Finally Alone

I’ve been hearing it for as long as I can remember. A violent hum that screams in my ears whenever I try to talk to anyone. It brings with it the feeling of hands squeezing around my neck, my throat tightening. My heart pounds, and I’m always overcome by a dread that suffocates me. Conversation feels like drowning.

Early on, it caused me to shut myself off from everyone, except for my older sister, Anne. I’ve never heard the hum when talking to her, maybe because she’s always been there. She pretty much raised me since our dad left when we were young, and our mom became a shell of herself that hardly left her room. Anne recognized when she was far too young that she was all I had, and she didn’t take that for granted. She never let me forget that she was there.

I still remember getting sent home early from elementary school after I had worked up the courage to talk to another kid at recess. The hum had driven me to scream and claw at my neck until it was raw. Afterward, I sat in my room, thinking about how I’ll never be able to have a friend and wondering why I wasn’t like the other kids. Anne had knocked on the door before peeking her head in.

“Hey. Heard you had a rough day,” she said with a comforting but concerned look.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

She came into my room and sat on the bed next to me. I could feel her looking at the scratch marks on my neck.

“You okay?” She asked.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” I said as I tried to fight the tears welling up in my eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you are, Chris. Talking to people can be scary. I get that.”

“It’s not talking to people that scares me. It’s what it does to me.”

I had tried to explain the hum to her before, but it was hard to put into words just how terrifying it feels, especially as a child.

“I don’t scare you, do I?” She asked.

“No, talking to you is different,” I said.

“Good,” she said with a smile as she tousled my hair. “You’ll always have me. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting her smile with my own.

Even though everybody else made my body launch into a fight-or-flight response, I had always felt safe with her. Safe, but never as calm as I felt when completely alone. 

I lived with her for a while after I graduated from high school. I knew it wasn’t fair for her to be responsible for providing for both of us now that I had reached an age where I should be taking care of myself. Considering that most jobs involve talking to people in some way, I could never hold one for long. I forced myself to keep trying, though. Years passed, and my guilt grew despite Anne’s unwavering assurances that I wasn’t a burden. I knew I had to find a place of my own so she could live her life. I didn’t want her to keep putting my needs before her own as she always had. She provided for me once again when she convinced her friend to give me a job doing data entry. She explained my situation to him as best as she could, and luckily, he was alright with me working remotely with minimal conversation as long as I got my work done. The job paid like shit, but it could at least let me afford a rundown apartment at the edge of town. 

When I told her I’d be moving out, Anne made me promise to let her stop by a couple of times a week. She never fully understood why I needed to close myself off from people, and I knew she was worried about me becoming a recluse. I could tell that she was serious about me making this promise though, so I did. From then on, she’d stop by on her way home from work a few times each week to bring groceries or just hang out and watch movies with me. She didn’t hide her concern about me spending so much time alone, and on multiple occasions she brought up the idea of getting a dog to keep me company. It didn’t sound like a terrible idea, but I was really enjoying my solitary life and always told her it wasn’t the right time.  

Regardless, she stopped by unannounced one day, and I opened the door to see her holding a puppy. 

I couldn’t hide my smile as I said, “What the hell is this, Anne?”  

She returned the smile and said, “Your new roommate! Someone’s gotta keep you company when I'm not around.” 

Although part of me instinctively started to search for a reason to say that I couldn’t take him, as I sat with him on the couch and he furiously licked my face, I knew I couldn’t turn him away. 

I named him Ricky. Over the next two years, he didn't leave my side. The dopey chocolate lab had nothing but love to give. He didn’t even look at the rabbits and squirrels outside with any malice. I loved him, and it was nice having someone to talk to other than Anne. Over the course of those two years, I noticed a shift in her demeanor. She used to be bubbly and all smiles, but that was slowly replaced by anxiety and fatigue. Day by day, week by week, she became a different person. She tried to conceal it, but I could see the weight she was carrying. Even Ricky seemed to have noticed. When she came over, all he wanted to do was snuggle up to her and he whined at the door after she left. 

