Post by cannonlongshot on Oct 26, 2016 23:09:03 GMT
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Statement of Caroline Holt, regarding a nighttime encounter on the Wards of St Thomas’ Hospital, London. Statement written down by subject on 02/02/2012.
Statement 0120202 begins:
I’ve been in and out of hospital for a long time. It’s not relevant to what I’m going to tell you, but all you need to know is that it means occasional flare-ups have put me in hospital overnight since I was maybe fifteen or sixteen, and it doesn’t affect my perceptions of reality in the slightest. My body can attack itself all it likes, and I know what I saw last night in that ward.
I’d gone through the usual process - scans, getting changed into a gown, buying parking for the next 24 hours - and I was told that I’d have to be monitored for at least the next 72 hours. I was feeling pretty miserable, as this meant that I probably wasn’t going to be spending that Christmas with my family, or at least, not without a load of nurses present. Still, I’ve learned over the years that a positive attitude is the best way to deal with these things, so after a quick call to my family to let them know about the situation, I decided to get an early night, because the events of the day had left me drained.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to sleep on a crowded NHS ward with the lights still on, but let me tell you, if I didn’t have a preexisting condition I’d be all over private insurance just to get a room for myself to sleep in. I love the NHS as much as the next English woman, but the wards never seem to quieten down. There’s always someone moving around, even at 3 in the morning when there’s no reason for it, I swear. As it was, I was prepared for this, so I had a sleeping mask and some earplugs. I asked the nurses nearby not try to wake me, and she assured me that she would tell the others to keep the noise down.
I’m sure I must have slept, because the next thing I know it was quiet. There was perhaps voice in the distance, saying word I didn’t quite catch over and over again. I don’t know the exact time, because I was obviously wearing a sleeping mask and… well, I couldn’t move. My arms were pinned to my sides, and there was this... weight upon my chest. I tried to gasp for breath, to get some air into my lungs. I almost screamed, because the air scorched them far more than their lack of oxygen. It was like standing above a boiling kettle.
The pressure moved up from my chest and slammed into my face, and my nostrils were filled by the smell of burning fabric and elastic. A nightmare, I remember thinking, this has to be a nightmare. Then the mask fell from my face. I did scream at this point, not because of what I saw, but what I didn’t see. Not only was there no one standing above me, but there was no one anywhere in the ward. All the other patients, the nurses, even the matron who fell asleep at her desk in the small hours of the night when there was nothing else to do - all were gone.
It is a profoundly distressing feeling, to be totally unable to breathe and not be able to tell why. I imagine it’s the same panic that goes through you when you’re suffering from asthma, or anxiety, though I had the additional worry that my face appeared to be getting grilled by an invisible source of flame. If that wasn’t bad enough, my lungs were beginning to heat up too - it felt like there were tendrils of heat moving down my throat. I felt like retching, trying to push it out, but the weight on my chest wouldn’t let me do anything more than twitch.
I’ve never been much of a churchgoer. Not before this, anyway. I’ve been to a few services since, of several religions, and there's something… calming in their rituals. My point is that I don’t have much of a belief in demons and possession and all that crap. Which is why it was so odd to feel like there was something more to this than just the physical - it felt like there was a desire, or a hunger, to whatever was pressing down on my ribs. This entity didn’t want to kill me. I knew, deep down inside, that it was going to burn the soul from my bones. That’s what I thought.
The next thing I knew, the presence vanished. It sounds mad, but it didn’t feel like it meant to go, you know? It was like it was ripped away from perching atop me, and all that was left were nurses rushing in and taking hold of me as I thrashed about. I think I might have lashed out at a few before they managed to calm me down.
Look, I know you don’t do dreams, and that’s what I’d think it was if I were you, but I can tell the difference between a nightmare and reality. That moment, that shift, from being held down and scared and… and cooked and eaten, by whatever it was, to nurses running in and telling me to calm down… It wasn’t just me waking up. And I can prove it to you.
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes: Well, reading this looks to have been a waste of time, just like most of these written statements. Martin must have put this one to the side because he thought it was relevant somehow, but I just can’t see it. Details of this case are consistent with a perfectly normal case of sleep paralysis, from an inability to move, the observance of another presence, and an encroaching feeling of panic. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here.
Tim has talked to some of the nurses on staff - he knew them, apparently - and they say that Ms Holt was found, screaming in her room at around 4 in the morning, with no sign of external distress. Staff put it down to night terrors, and a doctor on call prescribed her a sedative. The only evidence to this statement’s credit is an object contained within the file.
It’s a lilac sleeping mask, as described by Ms Holt in her statement. Two properties stand out. Firstly, it appears to have been set alight, and must have caused some considerable injury to the wearer - that is, if it was ignited while worn. The second is the pattern of the burn. I can’t be sure, but it's singed edges do seem to trace out - quite closely - the shape of a hand.
