Second Sight
A short story by Tobias Malm
Waking in my bed after the wild party on the nearby beach the night before, the hangover felt heavier than usual. Normally, when I fell asleep drunk, I didn’t dream, or at least never remembered them, but this time I had. There had been a storm far out at sea, and I had been drowning. Dark water enclosed me, pressing in from all sides. A horrifying scream had reverberated through the ocean, almost rupturing my eardrums. Still half asleep, I kept my eyes closed to avoid worsening the headache, and it was as if I could still see the ocean. The darkness behind my eyelids moved, and tiny spots drifted like bubbles rising through deep water. I must still be asleep, I thought. Still dreaming. When I finally opened my eyes minutes later, groggy, sunlight spilled through the window, yet somehow, impossibly, I was still seeing that submerged darkness. It was as if my vision had split in two, or as if one eye had gone blind, even though I could close each eye in turn and still see.
I rubbed my eyes, but nothing changed. The overlapping images spun in my head, as though my brain couldn’t decide which one was real, and a wave of nausea washed over me.
Only after fully waking did the darkness grow more vivid. Panic gripped me. As I looked out through my window, I was also staring into a vast, lightless expanse that stretched toward a pitch-black horizon. Below, a pale seafloor lay exposed, while tiny particles drifted slowly through the water like suspended dust. It took time for my mind to catch up, but eventually the truth clicked into place: I was seeing the bottom of the ocean. And I could see it just as clearly as my room. It felt as if I had grown a second pair of eyes somewhere deep below the sea, and I couldn’t shut them. I shook my head violently, desperate to banish the vision, but it clung to me.
I stumbled into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and tried to gather my thoughts. It’s a hallucination, I told myself. A psychotic break? Maybe a stroke. God, what did I do at that party? The memories were fuzzy at best. Had I been drugged? I ran through a dozen explanations, but nothing made sense. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my phone and called 911.
“What’s your emergency?”
I hadn’t prepared a single word.
“I think I might be having a stroke or… or sudden-onset schizophrenia. I—I woke up this morning in my bedroom on the fourth floor—definitely on land—and I’m seeing the bottom of the ocean. I still am. It won’t stop!”
“Have you taken any medication or recreational drugs in the—”
“No, I’m not high, I’m—” I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling to think. “I’m seeing a freaking jellyfish right now.”
“Are you experiencing any other symptoms, such as—”
“No, nothing else. It’s just this… this double vision. I can’t stop seeing the ocean floor!”
“Sir, please take a deep breath and try to calm down. Are you currently diagnosed with any mental illness, such as—”
“No, I’ve been healthy all my life… at least in that department.”
“Mhm,” the operator said. “I can tell you’re being sincere, but unless there’s an immediate medical emergency—”
“I’m having a panic attack,” I interrupted, breath quick and uneven. “I need help!”
“I understand…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Are you planning to hurt yourself?”
“What? No!” I snapped. “Don’t you—Look, I know it sounds insane, but I’m genuinely scared here. I think I’m losing my mind!”
The call was going nothing like I’d hoped. In the end, he told me to take a sedative, make an appointment with my doctor, and call back only if things got worse. Apparently, waking up and seeing the ocean floor didn’t qualify as an emergency unless it made me suicidal. He probably thought I was joking.
I shut my eyes again. The jellyfish vanished, swallowed by that dense darkness. How could my mind create a hallucination so sharp, so unrelentingly present? Hallucinations were supposed to be hazy, dreamlike… not this real. What I saw was indistinguishable from reality.
The seafloor shifted. Those extra eyes—whatever they were—moved across the ocean floor at a slow, deliberate pace. Then the realization hit me like a punch: something was walking down there. Something with eyes I was seeing through. And I had no control over it. All I could do was watch as it crept forward through the murk.
Trying to stay rational, I called my doctor, just as the dispatcher had told me to. He scheduled an appointment that same day, which gave me a flicker of hope. But after running the usual tests, the hope faded fast.
“You should see a psychiatrist,” he said.
“But doctor,” I protested, “how can someone go from perfectly fine to schizophrenic overnight?”
“I can’t say I’ve heard of it happening that suddenly,” he admitted. “But it’s not unheard of for these kinds of conditions to emerge later in life.”
Because there were no signs of brain damage, no head trauma, and no drugs in my system, the doctor defaulted to a psychological explanation. He wrote a referral to a psychiatrist specializing in schizoaffective disorders, and by the time I left his office, I was almost relieved. Maybe I am hallucinating, I told myself. But at least I’m not delusional.
I lived with the condition for several days, constantly nauseated—as if my body understood I was underwater even though my lungs still filled with air. One night, I noticed a flash of silver far off in that second world. I’d seen plenty of fish by then, but this one was huge. As it drew closer, the shape resolved into a giant swordfish. It glided past without reacting to whatever creature my new eyes belonged to, without sensing the presence watching it from the shadows.
