New Beginnings

This story is by Sharon Hetherington and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Inky blackness is swallowing me, and I am terrified. I inch forward, arms outstretched, shuffling bare feet along a gritty surface. The air is thick and rancid. My toe bumps something hard. The object rolls. I bump it again. Squatting, my trembling fingers sift through the grit until I locate a small cylinder. I explore its shape, and a narrow beam of light slices through the ink. Yes! A pocket flashlight.

In the dimness, I see that I am in the hallway of an old house. The walls are covered in peeling, floral wallpaper. Brownish streaks smear the faded pattern. I count three doors. I get to the first door just as the flashlight flickers and withers into darkness. Cursing, I shake it, reviving the beam. Exhaling heavily, I slowly turn the doorknob. The door creaks… 

BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP. Daniel’s alarm startled him out of his dream. He smacked his phone aggressively to silence it. His forehead was beaded with perspiration, and his chest heaved. That dream again. It had messed with his sleep over the past two weeks. Every single time, he woke just before opening the door. Well, he’d had enough. Today was Friday, and after class, he had an appointment for his yearly health evaluation. He would mention it to Dr. Rossi and ask for sleeping pills. Frankly, with his Educator Licensing Exams coming up, he’d try anything.

Ninety minutes later, at the ‘New Beginnings’ Clinic, Daniel waited impatiently for the doctor. These routine health evaluations started when he was ten. He was now twenty-four, and his New Beginnings visits had become a normal part of his life. His evaluation included routine physical health checks, and after he turned sixteen, the clinic added a repetitive and boring lecture on the ill effects of substance use.

“Anything else you’d like to discuss today, Dan?” questioned Dr. Rossi after reviewing Daniel’s records.

Daniel responded, “Um, yeah, I’ve been having sleep issues and some…unusual dreams over the past couple of weeks.”

Dr. Rossi’s bushy silver eyebrows shifted upward slightly, but he kept his expression neutral as he wrote his notes. “Have you been stressed or feeling blue…anything out of the norm?”

“Just anxious about my teaching certification exams. I really need some quality sleep. I was hoping I could get sleeping pills or something else to help.”

Dr. Rossi prescribed ‘something else’ in the form of a follow-up appointment on Monday. Daniel left the clinic feeling both peeved and unsettled.

On Saturday morning, he was grumpy and brooding. He’d barely slept. He pushed through his shift at the supermarket, then grabbed some Thai takeout and vodka coolers on his way home. Maybe getting blitzed would give him a dream-free night. Six coolers and an impending hangover later, Daniel wobbled his way to bed.

The stupid light keeps dying. I smack it, and it stutters back to life. I am in the hallway, facing the mystery-stain wall. I run my hand over one of the stains. My fingers spark with energy, and my brain sizzles, burning hot. Something is compelling me to open the first door. White-knuckled, I turn the doorknob. Its hinges creak in protest as the door slowly swings open.

It’s a boy’s bedroom. More wallpaper, baseball-themed this time. And a small wooden bed. The comforter matches the walls, and more brownish stains match the hallway. I spot an old, stained baseball bat on the floor. There’s something about this room. I swing the flashlight and follow the beam around the room. At the partially open closet door, round eyes stare out at me. I jump and swallow a scream. I stumble into the hallway in a full-blown panic attack, gasping for air…

Moaning, Daniel tossed and turned as his dream spiraled out of control.

Now, I am rooted to the hallway linoleum outside the third bedroom. My pocket flashlight hangs limply in my left hand. My right hand grips my baseball bat. I look down and see my small, bare feet and skinny legs, a pattern of angry scrapes and purple bruises. My head aches, and blood oozes down my temple. I turn towards the second door on my left. I hear baby Suzi crying. I am dizzy, and my bony knees are clacking together.

Behind the third door, muffled angry voices explode into rage. Someone screams. The flashlight drops, its light dying at my feet. I try to focus on the crack of light under the door. Dark shadows are fragmenting it. I suck in air, clench my small fist around the bat, and slowly crack open the door.

