By Jeremy Turk - 1,064 words

Jethro was in a tense, anxious and hypervigilant state. He knew that this inevitably followed well-intentioned but ill-advised efforts to reduce his medication dosages. His mental state deterioration was insufficient to have caused frank paranoia with convictions that others are conspiring against him, and acting to make his life as intolerable as possible. Neither were his thoughts unduly muddled and disorganised, nor was he having abnormal perceptual experiences such as hallucinations. However, irrational though it was (and Jethro knew this to be the case), he could not escape from the compelling, albeit ridiculous conviction that somewhere, somewhere, a duck was watching his every move.

As is often the case, this extraordinary delusional experience was embedded to a degree in real happenings. Jethro had been out for a pleasant stroll in his local park, which had a large lake at its centre. The lake was surrounded by a tarmac footpath, and other paths radiated out from it towards the park’s periphery. The sun was shining, there were barely any clouds in the sky, families were picnicking and playing ball games on the grass, the café was doing a good trade with the outside tables packed with customers, and all in all it was a glorious occasion.

The lake had an island in its centre, and copious reeds around its edge. A few families were in rowing boats gliding slowly and aimlessly around it. There was a small gaggle of Canada geese honking away.

And there were some ducks.

All but one of the ducks and drakes were occupying themselves in paddling about, dipping their beaks in the water, preening their feathers, quacking away, and receiving gratefully chunks of bread thrown to them by children standing nearby. However, one duck had split away from the flock and was waddling about on the footpath, seemingly no less happy and content for doing so. Jethro, who was standing nearby, caught the duck’s eye, and the duck seemed to catch his. Jethro knew deep down that this was a chance duck behaviour, of no consequence. It was folly to attribute motive to the duck, to read too much into the duck’s behaviour, to take this momentary experience too seriously and analytically. Nonetheless, it was what it was. This duck was looking at him. So far as Jethro could see, no ducks were looking at anybody else. The other ducks were looking at other ducks, and the other humans were, well, looking at each other, or at nothing at all. So there they were, this duck, and Jethro, eyeing each other.

Jethro decided it was time to escape from this disturbing and inexplicable situation. He turned his back on the back defiantly, and started to walk away briskly. But he couldn’t resist the urge to turn his head, just to make sure the duck wasn’t following him. Which of course it was. Jethro increased his speed of walking in an effort to shake it off. Perhaps inevitably, each time Jethro sneaked a peak behind him the duck was still trailing him, looking at him sideways on with an intent expression. Jethro started to run. The duck waddled more quickly to keep up with him. Finally Jethro reached the park gates, out of breath, panting away, hot and sweaty, heart pounding, dizzy and light-headed. He looked around. The duck had flown. Jethro breathed a sigh of relief. The trauma had passed.

Nonetheless, he retained a distinct fixed belief associated with a pervasive and irrational fear that he was still being watched by the duck. Maybe it had sufficiently long-sighted vision enabling it to monitor Jethro from afar. Or perhaps it was concealing itself nearby in the long grass and behind trees. Why the duck should have chosen him, and why it was continuing to torment him, was beyond comprehension. Jethro tried to reassure himself using strategies learnt through therapy he had received. What is the likelihood that a duck is monitoring you? Answer, highly unlikely. Does the duck’s behaviour mean only on thing, that it is pursuing you? Answer, no, there could be a myriad of other explanations for its behaviour. Or putting it another way, let’s assume for the sake of argument that there is a duck monitoring your every move, if not reading your thoughts. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Unhelpfully, Jethro’s mind told itself that this could be catastrophic. That the duck could attack him, savaging him ruthlessly. That he was destined to be pursued and monitored by the duck for perpetuity. That he would become a laughing stock as the individual always being followed by The Duck. Even that maybe he could no longer reassure himself that his thoughts were his own and not accessible by others. This duck could be a mind-reader. Well, why not? Stranger things have been documented.

Jethro sat down on the pavement, back against the park fence, and started to cry. This could not be happening to him. What would others say? How could he possibly share such ridiculous beliefs and experiences. Jethro decided it was time to “turn himself in”. He made his way to the nearest hospital accident and emergency department, made the receptionist’s day by explaining his predicament, and sat in an inevitably uncomfortable, public sector, waiting room chair for several hours, having been triaged quickly as a non-urgent case. It was early evening by the time the duty psychiatrist arrived, trying to conceal a mischievous grin. Things went from bad to worse. The more Jethro tried to describe what he was going through, the wider became the psychiatrist’s grin, which morphed into body shaking and inability to stifle laughter any longer. Jethro felt humiliated. What on earth had he been thinking of, signing into a hospital clinic and getting a specialist assessment.

Having written copious notes, the psychiatrist spoke. “OK, please wait here. I just need to go and discuss your issues with a colleague.” The psychiatrist left the consulting room, yet even so Jethro could hear him speaking and chuckling with hilarity over the phone to a colleague.

“You’ll never guess what. I think we have our first ever case of anatidaephobia.”

Jethro heard the laughter emanating from the psychiatrist, and the phone receiver he was holding.

Then the duck poked its head around the consulting room door.

“Don’t worry.” it said in perfectly pronounced and articulated English. “Everything is going to be just fine.”