One night, she seemed to be especially tense. We sat on the couch and watched TV for a while, the silence growing between us before she turned to look at me with a concerned expression.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I replied.

“Okay, but no making fun of me.”

“No promises.”

She flashed a fleeting, but genuine, smile.

“This is probably gonna sound stupid, but… have you ever felt like you were being watched?”

I could see by the look in her eyes that she was completely serious about this.

“Considering I only leave the house to take Ricky for walks, I think you might be asking the wrong person.” 

Ricky, hearing his name and “walk” in the same sentence, perked up excitedly from his spot on the couch.

“You really think you’re being followed?” I asked.

“I don’t know... It’s a feeling I’ve had for a while. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid. But I’ve started to feel it all the time, no matter where I am. And recently, I’ve been hearing things. A voice, telling me to…” Her voice trailed off but her eyes were wide, and I could tell that she was trying to contain how unsettled she really was.

“It sounds like you,” she said despondently.

“What?” I asked, certain that I must have heard her wrong. 

“The voice. It sounds like you, but feels… wrong.”

I didn’t respond, distracted as that terrible, familiar hum began to rise in my ears. It started low, like the pitched down buzz of a mosquito, but it quickly grew louder, and it carried with it a feeling of foreboding. Ricky got down from the couch and looked at me with his head cocked.

“Can I stay here for a couple of nights?” she asked, looking at me with an almost desperate expression.

My throat immediately began to constrict, and the hum rose to a deafening volume as my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest. In that moment, all I wanted was for it to stop. 

I need her to leave. The thought came to the surface unconsciously.

My mind began to race. I had never felt this with her before, but now, it was more intense than it’s ever been.

“I- I don’t know, Anne. I’m not feeling great,” I replied in a choked voice.

Her expression changed to a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. Ricky grew more anxious and began to whine as he looked at me.

“Right, I just thought-“

“I just need to be alone, Anne,” I snap impulsively. The noose around my neck loosened its grip as the words left my mouth.

She looked completely defeated.

“I’m sure I can stay at Laura’s,” she said as she stood up from the couch and quietly walked toward the door. As her hand reached the doorknob, she paused as Ricky tried to wedge his way between her and the exit, pressing against her legs. 

“See ya, Ricky,” she said as she opened the door. She glanced back at me hopelessly, and left without saying goodbye. Ricky cried as he looked at me.

As soon as I heard the door latch closed, the hum immediately subsided and I felt like I could breathe again as something else took the place of the panic. A comfortable, heavy warmth began to creep over me, settling into my chest like something finally allowed inside. I had never felt anything like it before. It was like a lifetime’s worth of tension had been released all at once. It felt like a drug. My eyes closed and I felt my entire body relax more than it ever has. I knew I should’ve been concerned by what just happened with Anne, but I couldn’t find the will to give it a second thought as my mind dissociated into a pleasant stupor. Ricky walked over and placed his head on my lap, whining and nudging me with his nose. I had almost forgotten he was there.

Anne visited less frequently after that night. She’d try to text or call, but my attempts to answer were always deterred by that loathsome hum that grew in intensity the longer I contemplated replying. As soon as I gave up the idea of responding and set my phone down, that soothing calm would crawl into me again. She began to just stop by unannounced every so often, looking more and more drained each time, and I’d scramble to come up with some excuse as to why I couldn’t hang out. I couldn’t handle what being around her was doing to me. With every rejection, I could see her becoming more broken. Soon enough, she stopped visiting altogether. I’m ashamed to admit now that part of me is relieved that she stopped.

It's been two weeks since I’ve seen her last, or talked to her for that matter. 

“It’s just you and me now, boy,” I say to Ricky as he lies next to me on the couch. A pang of guilt hits my stomach as I realize it feels good to say that, but it’s quickly washed away as a warmth blooms in my chest.  

Contentment stripped of feeling.