END NOTES
Statement of Caroline Holt, regarding a nighttime encounter on the Wards of St Thomas’ Hospital, London. Statement written down by subject on 02/02/2012.
Statement 0120202 begins:
I’ve been in and out of hospital for a long time. It’s not relevant to what I’m going to tell you, but all you need to know is that it means occasional flare-ups have put me in hospital overnight since I was maybe fifteen or sixteen, and it doesn’t affect my perceptions of reality in the slightest. My body can attack itself all it likes, and I know what I saw last night in that ward.
I’d gone through the usual process - scans, getting changed into a gown, buying parking for the next 24 hours - and I was told that I’d have to be monitored for at least the next 72 hours. I was feeling pretty miserable, as this meant that I probably wasn’t going to be spending that Christmas with my family, or at least, not without a load of nurses present. Still, I’ve learned over the years that a positive attitude is the best way to deal with these things, so after a quick call to my family to let them know about the situation, I decided to get an early night, because the events of the day had left me drained.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to sleep on a crowded NHS ward with the lights still on, but let me tell you, if I didn’t have a preexisting condition I’d be all over private insurance just to get a room for myself to sleep in. I love the NHS as much as the next English woman, but the wards never seem to quieten down. There’s always someone moving around, even at 3 in the morning when there’s no reason for it, I swear. As it was, I was prepared for this, so I had a sleeping mask and some earplugs. I asked the nurses nearby not try to wake me, and she assured me that she would tell the others to keep the noise down.
I’m sure I must have slept, because the next thing I know it was quiet. There was perhaps voice in the distance, saying word I didn’t quite catch over and over again. I don’t know the exact time, because I was obviously wearing a sleeping mask and… well, I couldn’t move. My arms were pinned to my sides, and there was this... weight upon my chest. I tried to gasp for breath, to get some air into my lungs. I almost screamed, because the air scorched them far more than their lack of oxygen. It was like standing above a boiling kettle.
The pressure moved up from my chest and slammed into my face, and my nostrils were filled by the smell of burning fabric and elastic. A nightmare, I remember thinking, this has to be a nightmare. Then the mask fell from my face. I did scream at this point, not because of what I saw, but what I didn’t see. Not only was there no one standing above me, but there was no one anywhere in the ward. All the other patients, the nurses, even the matron who fell asleep at her desk in the small hours of the night when there was nothing else to do - all were gone.
It is a profoundly distressing feeling, to be totally unable to breathe and not be able to tell why. I imagine it’s the same panic that goes through you when you’re suffering from asthma, or anxiety, though I had the additional worry that my face appeared to be getting grilled by an invisible source of flame. If that wasn’t bad enough, my lungs were beginning to heat up too - it felt like there were tendrils of heat moving down my throat. I felt like retching, trying to push it out, but the weight on my chest wouldn’t let me do anything more than twitch.
I’ve never been much of a churchgoer. Not before this, anyway. I’ve been to a few services since, of several religions, and there's something… calming in their rituals. My point is that I don’t have much of a belief in demons and possession and all that crap. Which is why it was so odd to feel like there was something more to this than just the physical - it felt like there was a desire, or a hunger, to whatever was pressing down on my ribs. This entity didn’t want to kill me. I knew, deep down inside, that it was going to burn the soul from my bones. That’s what I thought.
The next thing I knew, the presence vanished. It sounds mad, but it didn’t feel like it meant to go, you know? It was like it was ripped away from perching atop me, and all that was left were nurses rushing in and taking hold of me as I thrashed about. I think I might have lashed out at a few before they managed to calm me down.
Look, I know you don’t do dreams, and that’s what I’d think it was if I were you, but I can tell the difference between a nightmare and reality. That moment, that shift, from being held down and scared and… and cooked and eaten, by whatever it was, to nurses running in and telling me to calm down… It wasn’t just me waking up. And I can prove it to you.
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes: Well, reading this looks to have been a waste of time, just like most of these written statements. Martin must have put this one to the side because he thought it was relevant somehow, but I just can’t see it. Details of this case are consistent with a perfectly normal case of sleep paralysis, from an inability to move, the observance of another presence, and an encroaching feeling of panic. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here.
Tim has talked to some of the nurses on staff - he knew them, apparently - and they say that Ms Holt was found, screaming in her room at around 4 in the morning, with no sign of external distress. Staff put it down to night terrors, and a doctor on call prescribed her a sedative. The only evidence to this statement’s credit is an object contained within the file.
It’s a lilac sleeping mask, as described by Ms Holt in her statement. Two properties stand out. Firstly, it appears to have been set alight, and must have caused some considerable injury to the wearer - that is, if it was ignited while worn. The second is the pattern of the burn. I can’t be sure, but it's singed edges do seem to trace out - quite closely - the shape of a hand.
END NOTES
