TRANSCRIPT: SOMNARIUM. S.013 – Bruises, Bruises, Bruises

Case of Devon Lee. First seen by Dr. Susan Renwyck on August 12th, 2010, for recurring nightmares, insomnia, and reported injuries allegedly sustained during sleep.

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INTRO

[HDD spins up]

MADDY
What were you thinking?!

I told you to be careful!

ALEX
I was!

MADDY
No. You clearly weren’t using your head.

Really? Cause to me, looks like the only thing you were using your head for is a battering ram.

I told you not to stick your nose in other people’s stuff and look what happened.

ALEX
Ow, dammit! You’re hurting me!

MADDY
Will you sit still for two seconds and let me take care of your head?

[Alex winces]

MADDY
What even happened anyway? How did you hit your head?

ALEX
I don’t remember.

MADDY
You don’t remember.

ALEX
No, I don’t.

I just remember waking up on the floor with a throbbing headache.
Kind of felt like I got ran over by a truck.

MADDY
You must’ve fainted and hit your head on your desk on the way down or something.

ALEX
Thanks, Doctor.

MADDY
You’re the one who came to me, instead of seeking medical help.

Now tell me, what did you do?

ALEX
Okay, okay.

So, you know everything I’ve told you about the hard drive already.

The case files, the patients, the victims, Dr. Renwyck.

What I didn’t tell you about was what happened to me a while back.

MADDY
Wait what do you mean, happened?

ALEX
Well…

MADDY
Well, what??

ALEX
It’s gonna sound insane.

MADDY
[chuckles]
I’m afraid to tell you, that ship has long since sailed.

ALEX
You’re not gonna believe me if I tell you.

MADDY
Try me.

ALEX
Ugh, fine.

It happened subtly at first, odd sounds on my recordings here and there.

The sound of knocking on glass, hearing the sound of a train.

MADDY
Okay…

ALEX
But after the fifth case I recorded. The sleep paralysis patient, the night guard, something… invaded… my room.

MADDY
What do you mean, invaded?

ALEX
So I had been having a weird dream for a little over a week at that point. Sitting at my computer, with the hard drive spinning, looking at an empty text file.

The text file starts filling up with the words “don’t look” and then I wake up.

But that night, after reading the case file, my door creaked open.

[pause]

Then the whispers started, calling out my name, and I couldn’t move anymore. Like someone had taken all of the breath out of my lungs.

I felt something creeping up behind me. It was so large that it cast a shadow on the wall in front of me.

And in my monitor I could see it’s bright red eyes reflected.

When my chair started turning, it suddenly ended and I could move again.

MADDY
Why do you think it was there?

ALEX
I don’t know… I’ve been trying to figure that out.

But it’s the same figure that the night guard described in his case file. I want to say I imagined it, but the whole experience felt so real.

[pause]

Then there was the time I heard the train in the distance when I was visiting you.

MADDY
But I don’t leave near any train station or rail road.

ALEX
Exactly. Whatever I’ve been experiencing is either messing with me. Or I’m just losing my mind.

MADDY
[laughs]
That’s it. I knew it. You’ve gone loopy.

ALEX
Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny.

[short pause]

Then last week I heard a voice laughing in my grandfather’s old radio.

MADDY
What, that old thing? I didn’t even think it still worked.

ALEX
It doesn’t, that’s the point.

MADDY
Hmm, okay.

ALEX
Then last night, I was reaching the end of the case file marked “dangerous” that I told you about.

MADDY
You didn’t.

ALEX
I had to know

MADDY
Oh my god, you’re such an idiot!

I told you it was a bad idea to open it.

Were you even listening when I was talking about how dangerous it is to open suspicious files?!

ALEX
I know…

I was reading the conclusion of the file and I expected another patient death at the end.

MADDY
And?

ALEX
The figure from the sleep paralysis case came back.

MADDY
What?

ALEX
Exactly, it didn’t make any sense.

MADDY
None of this makes any sense.

ALEX
I’ve been trying to associate certain phenomena and experiences with specific types of cases.

Uhm, like, trains are related to being late. Reflections are linked to humiliation.

The figure with the red eyes appears in sleep paralysis cases.

There’s more that I haven’t properly linked.

But last night was something new.