The more I stared, the more the room around me faded. The ocean swallowed my attention completely—its pressure, its silence, its endless dark—until I felt dangerously close to drowning in a place where I wasn’t supposed to exist. Even though I couldn’t feel the freezing water down there, its cold seemed to coil around my heart, tightening with every beat. Then, sudden movement. The swordfish darted, trying to flee, but it was already too late. A dark, blade-like shape swept in from the gloom and tore it apart.
I jolted upright, breath caught in my throat. Until that moment, I hadn’t known whether the creature whose eyes I was borrowing truly existed or if the vision was just some elaborate projection. But watching that swordfish ripped to pieces convinced me this was more than just observation. And even though my rational mind insisted none of it was real, fear didn’t care. I was terrified.
I decided to call the friend I’d gone to the party with and ask him what had actually happened. All I remembered was sitting in front of the bonfire, talking to my friends, and then—I don’t know—we danced near the water because some guy was sitting there with a pair of bongo drums. After that, my memory went blank. I regretted drinking so much… but had I really drunk that much? I certainly hadn’t planned to. My friend picked up after only a few rings.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Hey,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about the party we went to. The one on the beach.”
He hummed in response, his attention seemingly fixed on a video game or maybe a movie.
“Dude, I’m blanking on like half the night…” I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell him about my condition, so I quickly lied. “I—I got this weird rash on my back, or a bruise or something—I don’t know—but I’ve had it since that night, and I’m just wondering… what the hell happened, man? Did I do something weird—”
“Dude!” he said, his full attention snapping to me. “You really don’t fucking remember?” He laughed. “I didn’t think you were that wasted. But yeah… it was a crazy night. Don’t you remember those crazy chicks dancing down by the guy with the drums?”
“Crazy chicks?” I asked, dumbfounded. “I—I don’t remember any girls… It’s all black after we walked down toward the water.”
“Oh, shit, that’s wild—I can’t believe you’d forget. Well, basically, there were these girls further down the beach, dancing next to the guy with the drums, and they were fine, man, I’m telling you—fine. So naturally our gang decided to go talk to them, and they were all over us. Although you were the only one actually getting somewhere with one of them.” He paused. “You seriously don’t remember this?”
“No—what the fuck, dude, I must’ve been completely out of it. I hooked up with some random girl? That’s fucking—I mean, I… what?”
“Yeah, man, you guys made out, and then you sort of disappeared with her for—I don’t know—quite a while. We almost got worried, since it looked like you walked toward the water before we lost sight of you. The waves were huge, so it didn’t seem exactly safe, but we just assumed you were hooking up with her down there or something. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. Then you came back, and you were fine, so we didn’t think much of it. The girls kinda ditched us after that, so we moved back to the fire, and yeah, that’s pretty much it, man. Maybe you scratched your back on something while you were with her.” He laughed. “Is it serious or something?”
I stayed silent for a moment, trying to process what he’d just said.
“N-no, it’s nothing—I was just curious. But fuck, man…” I struggled to find the right words. “Who were these girls? Did they tell us anything. Where did they come from?”
“No idea—I think they were foreigners or something. Didn’t speak much English at all, and they were dressed in these white tunics or some shit. Could’ve been gypsies, maybe, or some weird cult members.” He laughed. “Look, man, we didn’t stay long enough to talk to them. Just danced a bit, that’s all…”
“Huh,” I said. “Well… I guess I must’ve fallen or something, like you said.” My mind drifted, already spiraling through what it all could possibly mean. “It—it doesn’t hurt or anything. But yeah, thanks for telling me. That’s some crazy shit, man.”
After the call, I stared at the wall for several minutes, trying to process it all. There had to be a connection, I thought. Maybe she—whoever she was—had drugged me. Maybe I’d stumbled into the water, nearly drowned, suffered brain damage, and forgotten everything. None of it felt plausible. Every explanation stretched too far. But something unusual had happened that night. Of that, I was certain. My gut told me it was connected, yet there was nothing I could do to prove it. Those girls would be long gone by now, and without knowing what they looked like, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
About a week later, the vision began to shift. The water grew brighter. Above, sunlight rippled across the distant surface. Hours after I first noticed the change, the creature climbed out of the sea and onto a beach.
Once again, I questioned how my brain could conjure such detailed images. I was never the imaginative type. But every other explanation felt absurd. Logic told me this had to be a product of my mind, yet my feelings still refused to believe that.
The creature—because that was the only word my frantic mind could cling to—strolled past people sunbathing on the beach. And just like the fish, no one reacted. Not a single flinch or glance in its direction. At one point, it paused to study an elderly man dozing on a lounge chair. Those minutes felt endless, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, until the thing finally moved on.
