literature

Comes the Dawn

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Comes the Dawn

A True Story

Wilson G. Bear


I awoke early one Monday morning in July with the worst pain I had ever felt, in my lower abdomen.  The Emergency Room physician had me admitted immediately and prepped for surgery.  I had a perforated appendix and it had to come out before peritonitis set in.

Normally, an appendectomy is a five to seven day hospital stay.  By the third day, I was feeling pretty good.  I had cut back on my morphine and I ate a normal dinner and dozed off to sleep a little after the 10:00 PM vitals.  Sometime later, something roused me; I sensed someone in the room.  Lying on my back, I got the impression of a young woman at about my right shin.  I knew she wasn’t a Nurse or a Tech, because she was dressed in jeans and a denim jacket over a flannel.  It didn’t register that it was about 85° in the room.  “Who are you?” I croaked.


“You can see me?” she whispered.  I nodded; I can see some things beyond normal Human perception; one of many traits inherited from my Mother.  The young woman seemed diaphanous, unreal.  My brain finally shifted into gear and I realized I was talking to a spirit; a creature of energy, not substance.

She hesitated for a minute, seeming to concentrate on something.  “I’m Dawn,” the girl said.  Twenty-five or thirty years ago, a former girlfriend and I used to hang out with a girl who resembled this phantom; her name was Dawn.  The resemblance was superficial, and the last time I’d spoken her, the Dawn I knew looked every year of her mid-forties, not like this twenty-something.

“How did you get here?” I asked.  Again, she stared into my eyes for a minute before answering.

“My horse threw me.  I broke my neck and I must have died here.”  Reasonable enough; it doesn’t happen every day, and the hospital wing had only been open for a year or so, but it certainly could have happened.  We talked for a while longer, but I eventually grew tired and drifted off.  ‘Dawn’ returned the next two nights, but I don’t really remember much of our conversations.

My recovery started to unravel on the fourth day.  I couldn’t eat and I was getting weaker.  The doctor sent me back for more MRI scans but the results weren’t conclusive.  The complications got worse and worse; pain, inflammation and irritation.  Lying in bed, I finally realized what ‘Dawn’ was.  She was a succubus, an entity that drained life force.  I knew I was not going to recover as long as she was around.  Succubae are not always sexual, but they are a classification of demon.  I had to get rid of this being.

The nurses had been nagging me to walk around the floor, but it was a chore in my depleted condition.  A ‘forced march’ took more than half an hour, shuffling along pushing an IV stand.  I took to wandering around the quieter parts of the floor, and discovered the hospital chapel, across from a visitor area overlooking the main lobby.  The chapel was a smallish room decorated with peaceful paintings and many different religious articles.  It contained Bibles, a Torah, a Koran, other books in languages I could only guess at: Sanskrit, Chinese and Thai.  There were ‘worry beads’ and rosaries.  There was holy water and a tiny Zen garden.  There were candles and incense.  I’m not a religious person – far from it – but I understand that there are places of power, and this was one of them.

I needed a source of power.  I consider myself a bargain-basement Chaos Magician.  I can divert and use natural forces to suit my needs, but I need a ready, plentiful source.  I’ve drained power from huge electrical transformers, waterfalls and even the temperature differential between holding one hand out the car window and one over the heater vent.  The most reliable is the sun.  I can draw a full recharge on a sunny day in less than five minutes.  On this day, wan sunshine filtered through the clouds and the skylights over the lobby.  I have to have the rays directly on me to use their energy, and the sun playing hide-and-seek with the clouds didn’t help.  I collapsed in a visitor chair by the railing and waited.


It took almost ten minutes to absorb the strength I needed for what I had in mind.  I wasn’t sure how to accomplish what needed to be done.  I had no formal training, just some half-remembered books I’d read thirty years before.  I was truly on my own.  I started to feel a familiar tingle as I topped off my energy reserve.  I rose from the chair and walked into the chapel.  I could feel ‘Dawn’ hovering around me; she was freaked out, unsure what was about to happen.

“Dawn,” I called, holding my arms out straight in front of me, palms forward.  “I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay with me.”  A pulse of cleansing energy flowed down my arms and diffused into the room.  It felt as though a straightjacket had been stripped off over my head and my arms.  I felt clean, as I hadn’t in days.  ‘Dawn’ was gone.

What was ‘Dawn’?  Hospitals are reservoirs of stress and pain.  Suffering and agony can consolidate as a spiritual being.  Prisons generate the same sort of entities.  They are not ghosts, as they were never human, never alive.  To give them a name, call them demons.  I suspect ‘Dawn’ was young, inexperienced; its naiveté allowed me send it back whence it came.  It would not be able to survive in the chapel; such places are anathema to creatures like demons.  Where did it go?  I don’t know.  I just don’t understand enough about such things to guess.  I do know that my post-surgical complications reversed that night and I started to get better immediately.  The next day I was eating solid food, as bad as hospital chow is.


I did have a minor relapse a few weeks later, an inflammation of the blood vessels of the viscera.  It was easily treated with acetaminophen, a plain, over-the-counter pain and fever reducer.  I have had no further encounters with the entity that called itself ‘Dawn’; hopefully it has vanished forever.


©2016 Wilson G. Bear
A True Story
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This is a true story; I'm putting the fiction on hold for a while.  I spent eight days in the hospital last July; this is the record of something truly weird that happened to me.  I'm sensitive to supernatural beings.  I inherited these abilities from my Mother; her maternal Grandmother was a Cherokee Medicine Woman.

Don't try this at home!  I'm no expert and I'm only starting to understand what happened, six months later.
© 2015 - 2022 perfesser-bear
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Chaosfive-55's avatar
Sounds like you did the right thing!
It's not surprising that such beings hang about in hospitals...holistic medicine needs to be part of the basic training in order to counteract the negative energy which naturally collects in med-centers.
A staff exorcist wouldn't hurt, either.