A Familiar Face

By Serena Scerni

The room finally felt cold today.

As my eyes scanned my surroundings in search of a newly added AC unit, I noticed a corner of wilted greenery that was in dire need of a little TLC.

The intensity of her targeted gaze remained uninterrupted as I continued to admire the lack of character this sterile room had to offer. It was not until the clicking of her retractable pen had become so deafening that I decided to confront her oddly, pleasant face.

"How was your week? Is there anything you would like to discuss?" She glanced at my tapping foot, which unintentionally cut through the near silence of this session.

My hands tightly gripped the armrests as my wavering leg sent vibrations through my body. I thought about my past week and the fact that my days melted into one another. The lack of sleep mummified me, leaving little room for vitality.

I cleared my throat, "nothing stands out." She asked me the single question I dreaded, "did you have the dream again?"

Brick by brick, the tension built – causing my body to sink deeper into the sofa.

"Yeah, only once." My foot began shaking again.

"Were there any different details?" I shook my head.

The dream she is referring to is one that I have been having since I was a child. This is a recurrent nightmare that would frequently result in a petrified awakening. Often, I would lay awake, paralyzed with horror as the details of the nightmare repeated itself. Other nights, a jolted scream would lead to my mother's disquieted entrance.

Edith and I had a longstanding history. She was my first and only therapist - which I believe is rare. My mom brought me at 11 years old and now I think I am her only adult patient.

"How do you feel about telling me what you remember from it?" She looked hopeful.

"It was the same as always." The elevation of the hairs on my arm sent chills down my spine.

With the kindest of tones, Edith prompted me, "You've said that before, but from my notes, it develops often."

An extraneous sigh began my attempt to recite a memory I wish I could forget. I closed my eyes and the dream began.

I am lying in an empty, dark room. There's a small, square window that lets in the tiniest amount of light, enough to highlight the dust dancing around. I can hear a distant film projector; the sound consoles me. As I walk towards the hushed snarl, the room begins to lengthen. A door appears on the opposite side and my pace turns to a light jog. Getting closer, familiar voices echo through the abandoned room. My family. A battle of disbelief and panic fuels my determination. My jog turns to a run as I can see the door closing itself, followed by a thunderous slam. I am left with only the sound of my defeated breath; it is now dark. I swiftly look around in hopes of finding the tiny window that was once there. My lungs come to a halt. A flashlight scans the room. 'Elizabeth?' The sinister, unknown voice sends shudders through my body. 'Elizabeth, where are you?' He calls out my name a few more times. The flashlight shines directly into my eyes. 'There you are, come on. You need a key for this fussy door. It's the only way out.' At a distance, I can see the small spotlight shaking, as he struggles to unlock the door. The click of the lock leads to a creaking door. 'Got it, come on now.' With hesitant steps, I continue my way towards the door. His silhouette gains definition from the dimmed lighting of the flashlight. As I reach the door, his hand lowers and the concrete floor is highlighted. 'You know you shouldn't be down here, Elizabeth.' I attempt a plea but instead, a tear falls from my eye. 'There's no need to cry, Elizabeth. I am a forgiving person.' He puts his hand on the back of my neck and shoves me through the door.

"Was that all you could remember?" Edith’s voice drew my attention back.

I nodded.

She looked at me with hopeful and sympathetic eyes, "well there were some new details revealed."

I nodded again.

She paused, allowing me some time to respond. When she realized I was not planning on responding she continued, "This was the first time the man spoke and he also called you Elizabeth. Were you able to remember any features of his face?"

I felt my leg begin to jitter, "No."

"How did you feel when you woke up, Lizzy?"

"Sweaty and exhausted." I swiftly looked over to the ticking clock.

Edith, whose name aged her, went on to explain her theories around the man in my dream calling me by name. I was not listening because this man felt too real to be just a figure in a dream.

I felt completely depleted as I sunk into the seat of my car. As an attempt to decompress, I turned on some music and allowed my eyes to close. Within 15 seconds, his face appeared and my body became alert. I rubbed my chest; in hopes of loosening the tightness I was experiencing. I inhaled and counted, "1, 2, 3, 4." My breath was strained. I held for 1, 2 – and puffed out the air I was holding on to. I did this until the box I was tracing on my thigh lasted for 4 seconds on each side.