It entered a city. Street signs appeared—English. It didn’t take long to recognize where it was. Not just another city, but the other side of the country. Miami. I’d never been there in my life, yet when I looked up the names I saw, every one of them existed. I tried to rationalize it. Maybe I’d heard them once and forgotten, but the more I searched for logical comfort, the faster my panic grew. With every step the creature took, my dread climbed with it.
It paused again and again in front of unsuspecting people. Children chasing each other across a playground, a man smoking in his parked car, a woman standing beside her stroller. Each time, it simply stared. The faces it observed were so detailed, so distinct, that I was both amazed and terrified by how clearly my mind seemed to invent strangers who didn’t exist. Every encounter sent a chill through me, yet the creature always moved on before anything happened. It was as though it considered them… then thought better of it.
With no medication, I couldn’t sleep. The insomnia made everything worse—my thoughts tangled and frayed, and panic became my constant companion. When I finally met the psychiatrist, a middle-aged woman named Johanna, I practically begged for relief. She started me on Xanax, which eased the anxiety and helped me sleep, though the visions persisted. Still, the calm professionalism in her voice during our sessions gave me something I desperately needed: the feeling that someone believed me, or at least believed something was wrong.
“It could be worse,” she said. “You’re showing a strong ability to recognize that what you’re seeing may not be real. We call that insight, and many people who experience true psychosis don’t have it. If drugs were involved—if you took something that night, or if the girl you mentioned gave you something—it could explain the sudden onset. Certain substances can temporarily disrupt perception, sometimes for days or even weeks after the initial exposure. If that’s the case, there’s a good chance your brain will return to baseline over time.”
Her reassurance quieted the worst of my fears, and for the first time since it began, I breathed—really breathed—with something close to relief.
I continued to watch the creature cross the continent for over a month. What did it look like? I never truly knew. I tried to catch glimpses of its form whenever it passed reflective surfaces, but the best I ever got was a vague, oversized humanoid silhouette in the window of a parked car. Something too big, too wrong to be human.
When I told Johanna, she listened carefully before responding:
“This creature may not have a distinct shape,” she said. “This might sound a little Freudian—and I’ll admit it’s not the most clinical explanation—but it’s possible your mind created this being as a manifestation of your deepest, suppressed fears. In other words, you can’t see it clearly because it represents the unknown… and the unknown, by definition, doesn’t have a defined form.”
“Of course,” I said. “That must be it… I’ve always feared the unknown. But how do I get rid of that fear?”
“To overcome a fear,” she replied, “you usually have to face it.”
As weeks passed, I almost became accustomed to this unwanted second sight. My brain adapted. I learned to push the ocean-vision—now land-vision—out of my awareness, at least most of the time. The medication helped, surely, but Johanna’s steady reassurance mattered more. I started working again and managed to live something resembling a normal life. My anxiety eased. Sometimes, strangely enough, watching the creature move across the landscape even felt… calming.
But there were still moments that shattered that illusion of control. Occasionally, it attacked animals that wandered too close to its path. A stray dog once, a pigeon another time, and later a cow. Each time, the same horrifying scene unfolded: the creature’s shadow stretching impossibly fast, followed by a violent tear. And the animal was gone. No sound. No struggle. Just a sickening, silent end.
Despite the medication and the progress I’d made, the worry never fully left me. And when the wandering product of my mind finally emerged from the Mojave Desert, that worry sharpened back into full-blown terror. It wasn’t wandering anymore—it was coming my way.
“Listen,” Johanna said when I called her during a moment of panic, “focus on what you know to be true. It isn’t real. You know that. Nothing is coming for you.”
“I-I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed into the phone. “What should I do, Doctor?”
“You have to face the unknown,” she replied, her voice steady and soothing. “And to do that, you don’t need to do anything. Just let it come. Once you see it for what it is—nothing—it will lose its power.”
Half convinced, I poured myself a glass of whiskey and turned on the TV. It’s not real, I told myself. And then I repeated it, again and again, like a desperate chant inside my head:
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
Two weeks later, the creature reached my hometown.
My heartbeat thundered loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Terror surged through every nerve in my body. I couldn’t sit still, I paced from room to room, clutching my car keys in a sweaty fist. I knew how absurd it was to react this strongly to a hallucination… yet the fear was more real than anything I’d ever felt.
Then it turned onto my street.
I was losing control. You have to face the unknown, Johanna’s voice echoed in my mind. I forced myself to the window, holding my breath as the view swam in front of me. But the moment the creature drew close to the part of the street I was watching, I broke—I looked away, squeezing my eyes shut. I couldn’t face it. Not even from a safe distance.
