The Mind Of Jean Paul Garçon

‘The most merciful thing in the world... is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.’—H. P. Lovecraft

Within the ambiguous things that are existential in this world of our known reality, there lies a mystery so implex that it defies the logic we assert with a causal asseveration, yet it binds us to its intrinsic nature. Amongst these things, which are correlated with the corollary of time are the compoundable elements linked to the human mind or its internal psyche—thoughts, emotions, perceptions and experiences. We all experiment with a measure of sentience that develops into our percipience, yet there is one thing about the mind that perplexes our curiosity and is beyond our instinct or intuition: the deep realm of consciousness.

For that reason, I shall present to the reader a fascinating account of a man who was presumed unique in his eccentricity and intellect, whose life abated within the same enigma that was his daunting burden. Some may conclude that this dedicated man of science was a madman or a genius. His name was Jean Paul Garçon.

Jean Paul Garçon was an aspiring scientist from Paris who lived in the early period of the 20th century, when the expansion of science was beginning to produce great inventions and an evolution of discoveries. Garçon’s reputation was not fully known throughout the establishment of the scientific elites of Europe, despite his thorough studies of the human mind, its capacity and its gradual progression.

His experiments on the theme did not earn him the laudable accolades that would have made him noteworthy within the essential circles of those elites, particularly among the Francophones. He was on the verge of discovering the ingrained relationship between consciousness and subconsciousness in its most pervasive form. Amongst his fellow colleagues, there was one individual in whom he confided most reverentially—his illustrious mentor, Dr Claude Cloutier.

For years Cloutier had been lecturing on the human mind and his type of psychology to the world, but his concepts and theories were contested and criticised for their lack of subjectivity. He was often attacked for being too audacious in his assumptions; nevertheless, he instructed and inculcated his obedient pupil Garçon with his immense knowledge and wisdom.

The study of psychology had begun to advance, as innovative facilities and renovations in science had increased accessibility and awareness of the composition and function of the mind, replacing the antiquated practice of phrenology that had existed before the rise of modern psychology, with its crude method of phenakism. Garçon himself had been conducting his own personal experimentations on the same subject in private, albeit with less recognition and success.

He was considered a genuine man of discretion and was not much of a gregarious reveller, since he spent most of his time, some would say, confined within his home, obsessed with unravelling the darkest secrets of the mind. One autumn day, he was visited by his beloved mentor, Dr Cloutier, whom he had invited. They gathered in the parlour, seated each in their canapés, as they initiated a passionate conversation, as was customary between pupil and mentor. Cloutier was a superb orator and professor.

‘Good morning, Professor Cloutier. I am glad to see you have accepted my invitation this morning. I know you are a very busy man and have little time to spare outside of your brilliant lectures’.

‘No need for modesty, Jean Paul. You know how much esteem I have for your creativity and dedication to advancing the study of the human mind’, he replied.

‘And I for you, professor. There are few men in Paris—or in the world—worthy of your accomplishments and perspicacity. I am forever indebted for your solicitousness towards my work’.

‘Enough of the exchange of pleasantries. What exactly have you been working on that may interest me?’

‘Professor, I have been working on a unique experiment that I think you will find most interesting’.

‘Such as?’

‘The realm of the subconscious and consciousness’.

‘What exactly are you referring to, if I may enquire?’

‘I was seated in this same canapé I am presently on, pondering the intricacy of the subconscious and consciousness, when I began to doze off into a profound sleep. I was practically in the subconscious state of an evolving dream. Of course, that is not unusual, but what I found rather peculiar was the fact that I woke up afterwards remembering every single detail—and more disturbingly, realised that everything dreamt had occurred in the same manner in real life’.

‘And what were you dreaming about?’

‘I was dreaming about walking in the garden and listening to the sounds of the birds, when I heard and saw a raven perched on a nearby branch’.

‘That is nothing unusual’, the professor uttered.

‘Indeed, but there is more to the story, professor, that I have not yet related’.

‘Go on, continue’.

‘What I find disturbing is that the crow was feeding on a pigeon with two heads’.

‘That is something strange. I have never seen a pigeon with two heads, but you and I know that there are rare cases in nature of deformities that science has observed and deciphered as credible oddities’.

‘There is one other thing I have failed to mention, professor: the two-headed pigeon’s remains were left in the patio, just as I dreamt it happened’.

‘What are you implying?’

‘Perhaps nothing, professor, but could it be that this dream was the actual precursor to the emergence of the subconscious interacting with the conscious mind?’

