual group of carolers, and a journey through a blizzard with a twist.

  Grab a blanket, your favorite hot drink, and settle in for some Winter Chills.

  Stories included:

  By D.B. Carter: Departures and Arrivals

  The Christmas Card

  By Derek R. King: Defying Convention

  By S.J. Lomas: The Holiday Party

  The Carolers

  By Natalie Reeves-Billing: Go With the Wind

 

 

  S.J. Lomas, Winter Chills

 

 

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