Practical Imagination

"Where do you think the shadow people hide during the day!" Mr. Hartwood shouted from the other side of the armchair he was now cowering behind.

The orderlies that had accompanied me on the appointment were doing their best to calm him without resorting to a show of force; all the while, Mr. Hartwood refused to open his eyes, violently shaking his head from side to side and echoing his refusal to participate in the Rorschach test. His vocalizations devolved into rambling as the orderlies began to administer a sedative and ease him toward his bed near the window on the far side of the room. I watched on in silence, occasionally glancing at the inkblot cards in my hand. Mr. Hartwood had not been the first to proclaim some connection between the cards and the rumoured existence of these "shadow people."

"Trust us, Mr. Hartwood, there are no shadow people." One of the orderlies attempted to placate the agitated man. "You all are worked up about nothing more than a ghost story."

"Just because you can't see..." Mr. Hartwood trailed off, resigning himself to silence, casting a rueful gaze in my direction. Not at me, but all around me. It took all I could muster not to cast my glance about myself in attempts to glean whatever it was that had so captivated his attention.

One of the orderlies remained behind to help me gather the rest of my things and we exited the room together. I made a note on the corner of my clipboard to reschedule an appointment just as the man behind me pulled the portiere closed behind us.

"Damn 'shadow people,'" he murmured with an exasperated huff. "It's a wonder how, or why, they come up with these stories. The whole damn thing's been a pain in our collective asses since it started." He shook his head and twisted his mouth, passing a tertiary examination over the Rorschach cards before tucking them back underneath his arm. "I know it don't take much to rile these patients up, but this? Doc, it's been weeks - what, a month and some now - and this crap is still going around?"

As if on cue, a resident intersected our path, eyes fixated on the air, arm slightly outstretched as if holding onto a leash. They abruptly stopped in front of us and turned to look our way.

"Excuse us, Ms. Darbin." The orderly offered in a gentle tone.

"No, Daisy! Sit!" Ms. Darbin exclaimed, miming pulling against a force unseen as she shifted her gaze from me to the orderly. "Please excuse us. I'm so sorry!" She spouted, still pulling at the air, and hurriedly dragged her phantom pet away.

The orderly shook his head again as we traded glances and continued on our way, stepping into an elevator. "Look, I'll be the first to admit, I was glad to get transferred to this facility. Everybody knows this is the quietest facility within the Commonality. I mean, sure there's a bunch of extra procedure and paperwork, but that's what it takes. Right? Anyway, I've worked in a few different facilities, but this is unlike anything I've seen before. Inciting rumours are always something to look out for but at least it blows over pretty quick. This though? Have you seen anything like it?"

The simple answer was no. The residents had always been good at coming up with ways to entertain themselves. We had come to accept it as an inevitability, a biproduct of their brilliant minds. In fact, we had come to recognize it as something of a competition, particularly amongst the residents that had been with us for some time. Ghost stories, rumours, hell sometimes even minor clique rivalries; all were par for the course. All fabricated like some sort of episodic sitcom. Our facilities famed quietness? Simply, nothing ever got out of hand. This incident, however, had taken things to a new level seemingly leading to mass delusions and hallucinations spanning the entirety of the facility with few residents not going on about supposed shadow people.

When we finally came to the office floor, I thanked the orderly for his assistance and declared that I would be finishing up some paperwork before I headed home for the day. I sat at my desk and skimmed through the messages that had come across since morning, most of which were reports and updates about residents continued odd behavior and requests for advice regarding medication and procedure. I sighed and slouched back in my chair glancing once more at the Rorschach cards now resting on my desk. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand to attempt to apply scientific practice to something that held no existence beyond the eccentric minds of the residents. Still, there was an investigation to be concluded if things were ever to return to normal and I had just spent the day scaping out the only tangible link in the story. It was time to start digging deeper.

I left my lab coat behind, the universal sign of "only speak to if necessary" but took the Rorschach cards with me on my way to the opposite side of the facility where a small percentage of our residents enjoyed a pseudo-independent living situation. I passed through the regular halls and door before exiting into a spacious courtyard surrounded on three sides by apartment style buildings. The guard at the entrance waved me through with little fuss and I made my way to the eastern building then up to the fifth floor.

By the time I reached the door of my destination, I noticed that it was already open, the gentle strumming of a soothing instrumental drawling out into the hall followed by a thin haze smelling distinctly of incense. I could see straight through the apartment and past its minimalistic decorations out to the balcony where a slender girl turned perfectly in time to catch my eye as I looked in. A faint smile eased its way across her lips, and she beckoned me inside, the smoke from a cigarette between her fingers accenting her motion.

"Took ya long enough to finally come see me, Dr. DeVrard. Oh, sorry. Just Audrey when you're not in the coat, right?"

"Hey there, Lou." I sidled up beside her as she turned to look out over the river far below us.

"Still smoke?" She fished a carton from her breast pocket and waggled it in my direction.

I had not for some time but mindlessly reached for one to which she followed up with striking a match and allowing me to light my cigarette with it. She waved the match out and neatly placed it in an ash tray resting on the guard railing.

"Likin' the new cut. Didn't know if short would work for you, but it's cute. Glad you kept the color." She took a long drag and exhaled allowing a few moments to pass. "So, what's the haps? Ya only ever come up here anymore when something's gotcha tangled."

I let the cigarette hang from my mouth as I pulled the cards from underneath my arm. Before I could say anything, Louisia smiled and breathed an "ah" while reaching out a hand to take a slide from me. She gazed over it as I spoke.

"Took me awhile to find a consistent common point."

"I'll say. But do you understand it?" She shifted her eyes to me, and I offered a shake of my head. Louisia motioned for me to hand her the rest of the cards and then she began cycling through them. "Shadow people. Figments of our imagination; well, to everyone besides the imaginer. You know those sensations you get like someone is watching you, or something is in your hair, or crawling on your arm, or you feel like something brushed passed you? Here, gimme your hand."

I looked at her quizzically but slowly did as she requested. She moved my hand so that it lay outstretched on top of the guard rail and then she placed one of the cards facing up in front of my hand. I noted that it was the tenth card. She gazed down at it in silence for a time. My mind drifted to the thrum of string instruments in the background and the rushing wind hinting at a coming storm. Suddenly, a crawling sensation crept up my fingers and over the palm of my hand. I flinched but held my hand in place, looking up at Louisia who was beaming at me expectantly. It wasn't until the sensation began up my forearm that I flung my arm to one side flinging away the invisible crawler. Louisia's gaze followed something the balcony floor before she glanced back up at me.

"They lie in wait, typically on amorphous things, waiting to be given form and purpose by our minds. They feed on our imagination and cross into our realm where they take shape. They want to be seen, but you have to want to see them."