A 1948 science-fiction story by Alan Nelson is called “Narapoia.” (And no, smarty — whoever you are — I did not read it when it originally came out.)
It’s an entertaining enough premise: a man visits a psychotherapist, showing signs of an unusual disorder:
“I don’t know exactly how to explain it to you, Doctor,” the young man began. He smoothed back his slick black hair that shone like a phonograph record and blinked his baby-blue eyes. “It seems to be the opposite of a persecution complex.”
Dr. Manly J. Departure was a short severe man who made a point of never exhibiting surprise. “The opposite of a persecution complex?” he said, permitting one eyebrow to elevate. “How do you mean — the opposite of a persecution complex, Mr. McFarlane?”
“Well, for one thing, I keep thinking that I’m following someone.” McFarlane sat placidly in the big easy chair, hands folded, pink cheeks glowing, the picture of health and tranquility. Dr. Departure stirred uneasily.
“You mean you think someone is following, you, don’t you?” the doctor corrected.
“No. No, I don’t! I mean that while I’m walking along the street, suddenly I have this feeling there is somebody just ahead of me. Somebody I’m after. Someone I’m following. Sometimes I even begin to run to catch up with him! Of course –there’s no one there. It’s inconvenient. Damned inconvenient. And I hate to run.”
After a couple of visits, the patient confesses to another symptom: non-hallucinations, you might call them — hallucinations which turn out not to be hallucinations at all:
“I’m afraid I’m beginning to be troubled with hallucinations, Doctor,” McFarlane finally volunteered.
Dr. Departure mentally rubbed his hands. He was back on old familiar territory now. He felt more comfortable.
“Ah, hallucinations!”
“Rather, they’re not really hallucinations, Doctor. You might say they were the opposite of hallucinations.”
Dr. Departure rested his eyes a moment. The smile disappeared from his face. McFarlane continued:
“Last night, for instance, Doctor, I had a nightmare. Dreamed there was a big ugly bird perched on my short-wave set waiting for me to wake up. It was a hideous thing — a fat bulbous body and a huge beak that turned upward like a sickle. Blood-shot eyes with pouches under them. And ears, Doctor. Ears! Did you ever hear of a bird with ears? Little tiny, floppy ears, something like a cocker spaniel’s. Well, I woke up, my heart pounding, and what do you think? There actually was an ugly fat bird with ears sitting on the short-wave set.”
Dr. Departure perked up again. A very simple case of confusing the real with the unreal. Traditional. Almost classical.
“A real bird on the short-wave set?” he asked gently. “With blood-shot eyes?”
“Yes,” McFarlane replied. “I know it sounds silly. I know it’s hard to believe.”
“Oh, not at all. Not at all. That type of visual aberration is a common enough phenomenon.” The doctor smiled soothingly. “Nothing to…”
McFarlane interrupted him by reaching down and hoisting the carton onto the desk. “You don’t understand, Doctor,” he said. “Go ahead. Open it.”
The doctor looked at McFarlane a moment, then at the brown box which was punctured with air holes and tied with heavy twine. Disconcertedly, the doctor cut the string and folded back the top flaps. He leaned over and peered in — then sucked in his breath. Pouchy, blood-shot eyes leered up at him. Floppy ears. The up-side-down beak. An obscene-looking bird.
“His name is Lafayette,” McFarlane said, tossing a few bread crumbs into the carton which were quickly devoured with a noisy, repulsive gulp. “He rather grows on you after awhile, don’t you think?”
(You can find more information — including the complete story — easily enough on the Web, if you’d like to follow up.)
By now you may wondering what this might have to do with writing, per this post’s title. Glad you asked…
Back in May — the 26th, to be exact — Steve King’s invaluable and always entertaining 
…as I was 