‘If you are asking for my humble opinion, I think this is nothing more than a mere coincidence, which occurs daily in the world, often without much relevance or notice’,

‘But is it possible, professor, that we are capable of entering the realm of the subconscious mind and having it interact with our conscious reality?’

‘Well, there are developments that we observe and perceive all the time, and things or elements around us that we construe as real or plausible. Yet, we have not determined, so far, to what degree the mind is able to distinguish beyond our perception’.

‘Could it be reasonable and logical that the things we observe are the telling factors of our reality? I wonder—where does surreality clash with reality, if the mind is active in its process of thought?’

‘That is an excellent question. I was speaking with another colleague about what Jean-Pierre Flourens demonstrated through ablation—that the cerebrum and cerebellum accomplished different functions—and how phrenology was discarded as worthless pseudoscience, with which I fully agree. We know that Hermann von Helmholtz conducted parallel research on sensory perception. We also know that Ebbinghaus pioneered the experimental study of memory and developed quantitative models of learning and forgetting, and so on’.

‘And what of the beliefs espoused by Descartes?’

‘To be honest, since I am not a philosopher, I tend to steer away from philosophy when it comes to matters of science—specifically Descartes’ Cartesian dualism, which I reject’.

‘I too concur, but thoughts linger in my mind when addressing the issue of consciousness and subconsciousness’.

‘Whatever is displayed and examined cannot yet be substantiated with judicious objectivity. We can attempt to rationalise, with our imposition, the threshold of our superior mind, but we cannot know with absolute certainty to what extent the correlation between subconsciousness and consciousness relates beyond the capacity and limitation of our known awareness’.

‘And the human nature of our mind—is it not feasible that it can interact with either of them, and yet not be fully aware of its sequence? Would it be interpreted as something intangible to accept? Can the mind regress in thoughts to actions not yet finalised or taken, but perceive them as real and complete?’

‘That would be an onerous and haunting reality to assume’.

‘Let us suppose, professor, that it were feasible’.

‘For the sake of argument, then I must ask: what is more disturbing—your consciousness or your subconsciousness?’

‘I know it seems like a hypothesis of mine; nevertheless, we know that from an inchoate thought, countless theories are disputed concerning how the mind functions, consciously or subconsciously. We also know from unparalleled occurrences related to the mind, such as memory, that there are redounding effects on the convoluted process of one’s perception’.

‘Perchance, I am exaggerating in my analysis, and more needs to be examined concerning the connection between the conscious state and the subconscious one’.

‘Indeed. Science has not yet fully deciphered all the insoluble mysteries of the human mind, or their involution. I wish I had more time to continue this discussion, but I must return to the university to prepare for tomorrow’s lecture on psychosis. It’s a fascinating subject’.

‘Pardon me, Professor, are you referring to the condition of the mind that results in manifested difficulties in determining what is real and what is not in its composition? Do you believe I could be suffering from the early symptoms of delusions and hallucinations?’

The professor chuckled. ‘I would not equate a mere dream with a delusion. Now, may I suggest you be less analytical and more practical when dealing with this subject?’

Professor Cloutier then departed, whilst Garçon remained, fixated upon the surroundings of the garden. He mused pensively, deeply cogitating on the possibilities of the convergence of the subconscious and the conscious, seeking to explore the boundaries of their concurrent interactions with regard to the human mind and its activation. He began to believe that he had discovered a surreptitious realm of the subconscious that permitted him to enhance his cognition and memory.

Could there be an actual point of convergence occurring at the exact period of action? As he stood there, the reflection of the sun shone upon his face. An idea then entered his head: could there be a parallax, or a difference in the apparent position of an object viewed along two different lines of sight, measured by the angle or semi-angle of inclination between those two lines of a pattern? He wanted to test a theory of his, and thus went back inside and grabbed a photograph where the sun appeared transparent above the top of a streetlight.

In the reflection on the water, the sun seemed to align with the streetlight because the virtual image was formed from a different viewing position, construed as a palpable perception. Was there a vraisemblance of the opposite spectrum that was peirastic in its nature and purview?

Garçon had also recently read an article about optical illusions, but he was more intrigued by the compossibility of thought and emotion, and how thoughts in general could be attached to our perceptible actions and reactions. Was the manner in which subconsciousness and consciousness behaved truly that clear and simplistic to differentiate, or was there a state of mind that could be deduced indisputably as either rational or irrational in its incontrovertibility? And what could be learnt from unconsciousness that was not already known in the circle of its study? Perchance, the conundrum was beyond the soupçons.

