I did research it on the internet.
Normally, I would have scoffed at such nonsense (automatic writing? C'mon!), but my very strange existence alone suggested that I should at least consider it.
And I liked the possibilities. Who wouldn't want spiritual answers, especially someone with my condition?
According to a few sites I checked out on the internet, the process of automatic writing seemed fairly simple. Sit quietly at a table with a pen and paper. Center yourself. Clear your mind. Hold the pen lightly over the paper...and see what comes out.
Then again, maybe I didn't want to know what might come out. Maybe I needed to keep whatever was in me bottled up.
With some trepidation, I found a spiral notebook and a pen. I switched off my laptop and slipped it back in its case.
It was just me, the table, a pen, and a pad of paper.
I stared at the pen. When I grew tired of staring at the pen, I cracked my neck and my knuckles. In the hallway outside my door, I heard two voices steadily growing louder as a couple approached in the direction of my door. The couple came and went, and now their voices grew fainter and fainter.
I picked up the pen.
A domed light hung from the ceiling directly above the table. The light flickered briefly. It had never flickered before. I frowned. One of the sites I had read mentioned that when spirits were present, lights flickered.
It did so again, and again. And now the light actually flickered off, and then on. And then off. Over and over it did this.
I sat back, gasping.
"Sweet Jesus," I said.
More flickering. On and off.
Nothing else in my room was flickering. The light near the front door held strong. So did the light coming in under my front door. It was just this light, directly above me.