As I began to ground myself, I opened my glove compartment and pulled out a sketchbook – only a few pages were left. I flipped through it as his face became more detailed and defined. My drawing has also improved greatly over the years.

I'm not sure why I cannot bring myself to show Edith this and explain that it is his face that wakes me up every time. I picked up my pencil and began drawing it again, with every detail that has been ingrained in my mind.

I started with his elongated face, untamed beard, and balding head. His bushy eyebrows crowned his dark, hollow eyes. Wrinkles ran down from the corners of his eyes to his beard, like streaks of tears. I filled in the series of horizontal lines on his forehead and finished off his thin, callous smirk.

I stared at the sketch until the uneasiness became unbearable. His face felt real. I closed the book and battled with the thoughts of trying to recognize this man. The car began closing in on me so I opened the windows and drove myself to the only place where I felt calm – the last movie store in town.

The smell of new plastic and aged carpet loosened every tense muscle in my body. I looked around and realized that the place was deserted. "Lizzy!" I turned to see a familiar face. "Hey, Pete!"

He walked around the corner and gave me a warm hug, "It's been a while – I put aside a few movies I think you’ll like. They’re just downstairs, let me go and grab them quickly!"

I walked around the limited aisles of VHS tapes and DVDs. I ran my fingers along the spines allowing myself to remember my childhood. I used to come here every afternoon and indulge in complimentary popcorn. Through all the iconic movie posters displayed, a deep red paint peaked through. The dark grey carpets were worn down and flattened but remained clean.

Every Thursday Pete would put together a movie showing on this old film projector, the whole town would bring their chairs or beanbags to watch a movie that no one’s heard of. But for the last few years, Pete stopped – I wonder if the projector was still here. I walked towards the back room where we'd all gather. "Lizzy?" I heard Pete searching for me. I called back "back here!" Pete met me in the hallway with a box of movies, "reminiscing?" I smiled, "sort of, just wanted to see if it was still here."

Pete led me to the room, explaining how the projector was broken, probably from sitting unused for so long. As I entered the initially dark room, I felt a draft of cold air. Pete turned on the single light that just barely lit the room. A sense of worry filled my stomach. Pete handed me the box and walked over to the projector, "I have my repair guy coming to fix it. I'm hoping once it's all good I can maybe start the movie nights again, might be good for business." The ding from the door opening went off, sending Pete to the front. Gripping the box tightly, I looked around the room that was much larger than I remember. On the projector was a layer of dust so thick, that just the breeze from my walk whirled it into the air. The bare screen captured the shadows of the projector and myself. Footsteps lifted the hairs on my arms, leading to the entrance of new shadows on the screen.

"Elizabeth, right?" The voice sank my heart to my trembling stomach.

I turned around, the box slipped through my fingers creating a clamour of DVDs scattering. Pete said something but the ringing in my ears made it inaudible.

Every ounce of oxygen left my body – it was him. I felt a scream building up, but it was muffled by my lack of breath. Pete came close to help with the fallen box, but the distant ding of the door went off again, leaving me alone with him. The sinister smirk mimicked the one I've been drawing for all these years. The light flickered and then the room went dark, I was left again with the sound of my panicked breath and exiting footsteps. I stood still until a flashlight scanned the room causing me to back into a wall. "Lizzy?" It was Pete. I followed his voice as he led me out of the room. I quickly looked around the illuminated store but was not met with the hollow eyes I dreaded. I stuttered, "Where is he?" Pete look concerned, "Who, the repair guy? He came to get me about the light and then went to get his toolbox. What's going on?"

Without an explanation, I quickly exited the store to distantly see him shutting the door of his truck. I continued to my car, where a flood of tears fell from my eyes.

I began to trace a square on my thigh, mumbling to myself, this cannot be real.

Serena Scerni is a self-motivated and dynamic writer seeking to tell stories for both literature and film. She is passionate about using art as a way to heal and inspire while drawing from experiences, both lived and imagined.

Instagram: @serena.docx