MADDY
New? I thought all of this happened ages ago.

ALEX
Well… yes.

Dr. Renwyck called it new.

She wanted to associate it with glass and reflections at first, but wasn’t certain that entirely fit the case.

MADDY
I see. What happened then?

ALEX
So the figure came back and I froze again. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe.

And then…

A voice started talking from the radio.

[pause]

MADDY
Are you okay?

ALEX
Just thinking about it gives me chills.

[pause]

The voice told me how the patient died.

He talked about fame and privacy.

How everyone wants to be seen until they don’t.

And the voice knew my name.

MADDY
What? It knew your name?!

ALEX
Yea…

Before it left it asked me if I could be certain when the last time was that no one was listening.

MADDY
What did it mean by that?

ALEX
I’m not sure.

These recordings maybe?

MADDY
You mean someone might be listening to them?

ALEX
Or something.

MADDY
But you’re posting them online, right?

ALEX
Yeah, but it’s not like a lot of people actually listen to it.

MADDY
Okay, but how did you hit your head?

ALEX
Like I said, I don’t remember.

I listened to the recording from last night while you were on the way here.

The voice says he ran out of time, then the figure left and I could move again.

The last thing I heard was me catching my breath and then the recording ends.

I must’ve fainted after that, I think.

MADDY
So what are we gonna do now?

ALEX
What do you mean we?

MADDY
You involved me once and now I’m here again.

Clearly you can’t do this by yourself, so I’m going to help you.

ALEX
Maddy, you really don’t have to do that…

MADDY
You’ve pulled me in now, too late.

Besides, consider my interested piqued.

ALEX
Alright…

Well…

We need the backup of the files you stole from the deep web site.

MADDY
I was afraid you were gonna say that…

But what I’ve been hearing about Dr. Renwyck’s case files and what I found on that site is too similar to be a coincidence.

There’s clearly some kind of connection there.

ALEX
Yeah… I was thinking the same thing.

MADDY
There’s only one problem though.

ALEX
Which is?

MADDY
The backup is in my old apartment.

And… someone else lives there now.

I can’t just knock on their door and say: “Hey, I used to live here and I hid something under the floorboards. Would you mind if I just came in and ripped up the floor?”

ALEX
Why not?

MADDY
[sighs]
Ugh…

Fine, I’ll figure out how to get the backup but I want something in return.

ALEX
Anything.

MADDY
I need you to help me figure out what happened to May.

ALEX
Deal.

MADDY
Alright well, except for a nasty bruise your head should be fine.

ALEX
Thanks Maddy.

MADDY
I’m no doctor though, so don’t go sueing me if it turns out you had a brain tumor this whole time.

ALEX
Haha, I won’t. I appreciate it though.

MADDY
I should get going, are you gonna be fine?

ALEX
Yeah, I’ll be alright.

I’m about to dive into another case.

MADDY
Already? Shouldn’t you get some rest first.

ALEX
No, it’s fine.

Besides, it feels like I should keep going.

MADDY
Alright, well, don’t die or anything.

ALEX
No need to be dramatic.

MADDY
See ya.

ALEX
Later, let me know how it goes.

[door closing in the distance]

[Microphone shuffling noises]

[Alex clears throat]

Alright, next case is…

Case of Devon Lee. First seen by Dr. Susan Renwyck on August 12th, 2010, for recurring nightmares, insomnia, and reported injuries allegedly sustained during sleep.

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PATIENT APPLICATION

Applicant: Devon Lee
Date: August 9th, 2010
Referral: Dr. [REDACTED]

Dear Dr. Renwyck,

Before I explain what’s been happening, let me just say one thing.

Please don’t dismiss this because of what my primary physician wrote in her referral letter. She doesn’t believe me and thinks I’m inflicting these injuries on myself.

I’m not.

I’m not hurting myself, and I’m waking up with the same injuries I get in my dreams.

I don’t know how that’s possible. I know how it sounds. But I’m not crazy.

Everything started a little over a month ago, when I was walking home after work.

I’d stayed later than usual because I had a report due the next day and I wanted to make sure it was perfect. We had a new boss starting, and I wanted to make a good impression.

It was completely dark by the time I left. As I was passing a dark alley, someone stepped out of the shadows holding a knife.