He is violently beating my mother on the bed. Her face is a mess of blood, tears, and snot. One eye is swollen shut. Black bruises on her arms shadow scabby cigarette burns. Her fingers are broken and deformed from deflecting his punches. His bulk is crushing her chest, and her lungs rattle as she struggles for oxygen. He is her husband. My father. And he is a monster.

Mom sees me and tries to shake her head, ‘No.’ Her one open eye begs me to run to safety. Fear melds into fury. I lunge at him, swinging the bat wildly. CRACK! against his elbow. He leans down just as I swing again. CRACK! across the side of his head. Blood spurts everywhere. There is so much blood. He holds his head, stunned, then turns on me and grabs the bat. I run fast. In my room, I hide in the closet and pray he doesn’t find me.

I hear him stumbling down the hallway, bouncing off the wall. I hear the bat dragging on the floor. In my room, he explodes into a rant of drunken profanities. I peek out from the dark closet, eyes round with fear. It’s as if he senses me here. He goes quiet, turns, and we lock eyes.

He grins, bloody and demented, and takes a step toward me, slurring, “Strike three…yerrr out, kid.”

Terrified, I watch his expression dissolve to bewilderment. He sways, then falls across the bed. He tries to get up, but slumps to the floor. I watch in horror as the beam of crazed light in his eyes goes dark.

On Monday, Daniel faced a panel of doctors at the clinic. Still hungover, he was sweaty, nauseous, and drained. As he described the latest and most disturbing dream to them, they scribbled notes, nodded their heads, and whispered amongst themselves.

Dr. Rossi spoke.

“Daniel, your dreams stem from an extremely traumatic event from your childhood. When you were ten, your father violently attacked you. Your mother tried to protect you, but he turned on her, nearly beating her to death.”

“So…you mean my dream really happened?” stammered Daniel.

“I am sorry to say that it did,” replied Dr. Rossi. The panel of doctors nodded sympathetically.

“Around that same time, New Beginnings launched a pilot project to rehabilitate victims of severe trauma. You were one of our first clients. Treatment plans were individualized, but the process used neuro-brain surgery to rewire the brain.”

Wide-eyed, Daniel listened intently.

“Imagine the hard drive of a computer,” continued Dr. Rossi. “We created a secure partition around your traumatic memories, locking them away. We used hypnosis and psychotherapy to ensure those memories stayed buried. We placed you in a new family setting for a ‘new beginning’ and a future of happy memories. You were doing great, but we believe stress, sleep deprivation, and alcohol were the perfect storm that caused the repressed memories to resurface in your dreams.”

Stunned, Daniel stared at the doctors. So that explained the check-ups and boring lectures.

“Wait. Are you saying that my mother is not my mother and that my real mother is alive? Where is she? I want to see her.”

Dr. Rossi raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Daniel, I’m not sure that will be possible. There were…extenuating circumstances.”

His voice escalating towards hysteria, Alex yelled, “What extenuating circumstances, Doctor Rossi?” He clenched his fists, and veins bulged in his neck.

The panel of doctors whispered to each other animatedly.

Dr. Rossi looked at Daniel and sighed. “After the incident, your mother brought you here and begged us to treat you. She was…well, she was frightened for you, and she was fearful of you; both for herself and your baby sister.”

“But why?” asked Daniel, tears welling in his eyes.

Dr. Rossi said quietly. “Because, Daniel, you killed your father with that baseball bat. Your mother saw him in you that night and feared that you could become just like him.”

Daniel’s shoulders sagged in defeat. So, he was a monster too. And these past 14 years were just a lie.

“So, what happens now?” he said flatly.

Doctor Rossi glanced at his colleagues, then smiled.

“We’ve made incredible advancements to our treatment protocols,” he said excitedly.

“We’ll redo the entire treatment process, and this time, I promise, your traumatic memories will be gone for good. What do you say, Daniel…are you ready to begin again?”