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I. The Uninteresting Experience of Travel as a Child.

In the experience of most people, cars, buses, aeroplanes, and ships are means of transportation. A quick and easy way to get from point A to point B. Almost everyone can recall a moment in their childhood when, after many hours on the road, a long trip becomes a good few hours of shut-eye. Those hours of shut-eye become mere seconds, and the thought of long nights away from home and on the move becomes an aching fever.
J. Ivory Reginald sat in my office the morning of February XX 19XX, one of the few humans who prefers quiet nights at home. In his experience, this ache for travel never existed. His thoughts of night driving became nightmares, an ache of despair, and vomit-encrusted baby seats. Ivory claims he has no clue when the experience started; the sweat as he stared down the headlights of other cars, his uncommon fear of the twists and turns of the road. Upon further investigation, however, he could vividly recall one experience during his childhood that seemed to leave him shaken after the retelling. I will attempt to document and tell the events that followed our meeting in the exact same way J. I did, with hopes of helping others further understand the condition in case such a circumstance arises again.
‘I was about eight years old when my mother and I were on the way home from the grocery store.’ He told me this unprompted as he sat down in my office, and I listened with few interruptions. ‘It was a genuine day. Fine weather, birds swarming in the air as they usually do. Nothing was out of the ordinary. As we traveled, we approached the entrance to a typical under-highway tunnel. That was when my stomach began to ache. I turned away from the road and stared at my hands as I began to shake. I’d been through tunnels before, of course, but none had brought on a feeling of this fear so strong.
Eventually, I began crying at the length of the tunnel and as that womanly instinct does so often come in handy, my mother took notice. She turned around and all I could see was her face distorted. Her mouth was elongated. Her eyes were sunken and dark as if her doe-like life-giving orbs had fallen back into her head. I couldn’t hear her over the roar of my heart in my ears. My father attempted to turn to see me but his face was just as horrific. They looked as if they had just crawled out of the ground twenty years past their expiration date. I closed my eyes and blinked hard, and then I began to hear laughter. The sounds of millions dying, screaming as they burned.
It was so painful I felt as if it came from myself. I felt as if I had begun burning. It felt as if fire ants crawled across my skin, biting aggressively whenever they pleased. It felt as if my bones were breaking. As if I could look down and see white cracked calcium, see marrow dripping out of me. At some points, I couldn’t see. My mother and father crept closer to me- impossible to do in their seating. I felt as if the tunnel continued for hours. As if I would never escape it. Eventually, my skin began to stop itching. My mother held out her hand and grasped mine. Her skin began to transform back into that of her young, beautiful self. There was nothing wrong with my surroundings as I left the tunnel.’ At this point, I stopped him.
“Could you tell me why you believe this was enough to check you in under my care?”
‘Well, sir. As I left the tunnel, my lungs stopped screaming and I closed my mouth. My mother said later she couldn’t tell if I was laughing or screaming in pain. None of them felt it. For them, the tunnel was 3 minutes or less. For me, it was 3 hours. Now it continues every time I drive. I can’t drive myself. My mother drives me. I can’t work near the road. I can’t handle the sound of cars. My life is ruined.’
“Well, Mr. Reginald. If you come back next week, assuming this becomes a regular thing, we may be able to help you yet.”
‘Have you heard of something like this before? Are you sure you can help me?’
“I’m positive that I can find something. In the meantime, I’ll prescribe you a medication commonly known as Transderm Scop. We’ll call it Scopolamine because that is its medical name. You shouldn’t experience any side effects, and it gives you an excuse to stay off the road as you get used to how it feels.”
Mr. Reginald thanked me kindly, took the prescription, and hurried out the door. His hesitance near his car and the beckoning voice of his mother pleading with him solidified my idea that he was likely suffering from a rare form of chronic motion sickness. I never got the chance to confirm.