He was an older man with long grey hair and a beard. His clothes were filthy and torn. He looked like he’d been living on the street for a long time.

He demanded my wallet and anything else valuable I had on me.

I tried to reason with him. I told him it didn’t have to be like this. That if he needed help, he didn’t have to threaten me with a knife.

He didn’t listen. He just got more agitated. He started shouting and swinging the knife around, telling me to stop wasting his time and give him my money.

I should’ve just handed everything over, but I kept trying to talk him down.

Long story short, the knife caught me in the stomach and I went down.

He took my wallet and my watch and left me there on the cold, dark street.

I ended up getting lucky. A few minutes later, a young man walking his dog found me and immediately called an ambulance.

A few days later I left the hospital with a lot of stitches and my bruised dignity. The doctor told me I got incredibly lucky that the knife didn’t hit anything vital and the surgery went smoothly.

For a little while, I really thought that was the end of it. I thought I’d just have to deal with being nervous for a while, maybe jump at shadows a bit, maybe take the long way home until I felt normal again.

The first few nights were rough, but not in a way that seemed unusual. Everything hurt. Rolling over in bed hurt. Laughing hurt. Getting out of a chair hurt. I was sleeping in short stretches because I couldn’t get comfortable and because every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing that alley again.

Still, all of that made sense to me. I’d been attacked. I’d been stabbed. Of course I wasn’t sleeping well.

At first I thought the nightmares were just part of recovering.

That made sense to me. After something like that, of course I’d dream about it. Of course I’d wake up sweating, heart racing, hearing his voice again in my head.

The first nightmare came not long after I got home from the hospital.

I was back on that same street, walking home in the dark like nothing had happened yet. Same alley. Same silence. Same feeling that I should’ve turned around and gone another way. He stepped out just like before, knife in hand, demanding my wallet.

Only this time, when he came at me, the knife went into the other side.

I woke up gasping and clutching my stomach. For a few seconds I just lay there trying to tell myself it was only a dream.

Then I felt the pain.

When I turned on the light, there was blood on my shirt.

Not enough to make me think I was dying, but enough to make my hands start shaking. When I lifted the fabric, there was a fresh wound on the opposite side of my abdomen from where I’d been stabbed before. Shallower than the real one, but still there.

I know how impossible that sounds.

I still tried to explain it away. I told myself maybe I’d pulled something, scratched myself in my sleep, caught the skin on the bed frame, anything. I don’t even know. I just didn’t want to believe what it looked like.

I cleaned it, changed my shirt, and spent the rest of the morning sitting on the edge of my bed trying to think of a reasonable explanation. The whole time I kept going back and forth between feeling ridiculous and feeling terrified. One minute I was telling myself there had to be some simple answer. The next I was staring at that wound thinking I was losing my mind.

But when I went back to my doctor, she didn’t believe any of that either. She didn’t think I was sleepwalking, and she clearly didn’t believe that I could somehow be injuring myself in my sleep without realizing it.

She asked me questions in this careful, measured tone people use when they’ve already decided what they think and are just waiting for you to confirm it. Had I been under unusual stress? Was I taking my medication properly? Had I had any history of depression? Did I ever lose time? Did I have anyone at home who could “keep an eye on me”?

That’s why I’m writing to you.

I don’t know if I’m sleepwalking, thrashing around, reopening injuries somehow, or doing something else in my sleep that I can’t remember afterwards. Maybe there’s a medical explanation for this. I hope there is.

But I’m not doing this to myself deliberately.

And if this really is happening while I’m asleep, then I need someone who actually understands sleep to help me prove that.

Because right now all I have is a doctor who thinks I’m lying, and injuries I can’t explain.

Sincerely,
Devon Lee

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CONSULTATION NOTE

Patient: Devon Lee
Date: August 12th, 2010
Subject: Initial consultation

Mr. Lee attended as scheduled. He presented visibly fatigued and frustrated, but remained cooperative throughout. He strongly disputed the implication in his primary physician’s referral that he may be inflicting the injuries himself, and repeatedly insisted that some form of sleepwalking or other sleep-related behavior must be responsible. He stated more than once that he does not “believe in ghosts” and was clearly resistant to any explanation he felt sounded irrational.

