Still

Daniel Frost hated MRI machines before he had ever been inside one. It was not claustrophobia. At least that was what he told his wife when she asked why he had spent three days complaining about a test that involved lying down for 45 minutes. Daniel was 48 years old, the principal of a high school outside Burlington, Vermont, and had spent 26 years working with teenagers. He had broken up fights, talked suicidal students off metaphorical ledges, dealt with furious parents, fired employees, testified at school board meetings, and once spent six hours locked inside the building during a bomb threat that turned out to be nothing. He was not afraid of enclosed spaces. He just preferred spaces with exits.

               “You’re claustrophobic,” his wife, Rebecca, told him over breakfast.

               “I am not.”

               “You won’t even use the elevator at the dentist.”

               “It’s one floor.”

               “You took the stairs at the hospital when I had my appendix out.”

               “Cardio.”

               “You were wearing dress shoes.” Daniel looked at her. Rebecca smiled. “Claustrophobic.”

               “Fine. Mildly.”

               “Tell them.”

               “I’m not taking drugs to lie inside a tube.”

               “Then enjoy your tube.”

               The MRI was supposed to answer a simple question. Daniel had injured his right knee playing basketball with several teachers after school. He came down badly after a rebound, felt something pop, and spent the next two weeks limping around the building while refusing to see a doctor. Rebecca finally made the appointment after she caught him crawling upstairs because bending the knee hurt too much. The orthopedic surgeon suspected a torn meniscus. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous. Daniel arrived at the imaging center at 3:15pm on a Thursday afternoon. By 4:30pm, he expected to be home.

               The technician introduced herself as Megan. “You ever had an MRI before?”

               “No.”

               “Any metal implants?”

               “No.”

               “Pacemaker?”

               “No.”

               “Shrapnel?” Daniel stared at her. “You’d be surprised.”

               “I’m a high school principal. Not a mercenary.”

               She smiled. “Jewelry?”

               Daniel removed his wedding ring and handed it to her. “That’s it.”

               “You can leave your clothes on. Nothing metallic?”

               “No.”

               “Okay. We’re only imaging the knee, so your head should stay pretty close to the opening.”

               “Good.”

               Megan looked at him. “Claustrophobic?”

               “No.” She continued looking at him. “A little.”

               “I can get you a mirror so you can see outside.”

               “That makes it worse.”

               “Okay.”

               “And don’t tell my wife.”

               Megan laughed. “Medical confidentiality.” Daniel lay down. She positioned his knee inside a plastic coil and gave him headphones. “You’ll hear some loud banging. Totally normal.”

               “I’ve heard teenagers play drums. I’ll survive.”

               “This is worse.” She handed him a rubber bulb. “Squeeze this if you need me.”

               Daniel held it up. “My eject button.”

               “Basically.”

               “Good.”

               Megan moved behind the glass. The table began sliding into the machine. Daniel looked at the white plastic inches above his face. “Jesus.”

               Megan’s voice came through the headphones. “You okay?”

               “Fantastic.”

               “We’re starting.” The machine began hammering. Daniel closed his eyes. The first 10 minutes were annoying. The next 10 were worse. The machine changed rhythms constantly. Hammering. Buzzing. Mechanical pulses that sounded like someone operating industrial equipment inside his skull. Then it stopped. Daniel opened his eyes. Silence. He waited.

               “Megan?” Nothing. He squeezed the bulb. Nothing happened. “Megan??” He tried to lift his head. It did not move. Daniel frowned. He tried again. Nothing. His arms would not move either. Neither would his legs. His breathing quickened. “Megan???” He could feel everything. The table beneath him. The headphones. The cool air blowing through the bore. But his body would not respond. “Megan!!!” No answer.

               Then someone whispered beside his ear. “Don’t let them know you’re awake.”

               Daniel stopped breathing. The voice was male. Old. Close. There was no room beside him for another person. “Who said that?” Silence. Daniel tried desperately to move one finger. Nothing. “Who’s there?”

               The voice returned. “Be still.”

               Daniel stared at the white plastic above him. “This isn’t funny.”

               “No.”

               “Where are you?”

               “Here.”

               “Where is here?”

               The man did not answer. Then Daniel heard Megan. Not through the headphones. Somewhere outside the machine. “Daniel?”

               Relief flooded him. “Megan!”

               She did not respond. Footsteps entered the room. Another voice. Male. “Anything?”

               “No response.”

               “I’m awake!” Daniel tried to scream. Nothing came out. That was when he understood. He could hear his own voice. But nobody else could.

               Megan said, “I stopped the scan as soon as he stopped responding.”

               “Pulse?”

               “Nothing.”

               Daniel felt cold.