I snap out of it for a second and think, “What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to call her.” I reach toward my phone, but the instant my hand touches it, I feel that familiar pressure on my throat as the hum rises sharply. I pull my hand back and sigh. My phone vibrates as the screen shows an incoming call from an unknown number. I ignore it, but a moment later, my phone vibrates again. Whoever called me left a voicemail. I’m sure it was a spam call, but I feel the urge to listen anyway. 

In a shaky voice, the caller says, “Hey Chris, it’s Laura, Anne’s friend. I don’t know if you remember me but, um, well I hadn’t heard from Anne for a few days and she’s been acting weird so I stopped by her place. Her door was unlocked, so I went in and... fuck...” Her voice cracks as she starts to cry. “She’s dead. I’m so sorry. The cops said they’d tell you, but I...” 

My phone drops to the couch and I sit in a stunned silence. Only one thought repeats in my mind: this never would have happened if I didn’t push her away. 

If I had tried to be there for her when she clearly needed me, maybe she’d still be alive. Suddenly, in an instant, all of those painful feelings are overtaken by a potent analgesia that floods through every vein as I sink into the couch cushions. This is the most intense the feeling has ever felt. It’s like I’m suspended in something thick and syrupy, my body dissolving into it. In some distant part of my mind, it seems wrong to be feeling this good after learning that the only person I truly loved just died, but the feeling is cloying I don’t try to push it away. Ricky perks up and stares down the hallway toward my bedroom attentively. He begins to whine and growl. I close my eyes, and I barely feel it when he begins to frantically paw at my leg. I don’t want this sensation to end. Ricky’s barks become more and more distant. Sometime after, I start to fall into a deep sleep, like succumbing to anesthesia. Before I fully lose consciousness, I hear my voice.

“Finally,” I whisper. 

“Alone.” 

I awake in my bed, unsure how I got there but still feeling the afterglow of what I felt the night before. The bitter memory of that voicemail is dull in comparison. I begrudgingly pull the comforter off of me as my eyes adjust to the brightness of the room. I grab my phone to check the time. That can’t be right, I think. I’m not sure how, but I slept for a day and a half. 

My attention is turned towards the living room when I hear Ricky whine from down the hall. Weird, I think, he’s usually always in bed with me when I wake up. I force my body out of bed and down the hall to find that Ricky is already standing by the front door with his leash in his mouth. Seeing that I’m awake, his tail wags with a force that causes dust to kick up and dance in the sunbeams breaking through the gaps in the curtains.

“Alright, come on,” I say to him as I open the front door.

As we pass through the threshold and start walking down the path leading away from my apartment, the grogginess I was feeling is blown away by the cold, harsh wind. My mind is sobered. Ricky stops and stares down the path. I follow his gaze and see two police officers walking towards us from the parking lot.

“Christopher Richards?” One of them asks as they approach. Ricky begins furiously sniffing them as his tail wags.

“Yeah?” I say. The hum rises, like feedback from an amplifier.

“I’m very sorry to tell you this, but your sister, Anne, was found deceased,” he says.

He pauses, anticipating some sort of reaction. When I don’t reply, he gives a quick glance to his partner before continuing.

“It appears that she committed suicide,” he continued.

She wouldn’t do that, I think. Anne wouldn’t do that. A pressure forms on my throat that feels like it’s pulling me back to my front door.

“There are some resources we can provide you with that may help-“

“Is that all?” I say curtly. It’s getting hard to hear him over the hum and my lungs are struggling to draw breath. I tug on Ricky’s leash, trying to coax him toward the apartment. He resists and lies down at the officer’s feet.

They say something else, muffled and hard to make out, before nodding dutifully and walking away. Ricky whines as they leave. He tries to follow them, but I give a quick yank on his leash. I pull harder than I should have. He swings around quickly and walks toward me with his head down. When I cross into my apartment, the transition to the stale, placid air of the living room is like stepping into a nostalgic childhood memory. 

After giving Ricky some breakfast, my legs seem to move on their own accord toward my bed. I crawl under the comforter and disappear into the mattress, swallowed by a dense comfort that smothers all feeling. The sharp points in my mind become rounded.  

I hear my voice whisper, “Stay.”