He described the initial assault clearly and brought several injuries to my attention during the consultation, including bruising, the wound opposite the site of the original stabbing, and a more recent mark across his upper back. The latter is notable, as it would be difficult to produce cleanly without assistance or unusual positioning. While this does not rule out self-infliction, it complicates the simplest explanation.

Given the nature of the complaint, I have asked Mr. Lee to return for overnight observation so that his sleep can be monitored directly. He agreed immediately and appeared relieved by the suggestion.

I am not yet certain whether this presentation is connected to the same pattern I have noted elsewhere, but I do not feel comfortable dismissing the resemblance outright.

Follow-up once we have the results of the overnight observation.

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FOLLOW-UP NOTE

Patient: Devon Lee
Date: August 13th, 2010
Subject: Overnight observation follow-up

Mr. Lee remained under overnight observation as planned. Sleep was restless but otherwise unremarkable. No sleepwalking, significant nocturnal agitation, or other obvious parasomnic behaviour was observed during the monitoring period. He woke appearing tired and tense, but no visible new injuries were noted on examination the following morning.

At present, I have no objective evidence to confirm the mechanism Mr. Lee believes is responsible for these injuries. That said, I am not persuaded that he is fabricating the entirety of his account. His distress appears genuine, and his insistence has thus far been more defensive than theatrical.

For now, I have advised continued documentation of both dream content and injury presentation. Further follow-up will be necessary if the pattern continues.

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SLEEP DIARY

Addendum

Only a handful of entries from Mr. Lee’s sleep diary were recoverable. The original was heavily water-damaged by the time it came into my possession, and several pages were either fused together or too deteriorated to transcribe with confidence. What remains is fragmentary, but the surviving entries are presented here in chronological order.

Friday, August 13th, 2010

I barely slept at the clinic last night, which turned out to be pointless anyway.

Dr. Renwyck had me stay overnight so they could observe me, see if I was sleepwalking or doing something strange without realizing it. I agreed to it immediately because I thought, finally, good, someone is actually going to see this happen instead of looking at me like I’m crazy.

And then nothing happened.

Or at least nothing they could see.

I slept badly. That’s true. I kept waking up, shifting around, feeling like I was on the edge of another nightmare without fully dropping into it. But apparently I didn’t get up, didn’t lash out, didn’t do anything worth writing down. When Dr. Renwyck spoke to me this morning she was careful with her wording. She didn’t say she thought I was lying. She also didn’t say she believed me. She just said there was nothing obvious in the observation that helped explain the injuries.

So now I’m back home with no answers and even less dignity than before.

Part of me was stupid enough to think one night under observation would solve this. That they would point to a camera and say, there, you got out of bed at 2:13 a.m. and did this to yourself without knowing. Something humiliating, maybe, but still explainable. Something I could point to.

Instead all I’ve got is another doctor speaking to me like I’m an interesting problem.

I told myself I would stay awake tonight. I really meant it too. I made coffee after dinner, turned every light on in the apartment, and sat on the couch with the television going just for the noise. I thought maybe if I kept my mind occupied and uncomfortable enough, I’d be safe.

That lasted until sometime after midnight. I don’t remember falling asleep. One second I was staring at some late-night rerun with the sound too low to follow, and the next I was somewhere else.

Not the alley this time.

A stairwell. Concrete steps. One of those ugly apartment-building stairwells that smell like dust and damp paint. I knew in the dream that I was trying to get away from someone, even though I couldn’t hear footsteps behind me yet. I just knew. That same awful certainty as before, like violence had already decided on me and I was only waiting for it to catch up.

I remember reaching a landing and finding a man standing there like he’d been waiting. Not the one from the alley. Younger than him. Broad shoulders. Face mostly in shadow. He didn’t say anything. He just stepped forward and hit me hard enough that I saw white.

I woke up on the couch with my head against the armrest and blood in my mouth.

I bit through the inside of my lip badly enough that I had to stand over the bathroom sink for five minutes before it slowed down. When I looked in the mirror, there was a dark bruise starting high on my cheekbone too, like someone had caught me square in the face.

Maybe I hit the edge of the couch in my sleep. Maybe I clenched my jaw and bit down harder than I realized. Maybe there is some pathetic explanation like that.