               The male voice said, “Start compressions.”

               “No.” Something struck Daniel’s chest. Again. Again. He felt every compression. “No! I’m awake!”

               The old man whispered: “I told you.”

               Daniel heard them pronounce him dead at 4:07pm. He knew the exact time because the physician said it twice: “time of death 1607.” Daniel remained inside his body. He felt hands remove equipment. He felt someone close his eyelids. Except he could still see. That made no sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

               “What happens now?” Daniel whispered.

               Several voices answered from inside the machine. “Waiting.”

               Daniel’s blood went cold. There were more of them. A woman spoke. “I’ve been here 17 years.”

               Another voice. “Twenty-three.”

               A child whispered: “I don’t remember.”

               Daniel tried to move. Nothing. “What are you?”

               The old man answered. “The same thing you are.”

               “I’m not dead.” Nobody responded. “I’m not fucking dead.” The child laughed. Daniel did not know how long he remained there. Time behaved strangely. Sometimes he heard the imaging room. Other times there was nothing. Then he began hearing the machine operating. Patients came. Patients left. Daniel heard conversations. A woman complaining about her shoulder. A man joking about falling asleep. A frightened child asking for his mother. Daniel screamed at all of them. Nobody heard him. Except once. A woman was undergoing a brain MRI when Daniel shouted. “Can you hear me?”

               The woman gasped. The technician stopped the scan. “What’s wrong?”

               “Someone spoke.”

               Daniel froze.

               The technician asked, “What did you hear?”

               The woman began crying. “A man.”

               “What did he say?”

               Daniel screamed: “Tell them Daniel Frost!”

               The woman screamed too. “Daniel!” Everything went silent.

               The old man whispered: “You shouldn’t have done that.”

               “Why?”

               The other voices had disappeared. Daniel felt something change. Not in the machine. Behind it. Something had noticed him.

               The next time the MRI began, Daniel heard something moving. Not mechanically. Crawling. Slowly. Along the outside of the machine. Scratch. Pause. Scratch. Pause. Daniel listened. “What is that?” Nobody answered. “Old man?” Silence. The scratching moved closer. Then stopped directly above Daniel’s face. The plastic ceiling flexed inward. Daniel stared. Something pressed against it from the other side. Five long impressions appeared. Fingers. Daniel tried to scream.

               The old man whispered: “Still.”

               The fingers dragged slowly across the plastic. Daniel felt something searching. The old man whispered again. “It finds the ones who know they’re dead.”

               “I’m not dead.”

               “That doesn’t matter here.”

               “What does it want?”

               The child answered this time. “To leave.”

               Daniel woke on the floor. He screamed. Hands grabbed him. “Daniel!” He swung wildly. “Daniel!” Rebecca. He stopped. His wife was kneeling beside him. He looked around. Hospital room. Not MRI. Real hospital. Sunlight. Monitor. IV. Rebecca was crying.

               “What happened?”

               She hugged him. Daniel could barely breathe. “How long?”

               “What?”

               “How long was I gone?”

               “Gone?”

               “In the machine.”

               Rebecca pulled back. “You had a seizure.”

               “What?”

               “They think you had some kind of seizure during the MRI. Your heart rhythm went crazy. You lost consciousness.”

               “I died.”

               “No.”

               “They pronounced me dead.”

               Rebecca stared at him. “No, they didn’t.”

               “Yes.”

               “You were unconscious for maybe two minutes.”

               Daniel shook his head. “No.”

               “Daniel.”

               “There were people.”

               “What people?”

               “In the machine.” Rebecca looked toward the door. He saw it. That tiny change in her face. “Don’t.”

               “What?”

               “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy.”

               “I’m not.”

               “You are.”

               “I think you had a terrifying experience.”

               “That’s therapist language.”

               “I’m not a therapist.”

               “Then don’t use it.”

               Rebecca squeezed his hand. “You’re alive.” Daniel looked at her. That should have been enough. It wasn’t.

               The doctors found nothing. No epilepsy. No brain lesion. No stroke. No explanation for why a routine knee MRI caused Daniel to lose consciousness. His knee had a minor meniscus tear. He almost laughed when they told him. Three days later, he went home. He did not return to work immediately. Rebecca insisted. Daniel agreed because he was exhausted.

               For the first week, he slept downstairs with the television on. He could not tolerate silence. The MRI sound followed him anyway. Sometimes he heard it while showering. Sometimes while driving. Once during dinner.

               Bang.

               Bang.

               Bang.

               “What?” Rebecca asked.

               Daniel looked at her. “Nothing.” He stopped telling her.

