[Original Novel] The Background of Your Memories, Part 4

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“Spirit phone with wire recorder”. “Electric vitality belt”. “Vril staff”. “Orgonic concentrator”. It just went on like that, the whole place looking like a cross between an antiques shop and a museum of 18th century technology. The old man mistook my confusion for awe.

“Quite the collection, isn’t it? Haha yes, quite.” His demeanor abruptly changed when I reached out to pick up what looked like an old wood grain television remote from the 70s. It had big punchy black plastic buttons and, for some reason, a speaker grille.

“No, don’t touch that!” He snatched it away. I shrunk back and uttered an apology. “Oh it’s...it’s alright, I suppose. It can’t do much damage outside of the manifold. It’s just that the last time I allowed non-Institute personnel to use one of these, there was...an incident.”

He looked at me as if I should somehow grasp the severity of it. I pretended to, not wanting to be impolite. But more and more, I began to wonder whether this weird little codger could actually be a qualified mental health professional of any kind.

He led me down a narrow corridor with doors in either wall. When I saw smoke billowing out from under one of the doors, it gave me a start. “Don’t mind that” he assured me. “Zachary lives there. He’s...ah...busy at the moment, else I would’ve had him greet you.”

I didn’t understand what he meant by busy until the skunky aroma of the smoke reached my nostrils. “Well now” I muttered, “that would explain a lot of what I’ve seen so far, come to think of it.” Doctor Travigan, though it still felt premature to address him as doctor, led me to a small but cozily furnished room.

After shutting the door behind us, he settled into a plush leather recliner and invited me to lay down on the bed. I hesitated. “We normally use this room for sleep research, but I suppose for the time being it’s alright if you prefer to sit.”

I did so, sinking into the form fitting recess of an Eames chair opposite his. It was missing the ottoman I usually see these things sold with, and I felt put out by it. Why even have one of these without the ottoman? He could put his feet up if he pleased, but I was out of luck.

He must’ve intuited the source of my irritation after I crossed and uncrossed my legs a few times, trying to get comfortable. “That’s because of the helmet. It can be worn either lying down or, if I were to wheel that support mechanism from the other room in here, sitting up. Understand?” I didn’t. Not until he withdrew the musty wooden case from beneath the bed and opened it.

Inside was a football helmet nestled in protective foam. Or it had been at one time, beige with a pair of circular metal chunks embedded in it at opposite points. Stiff wires with multi-colored plastic insulation trailed from these circular protrusions to some sort of control circuit mounted on top.

The part which normally protects your mouth was missing, as were all the bolts and other metal bits, save for the mechanism that had been added to it. “Magnets” the old man explained. “Powerful electromagnets. You don’t have any fillings, do you?” I shook my head.

“Good. I don’t suppose you’ve ever attended the megachurch by the old shopping center?” I hadn’t, but remembered seeing some billboards for it on the way here. “Ah. Well you know it’s not just a church. There are coffee shops, book stores, all manner of businesses inside. Quite like a mall.”

It didn’t surprise me, but nor could I see what the relevance was. I thought I came here for therapy. “You see” he prattled on, “one of those businesses offered a very unique service until recently. Transcranial electromagnetic stimulation. Sometimes referred to as the God helmet.”

He patted the beige football helmet with the gizmos on it and winked at me. I remained deadpan, wondering when the session would start. “When somebody puts this on and current is fed to the two opposing electromagnets, the overlapping fields cause the most astonishing effect.”

I asked what it had to do with my dreams. “Not to worry, I’ll get to that” he assured me. “If someone with definite religious beliefs wears this device while it’s active, they first experience a sense of being watched. A presence, if you will. Then it often escalates into visions of Yahweh, Christ, angels and so forth. If a Hindu wears it, they see Brahma, Vishnu, you get the idea.”