But I know what that punch felt like.

And what scares me now is that it wasn’t the same dream anymore.

Sunday, August 15th, 2010

I skipped writing yesterday because I was too tired and too angry.

I’m starting to hate daytime almost as much as night. During the day I can still tell myself there has to be some explanation I haven’t thought of yet. Then evening comes, and all I can think about is what I’ll wake up with next.

I didn’t go anywhere today except the pharmacy and back. The woman at the counter asked if I wanted anything stronger for the pain. I almost laughed. Stronger for which pain?

My stomach still aches if I move the wrong way. My face is yellowing at the edges now. The inside of my mouth stings every time I eat. I feel ridiculous all the time. Like my whole life has narrowed to checking mirrors and flinching at bedtime.

Last night I fought sleep for as long as I could, but at some point my body just shut down.

The dream was a parking garage.

I knew it was a parking garage before I even saw the cars properly. Cold concrete. Fluorescent lights humming overhead. That damp echoey feeling big empty spaces get at night. I was alone at first, or at least I thought I was. I kept hearing a sharp metallic sound somewhere behind me, not loud, just steady enough that I couldn’t ignore it. Like someone dragging something along a railing as they walked.

I started moving faster. Then I heard footsteps.

Again, I couldn’t see the person’s face clearly. That’s starting to bother me almost as much as the injuries. It’s never really about who they are. It’s just the fact that they’re there and that they mean to hurt me. In the dream I remember turning too late and throwing my arm up out of instinct.

Something sharp caught me across the shoulder.

Not deep. More like a slash than a stab. But it burned hot enough that I woke up shouting.

This one is harder to explain away.

When I checked in the bathroom, there was a cut along the top of my left shoulder, angling down toward the back. Not huge, but very clean. Too clean. It bled enough to ruin another shirt. I cleaned it myself, swore at myself, sat on the bathroom floor for a while, then cleaned it again because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and I wasn’t sure I’d done it properly the first time.

I spent most of this morning trying to figure out how I could possibly do that to myself in my sleep. I even walked around the apartment looking for anything at that height I might have caught it on. Doorframe, shelf corner, coat hook, anything. Nothing made sense.

I know I’m supposed to keep documenting this calmly, but calm is getting harder.

The worst part is that the dreams aren’t replaying the mugging anymore. They are changing. The place changes. The person changes. The injury changes.

The only thing that stays the same is the feeling that once it starts, I’m already too late.

Tuesday, August 17th, 2010

I am writing this because if I don’t, I’ll just sit here listening for sounds that aren’t there.

I haven’t slept properly in two days.

Not really. I’ve had little drops, maybe ten minutes here and there, the kind where your head jerks and your heart is already racing before you even know if you were asleep. I’ve been drinking too much coffee. My hands keep trembling. I dropped a glass in the kitchen this morning because my grip just gave out for no reason.

I called in sick yesterday and again today. I said I had complications from the stabbing. Which I guess is true in a way, just not in any way that would make sense to anybody else.

I keep thinking about calling Dr. Renwyck again, but what am I supposed to say? The observation didn’t prove anything, and since then I’ve added numerous other injuries to the list. She’ll probably ask me to come back in, and what then? Another normal night followed by another impossible morning?

I finally passed out this afternoon sitting up against the side of the bed. I didn’t mean to. One second I was just resting my eyes because they felt like sandpaper, and the next I was in another dream.

This time it was some kind of underpass or tunnel. Tile walls. Water dripping somewhere. The sound of traffic overhead, muffled and far away. I remember thinking in the dream that if I just kept moving and got out the other side, I’d be fine.

Then someone rushed me from behind.

I went down hard. Before I could even get my hands under me, they kicked me in the side. Once. Twice. Maybe more. I don’t know. I remember curling in around the pain and trying to protect my ribs because some part of me already knew what would happen if I didn’t.

I woke up on the floor beside the bed unable to take a full breath.

Every deep inhale caught in my right side. Not where I was stabbed. Higher up. Around the ribs. There wasn’t much to see at first, just a small patch of bruising starting to come through, but the pain was sharp enough that I couldn’t pretend it was nothing.

