The sun rises orange-red every morning. The water sways under the dock, the fish still shifting in the shallows of early dawn. I sit still, careful not to disturb the nature around me. My arms prop me up in a wooden porch chair as I breathe in the scent of my coffee. From my spot on the beach, I gaze out off the edge of the dock, my mind wandering. I’ve been at my aunt’s house for a few weeks, and I’m adjusting well. After my incident in DC, my family thought it best for me to get some calm in California. The gentle breeze brushes my hair away from my face. 

I wasn’t alone in DC. They were all around me, always. A silhouette in the window, a shadow under the bed. Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I know I’m not. These things followed me around the city. Even here in California, I still catch glimpses of the faces in the shadows, still see translucent masses in the narrow halls of my aunt’s seaside house. But there are fewer of them here. I’ve only seen four. In DC, I saw thousands… millions, maybe. Their eerie auras suffocated me. What was I supposed to do? 

I pull my sweater sleeves over my knuckles and wrap my hands tighter around my mug. I center my attention on the wind brushing my hair back and the rhythm of the water under the dock. I sip my coffee, feeling the warmth in my chest. My eyes trail a barge emerging over the horizon. The sun is almost completely up now, the sky transforming into a bright mix of orange, yellow, and blue, separated by thin clouds. In DC I couldn’t see the sunrise like this. The city skyline hid half of it. The other half was obscured by the presence. At every corridor, every building, every street corner, I encountered another chill, another phantom breath down my neck. I shut my eyes, hearing the gentle swish of the water against the shore. I’m not crazy.

My apartment in DC was supposed to be peaceful. It was in a quieter part of the city, and there were multiple gardens within walking distance. It was nice. But they were everywhere I went. One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take the lingering goosebumps, the unearthly whispers uttered from somewhere right behind my ear. I couldn’t take the invisible eyes following my every move, scrutinizing every minute of every day. That was the day I collapsed in my bathroom. I was brushing my hair and overwhelming exhaustion swept over me. I gave up. I was completely drained. Completely done.

The barge is drawing closer over the horizon. I play with the charm on my necklace. A small sterling silver sun. My mom got it for me before I left for California. “New beginnings,” she had said, pressing the sun into my palm. 

The paramedics had found me forty-eight hours later, motionless on the bathroom floor, my hairbrush broken next to me. I awoke mumbling about the phantoms. They took me to the hospital in a medical restraint bed, my limbs tied down. The doctor said I must have fainted and stayed down for a long time. My dad thought it was stress-induced. My mom agreed from behind his shoulder, not wanting to admit that even she thought I was crazy. They sent me to my aunt’s place in California. 

The phantoms in my aunt’s house are calm. They don’t whisper, and I don’t get chills. Their invisible eyes pass over me as if I’m one of them. They leave me alone. 

I set my mug down on the small table beside me and leaned back in my chair. The barge drifts closer. The sun rises higher in the sky. The rhythmic swish of the water is all that meets my ears. No more lingering whispers, no more breaths down my neck. I like California.