He had my attention now. “What if someone who isn’t religious wears it?” I asked. A wry little smile came over him. Perhaps he was waiting for that question? “Aliens, quite often. Just the mind filling in the blank spaces, trying to attach some appropriate face to the presence it feels. Or some sort of larger, more intelligent being which wears many masks. Showing us whatever it is we want to see, but never its true face.”

I frowned, processing the new information with an appropriate degree of skepticism. I’ve seen bits and pieces in the media about the effect he described, but it sounded as though he attributed it to something more than a neurological quirk.

“Holy Ghost Encounters, it was called. The business model should be obvious enough” he added. “Come into the parlor, pay twenty dollars, get a glimpse of God. Or Heaven, deceased loved ones, whatever your heart desires really, it’s as simple-” I interrupted him here.

“I’m sorry, did you say deceased loved ones?” I leaned forward in my seat, now fully engaged. He fell silent for a bit. Still smiling, but somehow morose. “Yes, I thought that might...interest you. I know enough about your past, through Sarah, to have developed my own ideas about why you suffer the recurring nightmare. Why you cling to those tapes.”

I cringed slightly and felt inclined to leave. But what would I be returning to? A decaying shed full of tapes. Of faded memories. If what he just told me is true, I thought, he’s got something much better. The really pure stuff, straight from the source.

“Hook me up” I demanded. He launched into this long cautionary spiel that I didn’t care to hear any of. I took the helmet from him, slipped it on and fastened the chinstrap. “How do I turn it on? Does it plug into anything? Juice it up already.”

He sighed, but did not try to lecture me any further. Instead he opened a nearby cupboard to reveal that the entire thing was filled with what looked to be electrical equipment of some kind. Then he withdrew a coiled up cable from within, ran it to the helmet I now wore, and connected the two.

“You really ought to lay down for this. Listen to me about that much, I don’t want to have to drag the support frame in here.” I hesitated, but if I were to go limp or something the weight of the helmet would suddenly put a great deal of strain on my neck. “Alright” I muttered. “But this better not be some weird sex shit.”

He chuckled. Then once I was laid out on the bed, he began incrementally turning a large dial within the cupboard. Though it was muffled by the helmet, I could make out a steadily increasing electrical hum, and felt something like the tingle of static electricity on my skin.

“What do I do?” I asked as he fiddled with the controls, flipping various small switches. “Relax m’boy, you’re doing fine. Though sometimes it helps to focus on a memory you would like to explore. What you think about now will determine in large part what you will see, hear and otherwise experience as the effect intensifies.”

That was all the encouragement I needed. When I closed my eyes, amorphous, dimly colored blobs were already swirling about. The sort I’ve often seen behind my eyelids as I fall asleep each night, though not usually this vivid.

As I watched, searching intently for some relevant memory, the colorful blobs blended together and began to take on definite shapes. “I’m still here” he said. “If it becomes...difficult, I can talk you through it.”

I didn’t respond. The scenery coming together before me was just barely recognizable. Something dredged up from the murkiest depth of my memories. I’m...an infant? Aren’t I? I looked at my pudgy arms and wee little fingers. Those of a baby, sure enough.

All around me adults stood, shifting their weight now and again but not going anywhere. I must be at a party. A get together with family friends, something of that nature. Being so small and confined to the floor, all I could see of them were their shoes and pant legs. Like those old Charlie Brown cartoons, where adults only exist from the knees down and speak some incomprehensible gibberish.

I could hear them speaking in booming voices but not understand any of it. Before I learned to speak myself, no doubt. “Where are you now?” Travigan’s voice cut through the vision, the only intelligible English I could hear. It seemed to come from everywhere.

“I’m...at a party. I think. Or some other gathering. I’m just a baby crawling on the floor. The only other people I can see are just...shoes and pant legs. They’re standing around me talking to one another, but I don’t understand any of it.” It proved a challenge to string together sentences as I descended further and further into the trance.

“Hm, age regression. I see. Listen carefully. I want you to look up.” I scrunched up my face in confusion. “Wh...what? Why?” He only became more insistent. “You’ll resist it without realizing why. They see to that. But I implore you. Look up, right this instant. Look up!”

