Phasmophobia
Lionel Penn looked across the desk at his new patient, a six-foot-tall man who probably weighed no more than one hundred and forty pounds. This gauntness, added to an unhealthy pallor, gave him a cadaverous appearance, like one who had only recently escaped years of captivity in a Nazi concentration camp.
"What brings you here, Mr. Swanson?" the psychiatrist asked.
"Call me Ward, please."
"All right, Ward. What appears to be the problem?"
"I see dead people," he replied.
Lionel raised his eyebrows and wondered if this was some sort of practical joke perpetrated by one of his old college buddies.
"I realize I must sound like that little kid from The Sixth Sense," the patient explained, "but it's true, Dr. Penn. For the past seven weeks, I've been seeing ghosts."
"Parapsychology is not my field of expertise. Perhaps you should talk to someone at the university in Essex Green."
"No. I need a doctor. You see I've always been, well ...."
Ward found it difficult to continue.
"It's a bit embarrassing, I'm afraid."
"I'm a licensed psychiatrist; I'm here to help you, not to make judgments."
"All my life I've been terrified of anything that smacks of the supernatural."
"Is there any particular reason for this fear that you know of? Did something happen to you when you were younger?"
"Not that I can remember. My mother said I was always a sensitive child. Of course, the kids at school had other names for it. They teased me and called me a chicken. They'd taunt me and say that the boogie man was after me, or they'd warn me not to go out at night because of the ghosts."
Lionel nodded with understanding.
"Children can often be cruel."
"I know, but I survived my childhood. I've managed to steer clear of old houses, abandoned buildings, cemeteries and other places that claimed to be haunted. I never watch horror movies or read scary books. In fact, I only know about the kid from The Sixth Sense because of the previews they showed on television."
"You say you've been seeing ghosts for the past seven weeks, correct?" Lionel asked. "Ever seen one before that?"
"No. Never."
"Tell me about your first encounter."
"I was driving down the interstate one night in a heavy rainstorm. My car hydroplaned momentarily, but I was quickly able to regain control. Naturally, I was quite nervous, having narrowly escaped a collision. So, I decided to take the next exit, figuring I'd feel safer driving on a road with a lower speed limit. I put my turn signal on, and as I approached the exit ramp, I saw a woman who looked exactly like my mother."
"And your mother is dead, I take it?"
Ward nodded.
"Might it be a coincidence?"
"No, Doctor. This woman wasn't human. She stood on the side of the road in the teeming rain, and yet she wasn't wet."
Ward's hand shook, and Lionel offered him a cup of coffee. After a few minutes, he continued.
"Then, at the end of the exit ramp, I saw my father, who is also deceased."
"How long have your parents been dead?"
"My mother's been gone these past two years; my father died almost eight years ago."
"Did you have any reason to be thinking of them at the time? Was it their wedding anniversary or a birthday, perhaps?"
"No."
"Could the town through which you were driving have had some significance? Did either of your parents ever live there?"
"No. I was out of state on a business trip, driving through some little town in Pennsylvania. My parents were both from Boston."
Ward Swanson spent nearly an hour describing his encounters with what he believed to be the ghosts of his parents. Finally, Lionel indicated that the session was over.
"Well, Doctor, am I a candidate for a padded room with an ocean view?"
"I doubt it, Ward," Lionel laughingly replied, "but I'm not sure exactly what I can do for you. I'll tell you what. Let me talk to an old friend who's interested in this sort of thing and see what he suggests. You come back in two weeks, and we'll discuss where to go from there."
* * *
Late on Saturday morning Lionel got into his MG and headed for nearby Salem where his friend, Jude Harwich, worked at the Peabody Essex Museum. Jude, like many people in "Witch City," had a keen interest in the occult and all things supernatural. Lionel had phoned him earlier in the week and made an appointment to meet at the Derby Fish Market for lunch.
"So, what's up, Doc?" Jude asked between spoonfuls of New England clam chowder. "What did you want to see me about?"
"I have a patient who claims to be seeing the ghosts of his dead parents."
"So?"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but most departed relatives don't hang around the exit ramps of the Pennsylvania Turnpike."
"Lion, this is Salem, not Puritan Falls. We're up to our knees in ghosts, witches and things that go bump in the night."
"Well, my patient has a long history of fear of the supernatural. In fact, he could be suffering from phasmophobia."
"A phobia? That sounds like it's right up your alley. Why do you need me?"
"That's one particular fear I have no experience with. I was wondering if you might know of some type of support group for people like him."
"A sort of Ghosts Anonymous, you mean?" Jude laughed.
"Look, you just said there are a lot of people in Salem who claim to have seen ghosts. I'm sure not everyone takes such things in stride. Even in a city that enjoys a thriving tourist business thanks to their bizarre history of executing suspected witches, aren't there people who are frightened by such encounters with the supernatural?"
"Terrified is more like it."