And so, I do. I lie there, drifting in and out of sleep as my room cycles from dark to light, dark to light. I have vague memories of getting up to feed Ricky, but it feels like a dream.

At some point, I’m stirred half-awake by Ricky climbing up into the bed and lying next to me. As Ricky settles in close, his breathing matches the rhythm of my own. With each breath, it’s like the comforter is becoming heavier, forcing me deeper into the mattress. My bones feel as if they’re filling with warm lead. Ricky’s body radiates a calming heat. He adjusts to bring his body even closer to mine. When he does, it sounds like skin sliding against the sheets.

I’m immediately pulled out of my daze as a pulse of adrenaline shoots through my body when I hear Ricky bark from the living room. In a state of shock and confusion, I bolt upright and look next to me, irrationally hoping to find Ricky lying there. Instead, I see a pale body pressed against me, with a hollow expression on its familiar face as it stares up at me. I hesitate for a second, my mind scrambling to process what my eyes are seeing. It calmly reaches a hand out towards me, as if inviting me to lay back down. 

“Don’t be scared,” it says in a soft voice. My voice.

Ricky barks again, and I jump out of bed before sprinting into the living room to find him staring attentively down the hallway leading to my bedroom, barking between low growls. I can only focus on getting as far away from my bedroom as possible as I run out the door and yell, “Ricky! Come!”

As we exit the front door, my mind becomes blindingly lucid. The warmth evaporates as soon as the cold night air hits me, like a sedative flushed from my system. The hum begins to blare in my ears. We run across the parking lot towards my car. I yank on the door handle, but it doesn’t budge.

“Shit!” 

I realize that not only are my car keys sitting on the kitchen counter, but my phone is still on the bedside table in my room . I struggle to take in deep breaths as I pace and think of what to do. I rush to the nearest apartment door and start banging. After a few rounds of pounding on the door, I finally see a light switch on and hear the door unlock. A middle-aged woman who looks like she was born with a cigarette in her mouth opens the door.

“What do you want? Y’know what time it is?”

The hum is shrieking and my throat is tightening. 

“Call the cops. Please.” I manage to croak in a strained voice.

She looks at me quizzically. 

“You alright? You on drugs or somethin’?” She asks skeptically.

“Please, I’m begging you.” I’m beginning to sweat now. At this point, I can’t take in full breaths, and it feels like I’m not getting enough air.

“Alright, fine. Wait here.”

The woman shuts the door. She returns a few moments later before saying, “I called ‘em. Said they’d be here soon.”

I can only nod as she shuts the door again, locks it, and turns off her lights.

I walk around the parking lot with Ricky as we wait for the cops, our eyes trained on my front door as my mind races.

That thing… It looked like me. Not exactly like me, though. Paler. Emptier, I think to myself. 

As I stare at my open apartment door, I can still feel that tantalizing pull coaxing me to come back inside and lie down in bed. My body is weak, like I haven’t eaten in too long. 

The cops arrive after what was probably only a few minutes, but felt much longer. As they approach, I realize that I have no idea how I’m going to explain to them what just happened. 

“You the one that lady called about?” One of the cops asks.

The awful feeling comes back into focus fast and strong. I try to speak quickly before I’m no longer able to.

“Someone’s in my apartment. In my bed.” The words come out with an unnatural haste. 

“Sir, have you taken any substances or medications tonight?”

“No! Please, I just need you to check,” I say, louder and more frantically than I probably should have.

“Alright, alright. Calm down sir, we’ll check it out. What unit is it?”

I point towards my door.

They go into my apartment, and come back after some time with neutral expressions.

“Well, sir, there isn’t anyone in there. No signs of forced entry, either. If you’d like to file a report, we can do that. But if someone did break in, we really don’t have anything to go on at this point.”

All I can do is stare at them despondently. Was it a dream? Am I going fucking crazy? 

“We can also have someone from social services reach out to you, if that’s something you think might help.” The look they give me feels condescending.

I shake my head and look down as I lean against my car. One of them lets out a sigh that gives the impression that this was a waste of their time.