Garçon spent the rest of the day engrossed in his observations and acuity, eager to examine closely his circumambience. His fascination with unravelling the unanswered secrets of subconsciousness and consciousness made him wonder about the innovative ideas and concepts emerging in Europe during his present century.

He was aware of a young German physicist named Albert Einstein and his contested theories on physics, and he admired his audacity and determined persistence. But Garçon was more concerned with the mechanism of the human mind than with the dynamics of the universe. He was willing to test the limitations of the mind and its ability to function under its capacity.

Were dreams or nightmares the cause and effect in a sequential order of a mind processing memory and thought simultaneously, like some archetype designed by thought alone or by the usage of imagination? It could easily be interpreted by some as a paradoxical statement or incomplete analogy. The notion of deciphering the innermost activities of the mind was compelling enough to continue the steady course of study for Garçon. Could the mind be capable of distinguishing reality from surreality in either state of being acknowledged?

Was it just hyperbole on his part, or could the conclusion be reached logically that our actions were indeed aligned with our thoughts in every aspect of our states of thinking? Were the vivid images in his dreams or nightmares nothing more than some sort of hypotyposis or ekphrasis in art? If so, could they truly be altered to the degree that they were of an autexousious nature consequentially? There were simply too many questions imposed, with impending answers yet to be revealed.

That night, Garçon experienced another haunting nightmare, which became a disturbing recurrent theme of dark imagery. This time, he dreamt he was walking along the pavement of a street late at night when he witnessed a macabre scene: a young mademoiselle being struck by a carriage as she passed by innocently, unaware of the peril that awaited her. The accident was so heinous in nature that her blood splattered onto his clothing, particularly his shirt beneath his waistcoat.

What was more harrowing was the manner in which the dreadful episode transpired completely unprovoked. When he awoke, he checked the clothing he had worn in the nightmare and, to his shock, saw that there were indeed bloodstains on his shirt. It was a terrifying realisation—but how could that be, since it was only a horrendous dream? It was impossible to fathom, let alone explain with ratiocination.

He checked several times to be certain of what he had actually seen, and there was no doubt—it was blood. Undeniable and indelible evidence. He could not reconcile the nightmare with reality, nor recall being at the precise place and time when the young mademoiselle had been struck by the passing carriage and tragically killed.

His anxiety increased, and he felt compelled to speak to Professor Cloutier about the incident. He immediately headed to the university to recount what had so strangely occurred. Garçon had also read in the daily newspaper the reported death of the same woman he had seen in his horrific dream. This was incontrovertible confirmation that what he had dreamt was, without a doubt, real.

When the professor arrived, Garçon relayed the details of the recent episode of his nightmare, omitting no minutiae. At first, Cloutier was bemused by the last detail—the bloodstains on Garçon’s shirt. After examining the stains with a meticulous eye, he enquired about the accuracy and validity of Garçon’s account. He was sceptical about the possibility of a bad dream manifesting into the exact reality of its sequence of natural occurrence.

In other words, he could not believe that Garçon would be so oblivious as not to know whether he had actually witnessed the event in reality. Thus, his scepticism prompted him to question its veracity and authenticity.

‘I must be candid with my admission not to accept the version told to me, unless you can be completely certain that what you described in your nightmare was the irrefutable sequential order of events in its actuality and outcome. If not, the premise of the argument is merely pointless and nullified by any lack of transparency.’

‘Why would I go to drastic measures to invent such a dreadful thing so abhorrent in nature, Professor?’

‘That, I cannot answer. Only you can know what is inside your mind’.

‘Professor, I tell you, there is no explanation, except that it did transpire and I was not fully aware of its horrible occurrence’.

‘Perhaps there might be another logical explanation that is credible and could be reasonable?’

‘What are you implying, Professor?’

‘You could be somnambulating and not be conscious of this action’.

‘You mean sleepwalking?’

‘Yes, that could be the case with you’.

‘How could I not be awakened by the noise or commotion?’

‘Maybe you were, but your mind blocked these thoughts from your memory, causing you to forget until later. I have heard of people experiencing lapses of memory before’.

‘A memory lapse. If so, then how can I prevent this from happening again? What’s worse, if I am sleepwalking, I could be killed’.

‘That is a possibility, I am afraid’.

‘What do you suggest I do, Professor?’

‘I suggest that you allow me to conduct some studies on you’.

‘You mean hypnotise me? Is that what you mean?’

