Our Virtual Demons

Marshall Stevens

Warning: This story contains potentially disturbing descriptions of suicidal thoughts and behavior.

Heading into the Mental Health Services building, I scheduled a therapy session for later that afternoon. My name is Jacob Snow. I am currently 22 years old, and today began the road of recovery for me through therapy. However, this was not the same kind of therapy that people in the early 2000s experienced. It will probably make more sense if I just go back to the story. When the time of my appointment came, I entered a room where my therapist sat waiting. They introduced themselves and asked if I was ready to begin. This was my first time undergoing this kind of procedure, so, of course, I was nervous. I gave them a hesitant nod and sat down in a machine that would put my consciousness into my subconscious and hash out whatever problems lay in my head myself. The therapist strapped my body down so I would not be a danger to myself or them. An intricately wired helmet descended from the top of the machine onto my head. The therapist reminded me, “Once the procedure begins, I can only guide you. Your actions are your own, but, if conflict arises, it becomes life-or-death, and you must try to fight back as hard as you can. Is there anything you would like to say before we begin?”

“I don’t know if they care, but can you tell my family that I’m trying to get better?” I said, with false bravado.

“Certainly.

Let’s get started.”

The earpieces of the helmet descended, fitting snuggly in my ears. It was a little uncomfortable because I wasn’t the one putting them in, and they were pretty damn cold. In seconds, the machine activated. It scanned my brain, flashing hundreds of my memories like a movie before my eyes.

Then no light, no sound. I found myself in an endless black void, only able to see my own being. Soon, doors of light appeared. They lined up, side-by-side, stretching down what seemed to be an endless hallway. Then a patterned floor, a roof, and lockers like the ones from high school also manifested, colored to grayscale. I walked toward one of the doors. As I peeked inside, one of my memories from when I was younger played. I was in the seventh grade and just found out that my brother’s high school was starting a swim team. I loved to swim—I was even infatuated with it. I found that the feeling of letting tension in my muscles relax and float was peaceful. I discovered a sport that I knew I could enjoy and become stronger while participating. At the first practice, I already found myself to be the fastest on this team of high schoolers. Looking at my younger self, feeling the joy and excitement in his heart—my heart—was nostalgic. Of course, there were an infinite number of doors to look through. So, I kept looking through all of the doors, reliving all the happy moments in my life, like the time I caught my first fish with my dad and my first baseball game. I felt a happiness that I hadn’t felt in years. Sadly, it all came crashing down when I looked through the next door.

This door was not like the others; it was dark and intimidating. Despite my instincts screaming at me to turn away, I approached the door and looked through. What I saw shattered the shield of happiness I had just rebuilt into pieces. Chills went down my spine. This was a compilation of all my worst memories. It showed me arguing with my family, alcoholic stupors brought on by depression, my rage, confusion, and other negative memories. However, at the very end, it focused on my darkest memory. This was not too long ago. It was when I was home with my family for the holidays, in my childhood room. Everyone was out for a while, and I was alone. I saw myself sitting on the floor, no light in my eyes, and a gun in my hand. My breathing became shallow and quick with anticipation because I knew what I would do next. I felt the despair and the hollow heart that I possessed at that time. Though I felt nauseous, I was unable to look away. Finally, I screamed and pulled away as the other me raised the firearm to his right temple. While I tried to catch my breath, the door disappeared, and the other end of the hall darkened.

A figure appeared at the end of the hall. Then another appeared, then another and another. Soon it became an army, and my eyes locked on to these beings. My entire body was paralyzed with fear. They were all me, but their eyes were black, darker than the void of space. No color in their entire appearance. They were purely dark and evil entities. They felt like demons as they glared at me with murderous intent. I could feel it, like knives in my soul. These demons stepped towards me, and I staggered back. The demons smiled with malicious grins, showing their razorsharp teeth. Then, out of nowhere, they shrieked. It was unnatural and pierced my very core. I nearly jumped out of my skin it was so loud.

The demons attacked, charging down the hall toward me. Fight-or-flight kicked in, and I turned to run away from my pursuers. After running what I thought was far enough away, I looked behind me. I was dead wrong; the demons were gaining ground. In an attempt to block their path, I began to throw whatever I could, but to no avail. They were too quick and agile for their way to be obstructed. They caught up with me and tackled me to the ground, beating me to a pulp.

“You're a f—king disgrace!” shouted one.