I don’t have to do this alone, I told myself as the creature entered my apartment building. I recognized it as an excuse—a desperate attempt to justify running—but it didn’t matter. Survival instinct took over.
I scrambled out through the window, dropped to the ground, and sprinted for my car.
Just as I peeled out of the parking spot, I saw—through those unwanted second eyes—my own car speeding away. The creature was watching me flee.
I wrestled with my phone one-handed while trying not to crash. I called Johanna. No answer. That’s when it hit me: it was Saturday. She wouldn’t be picking up calls from patients.
“Fuck!” I slammed both hands against the steering wheel.
The creature was chasing me now, moving faster than I’d ever seen it move. It still couldn’t keep up with the car, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I blew through a couple of red lights, ignoring the blaring horns behind me.
I looked up Johanna’s home address on my phone, completely out of line, and beyond reckless given how fast I was driving. But reason had already surrendered to fear. At that moment, I would do anything to survive.
Johanna lived only fifteen minutes away, close enough to give me hope. If I could just reach her, she could help me face this nightmare. But that hope evaporated the moment traffic ground to a halt. A long line of unmoving cars stretched ahead of me. I slammed the horn in frustration. Useless.
Through my second vision, I saw the creature entering the jam from the far end, sprinting between the vehicles. Closing in. I threw the car into park, bolted out, and ran, ignoring the shouts behind me. I plunged into a patch of woods beside the road, tripping over roots, branches whipping my face as I fought my way through.
The creature was faster than ever, leaping fallen logs, cutting through the undergrowth like a silent predator zeroing in on its prey. I stumbled out onto a quiet street, lungs burning, and sprinted to Johanna’s house. I hammered on the door, screaming for help.
She opened it, startled. “What’s going on? You can’t just show up like—”
“Please,” I begged. “It’s right behind me. It came out of the forest and it’s going to catch up any second. I know it isn’t real, but it feels real. You have to believe me.”
She hesitated—but then stepped aside and let me in.
“Who is this?” her husband demanded, seeing me stumble into their hallway.
“He’s one of my patients,” Johanna said, her voice tight. “I—I don’t know why he’s here.”
“Should I call the police?” he asked.
“No!” I said quickly, locking the door behind me with trembling hands. “Please don’t. I just… I just need to stay here while I face it… the unknown. That’s what you told me, right?” My eyes darted wildly. “God… I can see your house now—through its eyes. Close the windows! Please!”
“No,” Johanna snapped, her frustration finally showing. “We’re not closing any windows. Just sit down on the sofa, alright? Nothing is going to happen. You’ll see. And then you’re going home.”
I forced myself onto the sofa, every muscle tense. Johanna and her husband hovered in front of me, clearly unsure what to do next.
I saw the creature creeping along the side of the house. I shut my own eyes, tears spilling down my face like a man awaiting execution. Then—through the creature’s perspective—I watched it climb through their bedroom window.
A soft squeak echoed from down the hall.
My heart stopped.
“Did you hear that?” I gasped. “It’s inside.”
“It was just the wind,” Johanna insisted, though her voice wavered.
I held my breath. “It’s in this room now,” I whispered. “It’s standing right behind you.”
From its perspective, I watched Johanna—her back turned—slip a hand toward her phone, tucked into her pocket.
“There’s nothing here,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s only in your mind.”
“But, Doctor…” My voice trembled. “If that’s true… then how do I know you just took out your phone?”
She froze, staring at me as though I had spoken something impossible. I opened my eyes.
Johanna stood there, confusion tightening her features. And behind her…
Nothing.
“It wasn’t real?” I said, still seeing through the creature’s eyes. “There’s nothing there.” A breath of pure relief escaped me, a trembling smile forming. “There’s truly nothing there.”
Then—movement. Just a flicker in the corner of my vision. In the reflection of the TV, a towering, misshapen shadow loomed behind Johanna. My blood turned to ice. I shot to my feet and sprinted toward the kitchen without a word.
“Where are you going?” Johanna called after me, panic rising in her voice. “Please, calm down and—”
The creature tore her in half with a single, swift motion. She screamed, then fell silent seconds later. Her husband ran to her body, screaming in horror, unknowingly placing himself directly in front of the invisible creature. It tore through him as well. A wet, heavy warmth splattered across my back as I forced my way through the kitchen door. Blood. I didn’t want to see any of it, but I had no choice.
I hurled myself through the kitchen window, crashing onto the pavement outside. Scrambling upright, I grabbed the nearest public e-scooter and unlocked it with shaking hands. The creature was right behind me—unstoppable, merciless—and once again I watched myself flee, seen through the eyes of the thing that chased me. Running forever. Terrified of the unknown.
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this story, you can find more of my writing, books, and other projects at www.tobiasmalm.com. You can also support my work on Patreon at patreon.com/tobiasmalm.