With that, they went back to their cruiser and left. I stayed in the parking lot with Ricky for some time, unsure of what to do. I don’t have my phone, car keys, or wallet. I don’t even know who I would call if I had my phone, and it’s not like I have enough money to get a hotel room for the night. It felt like my only choice was to go back inside.

As I start walking back towards my door, Ricky doesn’t follow at first. He just stands there, whining desperately. 

“We don’t have a choice, bud. Come on.”

He reluctantly follows me up to the door before running in front of me to block the doorway. He barks and puts his front paws on my thighs.

“Ricky, stop. We gotta go in.”

I move him aside and step through the doorway. As I cross the threshold, all the anxiety seems to drain from the top of my head and down through my feet. The fear becomes distant and shameful. Like waking up from a silly nightmare that felt real at the time.

What was I so worried about? I think to myself, as I give into the gravitational force guiding me back toward my bed. Ricky doesn’t follow me into the bedroom, his high-pitched cries trailing off behind me. I gratefully lie down, and the sheets take me in with a velvet embrace. My pulse slows as my consciousness dims.

Once again, I’m stirred from my sleep. But this time, I know it’s not Ricky crawling up into bed with me. I don’t question why I’m not scared and I don’t run. I welcome the overpowering numbness that comes with it as it lies down next to me.

“You don’t have to fight anymore,” it says softly, its hollow eyes looking into mine. “We can finally be alone.”

Ricky’s barks echo from far away. Then, I hear the click of his nails on the hardwood as he slowly enters the room.

“Leave!” The thing hisses from beside me, its uncanny voice like hearing myself in a recording.

Ricky whimpers and scurries out. 

I think about calling for him, but the hum builds in my ears as I feel a heavy hand pushing down gently on my chest.

“Don’t. It will hurt.” The thing next to me says.

The sedation intensifies, spreading from its hand through my chest and dulling every sense. I give in. I choose to give in. 

Everything begins to fade away.

Time begins to lose its meaning as I lie here, body melting with the thing next to me. Its gaunt figure feels like a viscous fluid flowing into me and swallowing any thoughts I try to conjure.

I can feel less and less of my body with each passing hour. The parts I can still feel are weak, and trying to move them is an insurmountable task. The thing no longer feels like it’s lying next to me. It feels like it’s lying with me. 

Our breathing is mirrored, chests rising and falling together.

Our hearts beat in sync.

I can’t tell which one is mine anymore. 

A building, putrid aroma of rotting food and ammonia coats my nostrils with each breath we take. My mind is barely cognizant, filled with static and less aware with each thump of our heart. But somewhere in the static, is a thought: 

If I lay here much longer, I don’t think I’ll ever get back up.

The thought doesn’t scare me. 

Just as I feel the last of myself fading, disappearing into the thing next to me, a searing pain rockets up my left leg.

I shoot up from the bed and feel for the source of the pain, but there’s nothing there. Instead, I see Ricky’s jaws clamped onto the thing’s calf. Noticing that I’m awake, Ricky releases his bite and barks at me. 

He doesn’t look angry. 

He looks scared. 

I still feel the pain in my leg, sharp in contrast to the suffocating numbness his jaws had pulled me out of. Ricky picks up his leash from the floor and comes to my side just to drop it in front of me. The thing next to me places its hand on my back.

“Don’t leave,” it says, “it’s better here.”

I look at the thing, its presence emanating comfort.

I look at Ricky. He’s skinny and dirty. His skin is stretched tightly over his ribs but his eyes still look at me with the same unconditional love they always have.

“I can’t leave him like this,” I say to the thing.

“See how he hurts you?” It replies, glancing toward its bleeding leg. “Just lie down,” the thing says as it begins to infuse me with a smothering apathy. But this time, I can’t bring myself to give into it.

I try to focus on the feeling of Ricky’s cold nose nudging against my hands and legs as he whimpers frantically. I look at his emaciated state and feel his desperation. I’m all he has, and now that Anne is gone, he’s all I have. 