So I did. The adults all froze, though now I could see that’s never what they were. Suit pants from the knees down, and shoes to match. But above that…”WHAT ARE THOSE THINGS!?” I shouted, writhing feebly and beginning to sweat. “Those aren’t my parents! Those aren’t even people! What the fuck are they??”

The creatures standing around me began to back away, stepping out of the leggings they wore to deceive me a moment ago. They wore tattered black robes. Their feet were large, their toes crooked with thick, knobbly joints. Their skin was green, on their hands just as it was on their feet. The joints of their crooked fingers had the same distorted, malformed quality as their toes.

They shuffled out of the room as if it was painful to walk, their crooked, elongated fingers twitching subtly as they did so. On their heads they all wore what could only be oversized bird skulls. Bulbous bleached white craniums with huge empty eye sockets and long, narrow, pointed beaks.

“Those are the things from the videos!” I cried. “What are they doing here? How did they get inside? This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen! I was at a party! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be at all!” The room had no ceiling, instead opening up into an empty black expanse overhead.

The same black expanse could be seen through all the windows. They never bothered to cover them because I wasn’t supposed to look up. All of a sudden it all faded away and I found myself on the bed. Sweaty, heart racing, still wearing that damned helmet. I pulled it off and got up.

“Don’t be so hasty my boy!” the old man begged. “I’m sorry to throw you into the deep end right away, as it were, but I needed to be certain of what we’re dealing with.” I spun around and shouted at him. “WHAT WERE THOSE THINGS! You know, don’t you? I recognize you now. You’re that man I saw in the field by the playground, aren’t you?”

He looked away and pursed his lips. “How did they get into my memories?” I demanded. “How are they in my head? You know, don’t you? You know what they are. They were really in those tapes too, right? I’m not crazy. I’m not!” He exhaled.

“...No, you’re not crazy. How I wish that you were.” I told him he should tell Sarah that. He bridged his fingers. “...I would be all too willing. But only if you’ll press on with the experiment.” Experiment? He meant therapy, surely. Just who is this guy?

“Besides” he concluded, “your business there is unfinished, isn’t it? Wherever you were just now. They’re still in there, waiting for you. Do you really mean to leave before you’ve seen them?” It occurred to me that this might’ve been his plan all along. That my parents are just a hook to him, with which to draw me into this scheme.

Still, I badly wanted vindication. I couldn’t bear it if Sarah were to go on believing that I’m insane, and this man is the only other person so far who believes me. Whatever it is that’s been happening to me, he seems to know a lot more about it than I do.

“...Alright. But if I tell you to turn it off…” He swore up and down that he’d withdraw me immediately should I give any indication of distress. I eyeballed him warily, but he seemed sincere. That, plus the need to convince Sarah that I really saw something on those tapes, compelled me to once again don the helmet and lie down on the bed.

The comeup was slower this time, I assume because the old man was increasing the power more gradually. I watched formless colored blobs swirl about for what felt like an eternity before they coalesced into something recognizable.

I found myself in an office. Unusual only in that everything from the technology to the decor was archaic, I placed it sometime between the nineteen thirties and forties. The other oddity was that it all appeared to be monochrome.

Like an old black and white film. Only I wasn’t watching it through a television screen or in a theater, it was a real, tangible space I inhabited. When I reached out to touch the glossy black typewriter on the desk, I gasped. My hands were monochrome as well.

A banker’s lamp sat unused on the corner of the great mahogany desk. In the far corner of the room, by the door, there stood a coat rack with a grey hat and an umbrella hung from two of its hooks. Out the only window, I saw more office buildings.

When I craned my neck to the left or right, I could only see more office buildings in either direction, silhouettes moving about in the windows that were still lit up. Looking as far up or down as I could manage only revealed the same thing. More building. More windows. No street visible below me, and no sky above.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 5!}