“Your own family doesn’t love you,” sneered another.

“You’re a waste of time and effort and bring nothing but pain,” said another.

“Everyone would be better off if you were dead,” they said in unison and laughed at my misery. Their laughs echoed through my head, feeling like my skull was being crushed.

As the hall darkened more, a switch flipped. I heard nothing—only the pain from the blows remained. My chest felt heavy, and my mind felt clouded. Sobbing, I began to sink into this darkness, literally drowning in my sorrow and pain. My heart was aching, my light was dwindling, and my hope was fading.

So, this is how I die, huh? Being beaten to death inside my own mind by demonic versions of me. I really am worthless. Everything they said was true. I don’t deserve a happy life, and no one is coming to my rescue. I mean, how could they?

I’m trapped in my own mind. It’s hopeless. Maybe . . . everyone would be better off if I were gone. Let the darkness take hold and carry me off to my eternal slumber. I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just let my body go cold and numb myself to everything? No one would even notice, and I doubt anyone would even care . . .

“Get up!”

What was that? I feel like I know that voice, but who is that? Why does it feel warm? How do I know this voice?

I looked up and saw probably the brightest of my memory doors. I didn’t even have to look inside. I could see what was happening. It was when I was a wrestler back in high school during one of our seasonal tournaments. My brother Nathan was there and cheering me on during one of my more challenging matches. I was losing by points, but my brother never gave up hope.

“Don't give up just yet, Jake,” he cried. “You gotta want it, kid! Show them that you’re not afraid of anyone!”

His words of encouragement resounded in my head, filling my soul with hope, and turning my sadness into a divine and prideful fury. I gritted my teeth and shouted at my demons: “Get the hell off me, you demonic sonsabitches!”

I roared, and a blast of light pierced the darkness that once surrounded me. My demons and the darkness that meant to consume and corrupt me were pushed back. I stood tall with the door of light behind me.

“You will not hold me back any longer. I will get better because I’m not alone. I have my family, my friends, and other people who care about me, who will stand by me until the end. I cannot and will not give in to you. So, get the f—k out of my head!”

However, the demons were snarling, preparing to lunge at me again as one rebuked, “No. You’re going to die. Alone!”

As the demon lurched forward, I felt a hand on my right shoulder, pulling me back. Then a fist of light flew past my face and hit the attacking demon square on the jaw.

“Get the f—k away from my brother, you soulless f—king parasites!” shouted the same familiar voice in an enraged tone. Looking over my shoulder, it was my brother Nathan, exuding light from his very being.

“We’ve got your back, kid,” Nathan said smirking. “We’re gonna tear these bastards apart, right, guys? Mess with a Snow, get ready for the blizzard!”

Just as he said our family’s motto, the rest of my family emerged from the door behind us, brimming with light themselves. I smiled, feeling their warmth and believing that I had truly been blessed with the best family. I shifted my gaze ahead and stared down my demons, steeling myself for the upcoming fight. The demons made another unnatural shriek and charged toward us.

“NO! His soul is OURS!”

I shouted to my family, “Let’s crush some f—king skulls!” and my family roared with war cries of their own, bringing forth cracks of light through the walls as we charged forward ourselves. The battle ensued. The demons attacked but were unable to land a single blow against us, whereas my family and I tore through the demons at an alarming speed, together as a family once again. One by one, the demons were beaten down and turned to ash as they fell. Soon, the brawl was over, and we stood victorious. I looked at my family, beaming with proud, radiant smiles. They gazed toward the door of light, signaling that it was time for me to go back to reality with the knowledge that I wasn't alone.

“Get a move on, son,” said Dad. “We'll be there for you, no matter what.”

With a smile and a nod, I walked to the door, sure that my demons had been beaten and I had acquired a newfound confidence and respect for myself. As the great light faded, the machine deactivated and lifted off my head. I looked at my hands, still feeling the light’s warmth. As I raised my head, I saw my family with tears in their eyes.

“We saw everything, son,” said Dad. “We never realized how much pain you felt.”

“We were so worried we were going to lose you,” said Mom.

They crowded around me, showering me with love, welcoming me back. With a smile and tears in my own eyes, I said, “That will never happen again, Mom. I’m back, but I’ve come back better. I fought the devil, and I’ll continue to live to tell my story, and, from now on, I’ll be good. For all of the times I never allowed myself to be. It’s time to bring this harsh chapter of my life to a close and turn the page to recovery with your help.”