Imposter Syndrome | Theland E. Thomas

I turn the key in the door and step inside, greeted by a blast of cool air. The AC’s been left on. Wait. My house is completely empty. Not robbed, unlived. No furniture, no dishes, no pictures. I pace through the living room and the kitchen. Empty. Sterile. Pristine. Not a spot on the counter, not an imprint on the carpet. But this is my house. This is where I’m supposed to be. Like an intruder, I slink upstairs, peering past the railing into the vacant rooms. There’s a car alarm going off in the distance. Slowly, and with trepidation, I turn the knob to my bedroom and open the door. Everything is gone. My bookshelf, bed, desk, disappeared. Only the four white walls stare curiously back at me.

I back out of the room, slam the door, and rush down the stairs. Out the window, I see my mother’s golden sedan approaching from down the street. A slight smile forms on my face when I realize that the horn is blaring from her car. Why can’t she turn it off? As she pulls into the driveway, I take her keys out of my pocket and turn off the alarm.

Something shifts in the corner of my eye, and I turn to see my mom sitting on a tan couch,legs crossed.

“Hi,” I start to say, but out the window, mom is sitting in her car wearing all black, and here she is on the couch in a green blouse. A queasy feeling finds my gut, as I eye my mom. She stares at me oddly, silently. “Hi, mom,” I say. No response. I draw closer, but keep my distance. “How can you be here if you’re in the car?” No response.

There’s something eerily captivating about her, and I can’t tear my eyes away. There’s something a little off, and her shadow is a little too dark. Everything here is so strange, lonely, and unfamiliar. All of the love has been sapped from this house, except for this one piece of furniture with my mother sitting on it. She sits silently beckoning for me to come closer, welcoming me with unconditional love.

Suddenly, I don’t care if she’s a little off, I just want to be closer to her, to feel some love, to wrap up in her arms and sleep. I come closer and lean in for a hug, but she doesn’t meet me halfway or raise her arms. When I try to embrace her, I can’t. An invisible barrier keeps me away. I try to fight against it, but the force is too strong, and I step back. From far away, I hear the car alarm again.

Staring at me, my mother stands and walks in front of the door. Her head is to the side, and she looks from the corner of her eye. Now I can see what’s off with her features. They’re too sharp. Her eyes and brows are angled, her nose is larger and pointed, and her chin juts. A long, diabolical smile splits her face. She is not my mother. She is an imposter. A tingling uneasiness creeps up from behind. Her stare splits my being with a radiant darkness, pulsing in tune with the darkness in me.

Then her features begin to morph and shift, melting into something else. Someone else. Her eyebrows grow thinner, her features softer. Her hair bleaches blonde and, by some unseen force, wraps into a ponytail. This young woman still gazes into me, hypnotizing me with her breathtaking sensuality. I am her captive held in place and drawn toward her. My eyes follow her as she glides back to the couch and sits gracefully. Her body monopolizes my entire field of vision. Her eyes grip my heart, pumping it faster and faster.

Suddenly, I am overcome by arousal, and I rush to the couch. My hair stands on end as my hands wrap around her waist and brush back a blonde lock. I lean in for a kiss, but at the last second, just as I feel her hot breath, I look into her eyes and see orbs of endless black, swirling, undulating, expanding, and caving in upon themselves. Her eyes are a portal to another realm - the bulging gates barely holding back a hungry evil.

Stumbling, I jump back and fall. Outside, my mother’s car is empty. On the couch, the imposter has disappeared. Only the car horn grows louder and louder and louder and louder and louder until--

I awaken with a gasp on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by a fluid darkness that seems to breathe and move. Before me is my black desk, but I can’t see it in the dark. Behind me, my black bed. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. No floorboard creaks or rustling wind, only prowling silence. I wonder how long I’ve been sleeping.

Then, my sister opens the door behind me and comes into the room. With her, floats the sound of a video game she’s playing. I want to get up, to turn around and talk to her, but somehow, I can’t find the strength. My limbs and head weigh heavily, holding me in place. It’s like I’m stuck in the middle space between sleep and wakefulness. I start kicking my legs, calling her name. My foot hits my nightstand with each kick, but no matter how much I call, she can’t hear me. She just stands behind me, out of sight, playing her video game. Finally, I scream her name with all my might, but it just comes through as a weak, “Uhhhh….”

My sister hear this and says, “Wake yourself up then.”

As she speaks, I feel the darkness in the room bend and ebb behind me to where my sister stands. Then, I feel in my gut that’s it’s not my sister behind me, but some malicious imposter. The thing standing behind me was not my sister, but a being crafted from darkness with harmful intent. I must wake up!

I kick faster, scream as hard as I can, filling the house with sound, sending the lamp and other objects crashing from the nightstand and the desk. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, but when I open them again, everything is the same. There is no sound, nothing has fallen, and the evil presence still lurks behind me. I scream at the top of my lungs, but all I can hear is that weak, “Uhhhh....”