‘If necessary, but I would like to examine you during the night or when your mind is asleep. I need to know how your state of sleep compares to your active state’.

‘This might sound mad, Professor, but I think that I am co-existing in two parallel states of the human mind’.

‘That is a frightening thought to ponder’, the professor confessed with reluctance.

‘I must ask you, Jean Paul, are your dreams never fain, or are they always bad nightmares?’ The professor enquired.

‘I have had them, but not much lately, I admit’, Garçon replied.

‘You are capable of having them, is that not so?’

‘Oui!’

‘Then that would signify to me that your mind can enable this assuagement or state of serenity. Thus, the problem, I believe, is mostly psychological’.

‘Could it be that my subconsciousness rejects anything that is a good dream or happy thoughts?’

‘In my sole opinion, I think that is the case. You see, Jean Paul, the human mind has the capacity and ingenuity to make us believe what it wants us to believe’.

‘And of reality? How do we then determine what is real or not?’

‘That is an excellent question. Some people would say by rote of ordalium or by our intellect, but for me the answer would be through our consciousness or cognition—not to be confused with conscience. There are things that could be interpreted as a form of serendipity or an unfortunate circumstance triggered by a chain of events or actions that were powerful and disruptive’.

‘I agree, yet how can we define the contrast of reality from surreality within the degree of their intervals?’

‘Well, what if the mind could duplicate a sequence of thoughts to where we believe the sequence of events is exact to what we dream or manifest consciously?’

‘That would initiate a cause and effect’.

‘Correct!’

‘If I could protract my subconscious thoughts and retain them enough to process them to my cognisance...’

‘Remember, Jean Paul, there are things instituted that can be excelled, but they cannot exceed the perimeters of the human mind. In other words, they cannot be accelerated at a pace that the mind cannot process the ingoing flow of that outgoing impulsion. The mind is an agency that interacts with the body in motion. The mind can be pervasive, as it can be evasive’.

‘I am fully aware of that, Professor. The thing that astounds me is the potentiality of the mind and its ability to accomplish multifarious actions in that motion’.

Both men agreed to the professor’s interesting suggestion, and that they would reunite upon that same night to begin the experimentation. The mystery was cloaked in the lunatic shade of an emerging darkness that only Garçon had attempted to understand with a measure of effectiveness.

The brain was analogous to a mechanical machine of a complex network of connective nerves, such as the cords of a giant clock. His extensive thoughts on the matter were recorded in a protracted journal that he had been writing since he started to elaborate his experiments and theories on the subconsciousness and its relation to the established consciousness.

What Garçon did not realise at the time was the powerful state of mind that would reproduce the terror in the parlous nature of his ultimate discovery. He had gone where few men had ever transgressed the limits of conscious travel and was able to avoid self-destruction or insanity.

It was indeed a challenge that Garçon was solicitous in his resolution to answer—the questions that had been eluding his awareness—but he would not be prepared for what eventuated from his daring experiment, which would forever change the course of his life, with transcendence. His caution did not supersede his appetence for knowledge and aperçu that were not an obviation from the acceptance of the truth.

Unfortunately, that night Professor Cloutier was not able to go to Garçon’s home as they had previously planned, due to inclement weather. Garçon received a message earlier from the professor, sent as an errand by one of his students to inform him. The cancellation did not mean the experiment would not take place.

It would only be delayed. This did not dissuade Garçon from carrying on with his own experiment and proceeding forth with its continuation. He was mindful of the rapid effects his subconsciousness was having on his consciousness, to the extent that they both corresponded to each other in a succession of similar intervals of occurrence.

If he were to delve deeper into his ruminative mind to comprehend the intrinsic operations of the active subconsciousness, could he ultimately discover the delitescent realm of the complexities of that mind in correlation with human behaviour?

If that were even manageable, the pending question was: was this aforementioned realm transient, or a definite state of mind that manifested in our traditional awareness solely? His curiosity to uncover that secret urged him to explore more, and that meant exerting more pressure on his mind and body.

Some would interpret that as ignorance or impetuosity, but Garçon was no ordinary man; he was a genius of his own creation. He was not a man of God, for he was, instead, a genuine man of science. At approximately 8 o’clock that night, Garçon heard a knock at his front door, and there stood a young lady. It was raining outside. She introduced herself as Marie Lavigne, the sister of the deceased woman who was killed the night before.