I tried to wait it out. I really did. I sat there for nearly an hour telling myself it was just bruising, or that I’d landed badly when I fell out of bed, or anything else that sounded halfway reasonable.

In the end I went to the ER because I couldn’t breathe properly without feeling something catch.

They did imaging.

The doctor told me I had two fractured ribs.

He asked if I’d fallen, been in another fight, or gotten hurt without remembering it. I told him no. He stood there for a second with that same careful look they all get now, like he was deciding which version of me he believed less.

So now I can add broken bones to the list.

I’m so tired.

Everything feels meaner when you’re this tired. The apartment sounds wrong. The dark corners look deeper than they should. I keep catching myself bracing whenever I hear someone out in the hallway, like they’re about to come through the door and finish whatever keeps getting started in those dreams.

I’m scared to sleep.

That’s the simplest version of it. I’m scared to sleep because every time I do, something hurts me, and by morning some part of it is real.

Sunday, August 22nd, 2010

I don’t know what day it feels like anymore.

I know what date it is because I checked three times before I started writing, but that doesn’t mean much. The last few days have blurred together. I sleep for an hour, maybe less, then wake up hurting somewhere new and spend the rest of the night pacing or sitting with the lights on waiting for daylight.

I should have gone back to Dr. Renwyck sooner. I know that. I kept telling myself I needed one more clear example, one more injury I could point to, something that would force this to make sense. But all that’s happened is I’ve grown more tired, more jumpy, and more afraid of my own bed.

I have bruises now I don’t remember getting. Some of them I can trace back to dreams. Some of them I can’t. That’s almost worse. At least when I can match them to something, I feel like I’m still following the sequence. Lately it feels like the dreams start before I even fully fall asleep, as if they’re waiting right on the other side of closing my eyes.

Last night I kept hearing movement in the apartment and I don’t even know if it was real. I checked the locks twice, then a third time because I’d forgotten whether I’d already checked them. I sat in the kitchen with a knife on the table in front of me and then felt stupid for doing that, because what exactly am I planning to defend myself against? A dream?

I did sleep eventually. I must have. There are pieces of it but not enough to put in order. A hallway. Somebody grabbing the back of my neck. My face hitting something hard. Hands over my wrists. That feeling again, over and over, that if I could just wake up quickly enough maybe I’d keep it from following me out.

This morning my left wrist was swollen and stiff, and there’s a bruise along my jaw I know wasn’t there before. The one on my side still hurts every time I breathe too deeply. I caught my reflection earlier and didn’t recognize myself right away. I just saw somebody who looked like they’d been in too many fights too close together.

I haven’t been in any fights.

That’s the part I keep wanting to shout at people, even though nobody’s here to hear it. I haven’t been drinking. I haven’t been going out. I haven’t been throwing myself into walls for attention. I’m alone in this apartment, going to sleep and waking up hurt.

I don’t know what happens next.

I don’t know if this keeps getting worse until I stop waking up, or if there’s some limit I haven’t hit yet. I don’t know whether I should try to stay awake again tonight or whether that just makes whatever this is easier by leaving me too exhausted to fight it.

All I know is that I can’t keep doing this.

I’m going to go to sleep tonight and face whatever is there.

In case I don’t wake up tomorrow morning. Please Dr. Renwyck, understand this: I told the truth. I always told the truth from the beginning.

I wasn’t doing this to myself.

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CONCLUSION

There’s no patient record addendum in this file.

At least, not one I could recover.

But Devon Lee is listed as deceased in the case index, same as the others. So whatever happened after that last entry… it didn’t end well.

And that’s all I’ve got.

No police report. No follow-up note. No explanation for how a man goes from insisting he’s not doing this to himself to ending up dead in Renwyck’s archive with half his file missing.

[pause]

This one felt different.

Most of the other cases I’ve gone through had something in the margins. A name. A note. Some kind of pattern Renwyck seemed to be tracking for herself.

This one doesn’t. Not that I could find, anyway.

But it was still in the same archive. Same structure. Same kind of deterioration. Same feeling that it belonged with the rest, even if I can’t yet say why.

So… it has to mean something.

[pause]

For now, that’s where this one ends.

Now we wait for Maddy to get the files.

My head hurts, and I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit.

NO FURTHER MATERIAL RECOVERED

OUTRO PLAYS