Drifting again, I open my eyes to see my sister’s feet and pink pajama pants. She is standing over me, but it isn’t her. Panic screams for me to move, but I can’t. And when I blink, she is replaced by shadows blacker than the darkness of the room. The shadows hover over my body, pressing me down, trying to seep in. I feel the material force of malevolence strengthening behind me. Even though I can’t turn around, I can see it hovering in the air, slowly swirling behind me.

Like a fog, the blackness descends, close enough for a kiss. Its limbs wrap around my neck, gripping like a hug, like a noose, constricting my breathing, tightening, leaving me gasping for air. I squirm and scream,  but it only comes out as, “Uhhhh…. Uhhhh…. Uhhhh!”

In Your Absence... | Theland E. Thomas

I know you stalk me online, so I have a message for you. You don’t get a happy Father’s Day.

I went through a phase where I referred to you as a sperm donor, but then I stopped because even sperm donors are better fathers than you. At least they don’t sow pretense and reap disappointment.

I’d curse your name, but it’s not worth repeating.

My biggest fear is becoming like you, father. I have your blood. Seeing your characteristics in me makes me want to hunker down and hide my face and never want to talk to anyone again. I will never become like you. And if I do, I’ll kill myself.

You broke my mother’s heart. You stole her dreams. You ruined her. You did it, it was all you. She’ll never be the same. She’ll never love again because of you. You are a complete and utter failure. You are a curse, a disease. Everything you touch withers in your hands. You’re a son of a bitch and your children are bastards. I don’t care how you came to be the way you are. No one gives a shit anymore. Save your breath explaining because all you do is lie and dissumulate. You sully my mother’s name with the rest of the serpents. At least she stuck around to raise us; it’s better than you could ever do. You are not my father, you are my enemy. I know the truth about you - I lived through it. You disgust me.

Even your plea for forgiveness came with conditions. That’s not how it works. I wanted to reconcile with you many times, but that’s all over. I called you on Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And you didn’t answer. You didn’t call back because you thought your silly games were more important. You can die alone knowing that you squandered every chance at having a relationship with your children. I’ll never give you another chance. I’m done trying to reach out to you. I’m done crying in bed, pining after your withheld love. You never had any, and if you did and you held onto it for all these years, I hope it festers inside of you and eats you alive. You’ll die alone without any of us by your bedside. If I have to pull the plug, I will. At your funeral, my tears will be confused, and even then I’ll never be free of you.

Don’t have children if you’ll refuse to care for them. We didn’t ask to be here, but we’re the ones who have to live with the burden you laid upon our shoulders. We never recovered from the wounds you carved into our souls. Sometimes they take years to surface, but surface they always do in one way or another. Anger. Depression. Guilt. You did it. It’s all your fault. Waste away in your shame. You brought us into the world for pain and suffering. You left us crying ourselves to sleep night after night. We blamed ourselves, you know. Deep down, we always thought it was our fault. That you left because there was something wrong with us and we could never be loved. Even now, we never feel loved. We’ll never feel loved, and it’s all your fault. You taught us to never love. You taught us to never believe, reading straight from that fucking bible you clutch to your chest. You taught us how horrible the world really is.

My older sister knows everything. She knows things about you that I don’t know. She knows the truth about you. When you left, you shattered her mind. But you hurt her even when you were still around. And you continue to hurt her in your absence. You’re wicked, and she’s confused. She always wanted your love, but you never loved her. You never loved her. You disdained her because she reminded you of your flaws.You tried to teach her that she’d never be loved, but she had to find out for herself. You caused that. Now she tries to convince herself that God loves her, but how can that ever be true if her own father never did? Well, she has a long memory. She remembers everything. And one day, it’s all going to come flooding out to drown you. And if she won’t do it, I will.

My little sister has no memories of you and mom together. She only knows the void you left. She knows that you’ve forgotten about her. She remembers what you couldn’t every time her birthday comes around. Do you even know what day it is? Do you even know how old she is? Do you know what it’s like to grow up without so much of a card from your father on your birthday? I do. When I was 14, your last birthday card to me had nothing written in it. I’ll remember that forever. And then you show up at graduation to bask in glory that isn’t yours. To pretend that you were there the whole time. To convince others that she’s the product of your work. My little sister is the product of your absence! She is lost because you abandoned her.

You are a fake! You are a pretender! You are a liar! Down to your core, your soul is corrupt. I hope all the pain you caused us returns upon you a hundredfold. I hope the hatred and pain I feel radiates from these words. I hope you read this over and over again. I hope the guilt keeps you up at night. I hope your weeping never ends because mine never did. When you die, I hope your regrets play in a never-ending loop behind your eyelids. I hope you live four lifetimes of hell.

This Father’s Day, I want to thank you for all the times that you haven’t been there. I want to thank you for long nights studying without your support. For afternoons spent playing catch by myself. For all those awkward conversations about puberty that I didn’t have with you. Thanks for not helping chose where to go for college. Or paying a cent toward the bill. Thanks for not training me up in the way that I should go. Now that I’m older, all I do is stray. I want to thank you for lifting your guiding hand so I could grow up to be an upstanding member of society. I want to thank you for weeding yourself from the portrait so I could blossom without your poisonous influence. I really could have used a father, but I’ll never need you.