At first, Garçon was utterly surprised by the sister’s visit. His thoughts centred on what she could want from him, since they were strangers and not acquainted with each other. It was true that the sister was no one in particular of status, but she knew who Garçon was, from reading articles on his field of science.

Apparently, she had been told by another witness that Garçon was present when her sister was accidentally killed. It was something of which Garçon was not cognisant. He was anxious to hear what she had to ask, yet hesitant to divulge information so hastily, without knowing exactly what the sister had been told. He then invited the woman into his house, where they could converse about the matter more privately and in greater depth.

‘First, let me offer my condolences to you and your family. It must be a difficult time’.

‘Oui, monsieur, Chloé was a big part of our lives and she will be sorely missed’, the sister uttered with an expressive sigh.

‘Pardon the question, but was she married?’

‘No, monsieur, she was a widow. Her late husband had recently died from the crippling disease of phthisis’.

‘Did she have any children?’

‘Oui. Regrettably, she leaves behind two small boys’.

‘I was not aware of that. It is a sad and excruciating thing to hear, especially for the children’.

‘Oui, monsieur. I came here hoping for answers, and if you could be kind enough to help me catch the killer—for the sake of the family’.

‘I would be happy to assist you, but I only glimpsed the face of the carriage driver briefly. I’m afraid it is not enough to identify him fully’.

‘I understand that, monsieur. Anything you recall at this point is extremely vital in the pursuit of justice. I cannot rest, nor give my sister a proper burial, until the person who killed her is apprehended. From what I heard from another witness, the carriage driver was intoxicated’.

‘That, I cannot confirm, madame. I can only attest to what I saw’.

‘Please, monsieur, if there is more you remember, do tell me’.

‘If I recall anything more, madame, I shall certainly notify you or the gendarmes’.

She grabbed his hand and pressed it firmly. ‘Thank you, monsieur’.

She then departed. Her visit had visibly affected Garçon, yet there was little he could do at the moment. He knew he had to continue with his main task: the discovery of the truth. Garçon was both a proponent and an exponent of Cloutier’s approach to the interactions of the human mind.

He himself had written a thesis on the subject and contributed to the advancement of psychology. He was aware of the pioneering work of Emil Kraepelin and Sigmund Freud, but he did not believe his own quest for answers regarding the subconscious and consciousness was connected to mental disorders.

Instead, he was convinced that one could traverse the boundaries of the subconscious through memory and consciousness. Garçon had concluded that although the human mind tended to be fragile and susceptible to manipulation and doubt, it could be properly nourished with an adequate amount of knowledge and wisdom.

To him, the important thing was not what the mind was incapable of doing, but to what extent the mind could be compatible with what was established as known reality in equivalence. In layman’s terms: could the mind recognise something that exceeded its own ability to distinguish its functions? That recognition, in the end, would require a more efficacious examination of that poignant juxtaposition. It could not simply be said that the mind was an illusion created for the platitudes of society or the aesthetic attraction of the arts.

That night brought yet another recurrent episode of an intense nightmare that vividly shook Garçon to his core. He was no longer having any pleasant dreams; every dream was becoming a terrible sign of a troubled mind or anxious apprehension.

For a brief moment, Garçon began to question whether his mind was spiralling into an uninhibited escape from the real world. It was a daunting and compelling thing, even to contemplate its plausibility—a dreadful, incessant phantasmagoria.

In this particular nightmare, Garçon experienced a riveting sequence of unthinkable events. He dreamt that he was being chased by a wild wolf from the nearby woods into his garden, where he eventually fell and woke up from his subconscious state—only to find himself lying in the garden, stirred by the fluttering wings of the morning pigeons.

His shirt and trousers were torn from the fall, and his clothing was slightly drenched. The rain had eased to a light drizzle. There was no wolf in sight, but there was one significant clue that proved shocking.

As he rose to his feet, Garçon noticed not only his torn clothes but something else: the distinct paw prints of a wolf. This indicated that he had indeed come into contact with the same wolf he had encountered in his nightmare.

The more his dreams seemed to coincide with his reality, the greater the suspense and his desire to comprehend this inexplicable abnormality. In order to be analytical and precise, he would have to appeal to his incisive mind for the answers he had sought since the beginning of his ordeal. Again, he turned to the assistance of his mentor, Professor Cloutier.

He went directly to the professor’s home to recount his new experience, knowing the professor was likely the only person who could help explain what was transpiring so blatantly. He was received at the front door by the professor, who was about to leave for the university.

Professor Cloutier immediately noticed the worrisome consternation in Garçon’s eyes, which bore a distinct expression. It almost seemed like a brooding vexation consuming him from within.