"My patient is so upset he can't eat and he rarely sleeps. This guy is so gaunt and pale, he looks like a refugee from Auschwitz. He desperately needs help, and I thought if he could talk to others who also believe they've seen ghosts, it might do him some good."
* * *
Lionel phoned Ward Swanson on Monday morning and told him, "There are some people I'd like you to meet."
"Oh? Men in white coats to measure me for a straitjacket?"
"No, just people like you who have seen something they can't explain."
When Ward walked into Lionel's office later that week, he met a middle-aged couple named Walford and a young, single woman, Zelda Billings, who, like Ward himself, claimed to have seen one or more ghosts. Lionel treated his patient and his guests as if they were at his office to attend an ordinary group therapy session. He would let each of them have his or her say without interruption.
"My wife and I were confirmed atheists," the balding, middle-aged Saul Walford explained, "so we never believed in the hereafter, but seeing is believing, as they say."
Zelda, who sincerely seemed interested in helping Ward, asked, "Did you recognize the phantoms as people you knew or were they the ghosts of complete strangers?"
"The first spirit I saw was that of my mother, the second was my father, and the third was a close friend of mine, all of whom have been dead several years."
"So, the only ghosts you encountered were those of people who loved you."
"Yes."
"Do you believe that simply because they died they stopped caring about you?"
A frown developed on Ward's face.
"I never really thought about that."
"Well, think about it now," the young woman suggested. "Did you fear your parents or your friend when they were alive?"
"No, of course not."
"Your parents, in particular, must have been quite concerned with your welfare."
"Yes, they were."
With a questioning look on her face, Zelda turned to face Lionel Penn. He nodded, indicating that she was doing fine and that she should continue.
"Why do you think they appeared to you as they did?"
"That's what I'm worried about," Ward admitted. "How do I know for certain that what I saw were really the spiritual manifestations of those people I loved?"
"What else could they be?" Chloris Walford asked.
"For starters, maybe I didn't see anything at all. The apparitions could have been figments of my overwrought imagination. Isn't that possible, Dr. Penn?"
"Yes. That's one explanation," the psychiatrist agreed.
"Or," Ward continued, "what if there was a malevolent spirit or some other entity that wanted to appear innocent and harmless? What better guise could it assume than that of a person I loved and trusted while he or she was living?"
Zelda renewed her argument.
"If these beings were evil demons, aliens or some race of shapeshifters, wouldn't they have tried to harm you in some way?"
"I suppose so."
"But they didn't. What exactly did these ghosts do?"
"Nothing. They just seemed to be ...."
Ward was at a complete loss for words to describe the appearance of the ghosts.
"To be what?" the woman persisted.
"Beckoning me in some way. It was as though they wanted to speak to me."
The young woman exchanged a meaningful look with the middle-aged couple. Then Zelda spoke on behalf of all three of them.
"We believe that ghosts usually appear to the living in order to convey an important message to them."
"I don't buy that," Ward protested. "And even if I did, why would my parents wait all those years to contact me? Why not appear to me right after they died?"
"Most likely because what they had to tell you was not something they knew at that time shortly after their deaths."
Lionel finally joined in the conversation.
"I think Miss Billings might have something there. What if these visions you've seen were meant as a warning?"
"Are you saying that I saw actual ghosts, Dr. Penn?"
Lionel shrugged with uncertainty.
"Either that or perhaps your subconscious mind is trying to warn your conscious one."
"With imaginary ghosts?"
"The human mind—like God—often works in mysterious ways."
"May I suggest, Mr. Swanson," Zelda said gently, "that when the ghosts appear to you again, you speak to them and try to find out what they want."
Swanson started to tremble, and his palms began to sweat.
"Are you feeling all right, Ward?" Lionel asked, concerned that his patient might faint or, worse, suffer heart failure.
"I don't want to see them again," he said, valiantly trying to control his quivering body. "I don't know if I could bear it."
In a gesture of compassion, the young woman put her hand on Ward's shoulder.
"You're terrified of them, aren't you?" she asked with disbelief.
"Yes!"
"But why?"
"Because they're dead!"
"You place too much of a distinction between life and death, Mr. Swanson."
"They're antonyms, Miss Billings, just like black and white, night and day, hot and cold. Death is the opposite of life."
"Black and white are opposites, but what of the infinite number of shades of gray that exist in between? And what of night and day? We also have twilight, dawn and evening. Between hot and cold, we can also experience many different degrees of warm and cool."
"This word game is getting us nowhere," Ward declared. "Life and death are extremes without any gradations in between."
"That's not necessarily true, though, is it?" Mrs. Walford pointed out. "Haven't you ever heard of the phrase half-dead? It usually means someone not long for this earth. And what about all those people in comas? Aren't they actually midway between life and death?"