               Two weeks passed. Daniel began believing the doctors. Seizure. Hallucination. Some bizarre neurological event. His brain had taken two minutes and stretched them into something enormous. There were papers about that. He looked them up. Time distortion. Near-death experiences. Auditory hallucinations. Everything had a name. Names helped. Then Daniel received a letter. Not email. Actual mail. No return address. Inside was a single sheet of paper.

               DANIEL FROST

               I HEARD YOU.

               His hands began shaking. At the bottom was a phone number. He called. A woman answered. “Hello?”

               “My name is Daniel Frost.”

               Silence. Then she began crying. “You’re alive.”

               “Who are you?”

               “My name is Patricia.”

               Daniel sat down. “Were you in an MRI?”

               “Yes.”

               “When?”

               “Two weeks ago.”

               The woman from the machine. The one who heard him. “What did you hear?”

               “You.”

               “Anything else?” Patricia did not answer. “Patricia?”

               “I hear them now.”

               Daniel closed his eyes. “Who?”

               “The others.” His stomach tightened. “And something else.”

               Daniel gripped the phone. “Scratching?” She began sobbing.

               Patricia died three days later. Suicide, according to the newspaper. Daniel did not believe it. That night he heard scratching beneath his bed. Rebecca was asleep beside him. Daniel opened his eyes. Scratch. Pause. Scratch. Pause. His entire body went cold. The MRI banging began beneath the mattress.

               Bang.

               Bang.

               Bang.

               Daniel remained perfectly still. Rebecca breathed softly beside him. Then the old man whispered from beneath the bed. “Don’t let them know you’re awake.” Daniel closed his eyes. Something touched the underside of the mattress. The bed rose slightly. Rebecca stirred. Daniel wanted to grab her. He wanted to scream. Instead, he remembered Patricia. It finds the ones who know.

               Rebecca rolled toward him. “Daniel?” He did not answer. “Daniel, are you awake?” The scratching stopped. Daniel opened his eyes. Rebecca sat up. “What is that noise?” The mattress shifted. Something moved underneath her.

               Daniel whispered: “Don’t move.”

               “What?”

               “Rebecca, do not move.”

               She looked frightened. “Why?”

               The old man whispered: “Too late.”

               Something struck the mattress from below. Rebecca screamed.

               Daniel rolled out of bed. “Run!”

               They reached the hallway. Behind them, the bed slammed against the ceiling. Rebecca screamed again. Daniel grabbed her hand. The bedroom door began closing by itself. He caught it. Something on the other side pulled. Hard. Rebecca grabbed his arm. “Daniel!”

               He pulled back. For one second, the door stopped. Then he heard the child from the MRI. “Please.” Daniel froze.

               Rebecca stared at him. “What?” The child cried from inside the bedroom. “Don’t leave us.” Other voices joined. Dozens. Hundreds. Begging. Screaming. Then Patricia. “Daniel.” He nearly opened the door. Rebecca grabbed him. “No.”

               “That’s her.”

               “Who?”

               “Patricia.”

               The thing inside the bedroom slammed against the door. Daniel almost lost his grip. Rebecca screamed. “Close it!”

               He pushed. Something pushed back. Then the old man spoke. Not from the bedroom. From behind Daniel. “Wrong side.” Daniel turned. The hallway was empty.

               Rebecca was gone. “Rebecca?”

               A scream came from the bedroom. Daniel looked through the narrowing gap. Rebecca stood beside the bed. Inside the room. Impossible. She pounded on the door. “Daniel!” He pulled it open. Something caught the other side. The gap widened only six inches. Rebecca reached through.

               Daniel grabbed her hand. “Pull!”

               “I am!” Something dragged her backward. Daniel held on. Rebecca screamed. Her fingers slipped. “Daniel!” He caught two. Then one. Then nothing. She disappeared into darkness.

               Daniel stared through the opening. “Rebecca?” Silence. Then the MRI began.

               Bang.

               Bang.

               Bang.

               A voice whispered beside his ear. “Close it.”

               Daniel shook his head. “No.”

               “Close it.”

               Rebecca screamed from somewhere inside. “Daniel!” He reached for the door. He could open it. He could go after her. Maybe she was still alive. Maybe the room was still a room. Maybe none of this was real. Then something stepped into the thin strip of light. Tall. Wrong. Its limbs bent where they should not. Behind it, Rebecca screamed again. Daniel pulled the door toward him. “Daniel, no!” He stopped. Her hand appeared through the gap. “Please!”

               Daniel stared at it. Something was wrong. Her wedding ring. Wrong hand. Daniel backed away. The hand reached farther. “Daniel?” Her voice changed. Deeper. “Open the door.” Daniel understood. He grabbed the handle with both hands. The thing on the other side laughed. Daniel slammed the bedroom door shut. And locked it.