‘Pardon, Jean-Paul, but you look extremely haggard and pale. You don’t look well. What has happened to cause you to bear this awful semblance?’

‘You would not believe me if I told you, professor’.

The professor ushered him inside at once. Once seated in privacy, the conversation continued.

‘Now, start from the beginning.’

‘Professor Cloutier, yesterday I had another horrific dream’.

‘Again? What did you dream this time?’

‘I dreamt I was being chased by a wild wolf’.

‘And?’

‘I then awoke in my garden near the woods, with my shirt and trousers torn’.

‘I’m afraid I fail to understand the importance of this. I don’t see anything particularly unusual. It was just a bad dream, Jean-Paul’.

‘There is more, professor’.

‘What do you mean?’

Garçon’s eyes glared with even greater intensity and urgency. He brought out a newspaper with an article about an escaped wolf in the area that had killed a man and showed it to the professor. ‘That is the same wolf I saw in my horrendous dream’.

Professor Cloutier was perplexed by what he was hearing and reading. Garçon’s narrative was jarring and compelling, but it was not substantial enough to be corroborated with objective evidence. The professor was concerned about Garçon’s mental state.

‘In all the years I’ve known you, Jean-Paul, I have never seen you so perturbed. What you have dreamt is certainly startling, but you cannot draw any concrete conclusions without incontrovertible evidence. Look at yourself. If you don’t take control of this situation, you’ll succumb to your own misery’.

‘Do you think I am losing my mind?’

‘That is your supposition, not mine’.

‘Can you not believe, professor, that it could be a significant phenomenon that has eluded even our brilliant scientific minds? I tell you, what I experienced is part of this strange phenomenon. You and I both know that phenomena have existed throughout the centuries. We both understand the vast wonders of the mind and its ability to reproduce precise memory—for example, the mechanisms of our sentience, rumination, sapience, intellectuality, and the application of thought. What if my inexorable subconscious was capable of recognising the actions of my consciousness and its vraisemblance?’

‘We would need to know firmly how the human mind processes memory whilst simultaneously creating it, to answer that question’.

‘There is a possibility, professor, that we could solve that enigma. Do you not think so?’

‘What I think is of no consequence—that would be mere supposition. What matters is what can be proven, Jean-Paul’.

‘I don't know how long these nightmares will continue, but I am determined to proceed until I have discovered their origin and what they truly mean in the end. I can't give up now, when I am so close to deciphering the truth’.

‘It’s desperation that I see in you, Jean Paul. What you need is to get away from Paris and the stress that is destroying you. Do you not see, in the mirror, the image of your own exhaustion?’

‘Indeed, but I can't afford to stop now. You see, I have no choice, for I can't seem to control the dreams’.

‘I am going to Perpignan for a couple of days, and you can come with me. It would do you good to distract your mind from all this negativity’.

Garçon was reluctant at first, until the professor had convinced him. He was willing to try anything, even leaving the city of Paris. ‘If you think this will help me, then I shall go with you, professor’.

‘Good. There is a possibility that your nightmares are psychologically linked to your environment’.

‘I had not thought about that likelihood. Perhaps you are right, professor’.

The following morning, they left for Perpignan. They stopped off for a day at the beach, as Garçon wanted to see the beauty of the sea. It was his favourite place to be as a child. He was anxious to see if being away from the hectic pace of Paris would alter his recent state of mind.

As for Professor Cloutier, he was more preoccupied with saving his once brilliant pupil. He saw a man cracking at the seams, and it had disturbed him enough to act with both efficiency and care. During the journey to Perpignan, he pondered deeply on what Garçon had related about the nightmares that were tormenting him.

He knew it would require a confluence of thoughtful consideration and patience to help Garçon, but it would not be an easy task. Neither of them could have imagined the frightening realisation that awaited them on this trip to Perpignan.

That night in Perpignan, long after Professor Cloutier had retired to bed, Garçon found himself unable to sleep. The shadows cast by the flickering candle on the wall seemed alive, dancing mockingly around him. He sat at the small writing desk in the corner of the room, staring out of the window at the moonlit sea in the distance. His heart thudded with a mixture of dread and inevitability. It was as if the waves themselves were whispering his name, calling him into their cold embrace.