“No!” I yell at the thing as I grab Ricky’s leash and struggle to stand up from the bed. The thing’s mouth opens in a scream, but the only sound that follows is the hum exploding in my ears.

It sounds different this time. Almost desperate. 

My weak legs stumble towards the door. Ricky grabs the leash in his mouth and drags it forward, pulling me with him. The hum screams and my throat tightens to the point where breathing is almost impossible. Frigid air whips my face as I open the door, and it feels like I’m in complete control of my body and mind for the first time. The hum doesn’t stop. It hurts. I will my body forward. Each step is shaky and requires immense effort. My vision is clear, but it begins to slowly dim around the edges as my limbs weaken. I collapse to the ground, Ricky whining and nudging me. Everything goes black.

I wake up in a hospital bed, blinding fluorescent lights assaulting my tired eyes. The first thing I notice is the absence.

No hum.

No warmth.

Then, the sound of people talking outside my room. The steady beep of a heart monitor and the dry sting of an oxygen tube in my nose.

For a moment, I don’t remember why I’m here. Then it all comes back in fragments. The thing in my bed, Ricky’s teeth, the door, collapsing. A nurse notices I’m awake and calls for a doctor. They ask me questions I struggle to answer. My throat feels like sandpaper. My body feels hollowed out, but my mind feels clear.

“You were severely dehydrated,” the doctor tells me gently. “Malnourished. Your neighbor called after finding you lying outside with your dog.”

I close my eyes.

“Your dog’s okay,” the nurse adds quickly, as if she can see the anxiety rising in me. “Animal control brought him in. He’s underweight, but he’ll recover.”

I nod. That realization hurts more than anything else.

They decide to keep me for observation. A psychiatrist comes and I tell him some of it. Not all of it. I don’t mention the thing in my bed. I just tell him about the hum. The panic. The warmth.

He nods like he’s heard it before. 

They keep me there for a week, and the psychiatrist continues to come by and probe me with more questions. I keep my answers short. I can still feel the hum threatening to erupt if I try to tell him too much. Eventually I’m discharged to a transitional living house across town. A “step-down program,” they call it. There are six other residents. We share a kitchen. There’s a schedule. Group therapy three times a week.

Ricky comes home with me the day I move in.

He looks better. Still skinny, but what matters is he’s getting better. His tail thumps against my leg like it always has.

The first night there, I lie in a twin bed that isn’t mine, in a room with thin walls and the muffled sound of someone coughing down the hall. Ricky snores softly on the floor beside the bed.

It’s quiet. But it isn’t silent.

The warmth doesn’t come, and I realize that’s a good thing.

At first, I didn’t talk to the other residents. I couldn’t bring myself to participate in group therapy. My old instincts to retreat inward were still hardwired into me, I guess. But after learning more about the residents as months passed, I empathized with them. Some of them weren’t so different from me. I began to feel safer. I thought, maybe it was time to change. Time to open myself up to people. Time to deal with the pain instead of trying to avoid it.

One evening, I’m sitting in the common room of the house. Marcus sits across from me. He’s around my age. Quiet. I’ve considered trying to talk to him before, but haven’t been able to work myself up to it. He’s working on a puzzle on the coffee table and notices me staring.

“Wanna help?” He asks. “It’s a lighthouse. Missing a piece though.”

He pushes the box of loose pieces towards me. I approach the table and start to introduce myself.

“Yeah, I-“

I stop. Softly, almost imperceptibly at first, I hear the hum. Not the deafening scream that used to paralyze me, but it’s there beneath every word I’m about to say.

Marcus tilts his head slightly. “You good?”

Memories of that familiar warmth enter my mind as I feel a pressure on my neck.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m... not good at this.” I say, forcing the words through the tightness in my throat. Ricky begins to lick my hand.

Marcus smiles reassuringly. “Me either, man. You’re good.”

I sit down at the table with him and pull the box closer.

The hum escalates. 

“You wanna start on the corners?” Marcus asks.

I nod in agreement and grab a piece.

The hum doesn’t leave. But this time, neither do I.