II. The Journey Home.
Reginald’s story is not what this is about. I know I began this as if he were the patient, but I cannot say I know that as a fact. The night of February XX, 19XX, I was wrapping up my work when I received a call from my girlfriend, Annie. She was hysterical. At this point in time I am afraid I cannot recall what it was she said. I remember hurrying to finish my work and promising her I would be home soon.
I wrote the night janitorial crew an apology note and ran to my car. Annie continued yelling and crying as I started the car and drove down the road. As I drove and listened to her, I watched the road. Everything I passed seemed normal, I remember that. I remember passing a few grocery stores and cruising through a roundabout faster than the legal speed limit.
“Annie, dear, I’m coming up on a tunnel.”
“I don’t care, Jack! Don’t leave me stranded I can’t find it!”
“Annie, I can’t-” At this point in time, I passed beneath the bridge. Annie’s wailing seemed to echo across the tunnel walls and I quickly shut my windows. The call began to staticise and her voice cracked. I didn't touch the volume button but the noise seemed to burn into my skull. One long scream rang out as she cried and the loss of connection froze my cell.
It was perhaps the eeriest feeling in the world. I don’t allow anything my patients say to psych me out, that’s part of being a shrink, but as the phone stayed frozen a chill began spreading along the nape of my neck. I focused more steadily on the road, not letting the shrill noise bother me, and eventually, it didn't.
As the sound stopped bothering me, another enigma arose. The ground buzzed beneath my wheels. My arms began to tingle and itch. As if something was crawling along my arms and hands. The lights in the tunnel changed to amber, the strobing lights began giving me a headache. I checked the analog clock on my car to see what time it was. I told myself I was hoping I could get to Annie and help her find whatever it was she needed. Secretly, I was wondering how long this tunnel was. I had seen the end from the other side when I entered, but I couldn’t even see a sliver of light from the exit now that I had entered.
A entered the tunnel behind me. I could feel its wheels on the ground. The effect was a biting feeling along my arms as if something was stinging me where I was feeling itchy before. At that moment, I began to pay attention to my thoughts. This couldn’t be the same tunnel J. I went through. He grew up in XXXXXXXX, which is halfway across the country.
The car behind me moved to my right, its driver signaling for me to roll my window down. I knew the sound would only grow louder, so I shook my head and pointed to my phone. The man held up a slip of paper with his number on it. I realized now that the phone had disconnected the second I entered the tunnel. The tunnel was screeching. The same noise I thought Annie was making echoed through the entire arch. I sighed and attempted to call the driver.
“How long have you been in here?” The driver sounded panicked.
“I’m not sure, maybe twenty minutes?”
“I thought I saw the exit when I entered. Why is it taking so long? And what on earth is that godawful noise?”
“You saw the exit too? I guess I wasn’t making that bit up! I’m sure we’ll be out of here in a few moments then.”
“You’re awfully calm for this situation, I’ve never had this happen before. I take this commute every day.”
“I do too, that’s why I’m not worried. I’m sure it’s just feeling a bit longer than…” At that moment, I turned to the man to see his expression. But there was no man in that tunnel. I was certain of it. I’m a doctor, I trust my eyes. I had to learn how to read people without knowing them. That was no human. His expressions contorted in unusual ways. His eyes rolled back. His cheeks sunk into his face as he opened his mouth and began to scream.
I passed ahead of him quickly and sped toward the end of the tunnel. I believed the consequences would exceed being stuck here for longer than necessary. Then a bend began to form in the road. I couldn’t slow down fast enough and hit the wall. Everything went dark.

III. A Long Night is a Short Night
I awoke a week later in the hospital. The doctor told her I had suffered a bad concussion, but I couldn’t make out much else that he said.
“Hey, baby.”
“Oh, my God! Jackie!” Annie jumped into my arms, and as she hugged me she began to cry. With that, I realized my arm was broken as well as one leg. She kissed me all over the face and I realized my nose had broken as well.
“Annie, dear, I love you but that hurts.”
“I was afraid I’d never see you again! You can’t do that to me! You’re not allowed to die!”
I recovered quickly, but I never saw Reginald again. He never returned to my office. He never picked up his prescription from the Pharma nearby. I would go there and search for him in the days that followed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who seemed to know my future and control my thoughts. The only patient who, with only a minor story and past, had psyched me out enough for me to crash.
I had dealt with murderors and assault victims. I’ve since had patients who commited suicide and apologized to me in their notes. But never before and never again did I have a patient who made me fear for my life or make me question my position as a psychologist like that.
I resigned a few months ago and decided that perhaps there was a leak of some sort in the tunnel. I had people check it out, but nothing came of it. They said it was a tunnel that lasted three minutes from start to finish, with only one bend directly in the middle. That was where they found me.
They said someone called it in, claiming the two of us had just been on the phone. When they entered the tunnel, nobody else was there. I knew he had driven off. He had gotten out. But some days I wonder if he ever left the tunnel. If some anomaly had swallowed him alive the way it swallowed Ivory. If I had never crashed, perhaps I would have still been stuck. My eyes may have rolled back in my head and my cheeks sunken in. I would have died there before I escaped.

Epilogue
This story perplexed psychologists for many years after it was printed, and is now part of the curriculum for psychology students. As a counselor, it is difficult not to let the stories of your patients get into your head. Doctors must be recognized for the hard work they endure. They deserve a break and are encouraged to take breaks if their personal mental health is suffering.
Jack “Jackie” Tunkston suffered from poisoning by Arsenic. The green wallpaper in his psychiatric hospital was covered in it. His girlfriend, Annabelle, sued the hospital as well as the painter hired by them. Jack did not, in fact, recover from the brain damage mixed with the repeated exposure. He died shortly after recording and submitting these events in the doctor’s notes under J. Ivory Reginald- a person who does not exist.