He took out his notebook and began scribbling furiously, each line capturing the turmoil of his mind. He wrote about the dreams that had turned into waking visions—about hearing his mother’s voice more clearly now than he ever had when she was alive. There was a strange allure in that voice, one that pulled at his very soul. His pen scratched across the page as he confessed his growing belief that he was meant to reunite with her, that the sea was not his doom but his destiny.

Suddenly, his hand froze mid-sentence. His eyes widened as he saw a reflection in the windowpane—not his own, but that of a pale woman standing just behind him. He whipped around, but the room was empty. His breathing grew ragged. Determined, yet trembling, he stood up and gazed once more at the sea shimmering under the silver moonlight.

‘It’s tonight’, he whispered to himself. ‘I must go to her.’

Without a word to the sleeping professor, he dressed quietly and slipped out into the cool night.

The night air was thick with fog as Garçon’s feet sank into the wet sand, his mind clouded with a strange sense of inevitability. The world around him seemed muffled, as if reality itself were distorting. The Mediterranean Sea, which had once been a source of peace, now seemed like a vast, consuming abyss—a force that was not just a body of water, but a living, breathing entity. He could feel its pull on him, like an invisible hand, guiding him toward something ancient and unfathomable.

His pulse quickened as he waded further into the cold surf. The sound of the waves was deafening, crashing against his ears as though trying to drown out his thoughts. He could hear her voice now—his mother’s voice—gentle yet commanding. It called him from the depths, urging him to surrender to the sea’s embrace.

'Jean Paul', the voice whispered again, clear as if she were standing right beside him. “Come to me, my child. The sea awaits us both'.

He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to give in, to let the cold waves swallow him whole. But there was something deeper—something that felt more like an awakening than an end. His mother had died when he was just a child, but tonight she felt so close, so tangible. The grief and longing that had haunted him for years seemed to dissolve in the sea breeze. Perhaps this was what he had been searching for all along—reconciliation, closure, or something far more powerful than his troubled mind could understand.

The water rose around him, now waist-high, the chill seeping into his bones. His chest tightened, as if the sea were not just pulling him in, but also suffocating him, demanding something from him—his soul, his very essence. But what was this feeling? Was it madness? Or was it something more profound, something that transcended the boundaries of life and death?

Suddenly, the sea seemed to open up before him, a yawning chasm beckoning him deeper. He was no longer walking but swimming, the tide moving swiftly now, pulling him away from the shore. It was no longer just the water; it was the night itself that seemed to close in around him. The moon above was barely visible through the fog, its light dimmed, as if the world were fading into a dream.

He gasped for air, but the sea rushed into his lungs. The taste of salt and the pressure of the water around him became all-consuming. His body fought, struggling against the crushing force, but his mind… his mind had already surrendered.

In that moment, he heard her voice again.

'Jean Paul', she cried. 'You must not resist. We must be together. You must let go, my son'.

A feeling of calmness washed over him, as though everything—every pain, every nightmare, every unanswered question—was finally coming to an end. There would be no more suffering. No more confusion. Only the vast, comforting darkness of the sea, and the embrace of the woman he had loved and lost.

But as the waves continued to crash against him, he felt a strange tremor run through his body. His fingers twitched, and he gasped—no longer in peace, but in panic. Something was wrong. The sea was not a sanctuary. It was a grave.

His vision blurred, the world spinning around him in a whirlpool of darkness and light. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his lips. As the tide pulled him under, the last thing he saw was the shape of a figure standing on the shore, watching him disappear into the depths. It was the ghost of his beloved mother. A single thought pierced through the fog of his mind before he lost consciousness:

That night on the coast, Garçon would no longer be able to evade his horripilating nightmares. Sadly, it would be the last one from which he would not awaken alive. He had dreamt of drowning in the waters off the Mediterranean coast, and he was later found by a lone fisherman who saw his body floating aimlessly in the waves.

It was not known whether he had accidentally drowned or taken his own life. Had he already lapsed into a profound state of madness that led to his fatal encounter with death, from which there was no return? When Professor Cloutier was informed hours later, after searching for him, he was not particularly shocked by Garçon’s death. What perplexed him more was what Garçon had been doing at the beach so late at night, without mentioning anything beforehand. Why had he gone into the cold waters?

Everything seemed unbelievable and made no sense at all. The details surrounding Garçon’s death were incomplete and incoherent. The professor knew there was more to the story. Something definitively strange had happened, something he could not yet comprehend—the missing pieces of a complex puzzle.

The answers would be found in a letter that Garçon had written before his untimely death, left behind for Professor Cloutier to read. It was addressed to him in Garçon’s distinct, legible handwriting.