"Regardless of how sick a person might be or whether or not he or she is conscious or comatose, if the patient's heart is beating he's alive. If not, then he's dead. There's no in-between. Isn't that right, Dr. Penn?"
Ward turned to Lionel, hoping the doctor, as a modern, educated man of science, would agree with him.
"That's not a question I can answer. Life is not that easy to define. That's why in our society we have all this controversy over abortion and life support systems."
"Well, there was no question about my parents' deaths. They are both deader than the proverbial doornail Mr. Dickens spoke of."
Zelda changed her tactics.
"Have you any religious beliefs, Mr. Swanson?" she asked.
"I don't belong to any church," he said almost apologetically, "but I do believe in God."
"Well, most of the world's religions involve a belief in life after death, be it a spiritual heaven or a physical reincarnation. Many people believe that the soul continues to exist after the body dies."
"That's true, but I don't know of any religion that claims that ghosts come back to haunt us. Sure, there are angels in the Bible, but the apparitions that I saw did not have wings, halos and harps."
Lionel looked at his watch. The hour was up.
"I'm sorry, but we've run out of time. I have another patient to see."
Lionel and Ward both thanked Miss Billings and the Walfords for coming to the office.
"I hope we were able to help," Zelda said.
Ward took her hand in his.
"I do appreciate your support. I wish I were as brave as you in confronting my ghosts, but I'm not. I'm petrified of them."
* * *
Three days later, as Lionel slept peacefully in his Puritan Falls home, the telephone beside his bed woke him. Eyes still closed, he felt along his nightstand for the receiver.
"Hello," he said drowsily.
"Dr. Penn," a voice said in a frantic whisper. "They're here!"
"Hello," Lionel repeated. "Who is this?"
"It's me. Ward Swanson."
"Ward?" Lionel asked, trying to shake off the vagueness of sleep.
"They're here, Doctor—in my house."
"Who's there?"
"My parents, my friend: the ghosts. They're downstairs right now. I saw them in the living room, and I ran up here to my bedroom and locked the door. I don't know ...."
Lionel heard the noisy clatter of the phone being dropped on the floor. Although Ward no longer had the receiver in his hand, Lionel could still hear his raised voice on the phone line.
"Go away and leave me alone!" the terrified man screamed.
"Ward," Lionel called. "Pick up the phone. Ward!"
"What are you doing here? How did you find me? What do you want?"
Lionel heard a muffled voice, far in the distance. He could not tell who it was or what it was saying, but he could distinguish it as being feminine.
"I don't believe you," Ward answered the woman. "That's impossible."
There was a brief moment of silence, followed by Ward's blood-curdling shriek. Then the phone went dead. Lionel called 911, dressed quickly, checked his computer for his patient's address and got into his MG. He arrived at the house just after Officer Shawn McMurtry and his partner, Greg Pierson, did. A car was in the driveway, but no one answered the bell. At Lionel's urging, the police forced open the front door.
"Ward?" Lionel called.
Shawn and Greg drew their guns and entered cautiously.
"I believe he called from the bedroom phone," Lionel said, and he and the two policemen headed up the stairs.
"Mr. Swanson?" Officer McMurtry called. "Are you in there?"
The door to Ward's bedroom was locked, just as he had told Lionel over the telephone. When Pierson broke it down, the doctor and the police found the room empty. The receiver of the telephone lay on the floor, so Lionel picked it up and placed it on the cradle.
* * *
Ward never telephoned Dr. Penn's office or his home again, nor did he show up for his next appointment.
"I've tried contacting Mr. Swanson at his home," Judy Stanfield, Lionel's administrative assistant, informed him, "but there's no answer. So, I got the name of his employer through his health insurance company."
"And?" Lionel asked.
"His supervisor informed me that Ward Swanson went on a business trip to Pennsylvania more than two months ago and never came back. So, I did some checking."
Judy handed Lionel a printout of an article from The Philadelphia Enquirer.
"Two months ago," she summarized the account, "a man named Ward Swanson was driving on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in a heavy rainstorm. His car skidded out of control, and he crashed head-on into two cars in the oncoming lane. Four people were killed in the accident."
Lionel quickly scanned the newspaper clipping for the names of the victims. In addition to Swanson himself, the fatalities included a twenty-seven-year-old schoolteacher from Philadelphia named Zelda Billings and a middle-aged couple from Seaside Heights, New Jersey, Saul and Chloris Walford.
After Judy left the room to get her employer a cup of coffee, Lionel sat quietly at his desk, remembering Zelda's words: ghosts usually appear to the living in order to convey important messages to them. Lionel supposed that Ward's parents appeared to him that rainy night to welcome him to the hereafter, but their son, who had long suffered from phasmophobia, had been too afraid of their ghosts to listen to their message. Apparently, his fellow victims in that tragic accident had to lend their assistance in helping convince Ward Swanson of his own death.
Don't be frightened. This is only the ghost of Salem's first life; he has eight others.