Dear Professor Cloutier,

I, Jean Paul Garçon, attest that what I dreamt upon this night has struck fear down my spine. I do not know whether what I am about to relate will be considered believable by others; nevertheless, my account can be substantiated by this letter.

When you read this letter of mine, Professor Cloutier, I fear I shall no longer be alive, for the nightmares pursue me wherever I may be or go. I believe there is a counterbalance within our thought processes, but there are supraliminal effects that transpire in recurring episodes, beyond the comprehension of human thought and the excess of unproven concepts.

The brash hypocrites will demand irrefutable evidence of my claims, to which I shall assert that I was the existential sign not of aberration, but of manifestation. Ipso facto, it has resulted thus in a quod erat demonstrandum. I was dreaming of the one place I have always cherished—the beach and its wonderful coast I have missed. I had been swimming in the shallow waters when I felt a sudden billowing tide pull me into the sea, which was calling to me.

I heard the voice of my beloved mother, and I followed it, until I was swallowed by the tide that took me into the mouth of the sea, to be together with my mother forever. I then awoke in a sweat, compelled to go to the beach.

Perhaps you will deem me mad or the victim of my own insatiable insanity and suicide, but I, who have experienced this voyage into the deep realms of the subconscious and conscious mind, affirm that I am not insane, nor shall I kill myself.

Verily, I have discovered the answers to my many questions and unlocked the mystery of the human mind. I know now that only through death shall I travel where no man has ventured before.

Sincerely yours,
Jean Paul Garçon

Two weeks after Garçon’s tragic death, Professor Cloutier, who had returned to Paris, visited Garçon’s sombre home. Inside, he observed and perused thousands of notes that had belonged to Garçon’s journal. As he read, he felt the strange presence of an unseen being or spirit nearby. He dismissed it as the gust of wind blowing through the open door. He left the house with Garçon’s journal and began reading it in the comfort of his own home. He would be both intrigued and horrified by what Garçon had been experimenting with.

He never imagined what would occur on that eerie night, as a raging storm roared outside. Professor Cloutier had a dream about a wild wolf chasing him through the woods. Desperation gripped his mind as he ran, yet he could not escape the menacing wolf. That was the last thing he remembered of the terrifying nightmare.

He awoke in a heavy sweat to the sound of loud thunder. Rising to his feet to close the window, he saw the haunting image of the fierce, beady eyes of the wolf—the exact wolf he had dreamt of and which Garçon had described as well. The journal fell to the floor.

A page from the journal turned and settled. When the professor picked it up and read, it said:

‘The mind is a terrible thing to waste, for it can be an ally—or your worst foe. Control it, before it controls you, Professor Cloutier!’

It was nearly midnight when Professor Cloutier sat in his dimly lit study, Garçon’s journal splayed out before him. The storm outside rattled the shutters and whistled through the cracks of his old Parisian home. The professor rubbed his weary eyes, the cryptic passages blurring together after hours of study. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating the unsettling discoveries he had made—notes of Garçon’s dreams entwined with occult symbols, meticulous sketches of strange figures, and repeated references to ‘the veil beyond the mind’.

Suddenly, the candle flickered violently and extinguished, plunging the room into darkness. Startled, the professor fumbled for his matches. As he struck one, a gust of icy wind swept through the room, slamming the journal shut with a resounding thud. Heart pounding, he turned his head towards the doorway and froze.

A tall, shadowy figure loomed in the hall—a blurred, shifting silhouette, almost human but not quite. Its eyes—glowing, piercing—locked onto him with a malevolent intelligence. Cloutier’s breath hitched. The figure slowly raised its hand, pointing directly at the journal on the desk.

‘Who are you?’ Cloutier managed to croak, stepping back in terror.

The figure said nothing, but the room seemed to vibrate with its silent message, a wordless command to keep reading—to dive deeper into the pages where forbidden knowledge awaited.

Suddenly, the clock chimed once, and the figure dissolved into the shadows as quickly as it had appeared. Cloutier, trembling, relit the candle and reopened the journal. A chill crept down his spine as he noticed new writing on a page that had previously been blank. In Garçon’s unmistakable handwriting, it read:

‘The journey is not over, professor. You must follow where I led'.

Cloutier stared at the words, his mind racing. He realised, with dawning horror that he was now ensnared in the same labyrinth of terror and mystery that had claimed Garçon’s life. The question that haunted him most was no longer what had happened to Garçon—but how much of his surreality was truly cloaked in reality?

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