James Gale

Perhaps the doctor was right.

Nothing moved this evening. Even the shadows behaved for once.

A slow breath escaped me and the tension in my shoulders melted slightly.

I toyed with the medicine bottle in my hand.

Asenapine. 10mg.

The boring white pills stared at me with disinterest.

Across the room, Doctor Yook smiled. Something about it made my stomach twist.

“Funny thing, our minds,” she said. “Efficient, really. Flags patterns before they even happen.”

Her voice was cold. Clinical.

“There will always be a part of you that questions what’s real. That’s expected. And manageable with therapy.”

I frowned.

“It’s expected to need pills just to…see reality?” Half a question, half an accusation. I didn’t expect a real answer.

She didn’t give one either. She only stared.

I hated that.

The ancient tactic of therapists and doctors alike.

Weaponised silence. Silence to draw you out of your shell, hoping you would keep talking to avoid the awkwardness of silence.

I knew what she was trying.

And I still fell for it.

Of course I did.

“Fine,” I muttered. “No shadows here. No twisted movements. Nothing ‘unreal’. But what about at home? Outside this controlled environment?”

A ghost of a smirk flickered over her lips.

“Are you concerned about returning home?”

“No.”

Yes.

“Do you still think something is waiting there?”

No, I brought it with me.

“No, home is fine.”

“Mister Brand, your hallucinations stem from trauma. We can only help if you engage. And in your two months here, you’ve given us very little to work with.”

I laughed.

“Are you firing me as a patient?”

Silence.

Confirming silence.

“You tend to see negatives, mister Brand. What you call ‘fired’, others might call ‘released’. Or perhaps even ‘cured’.”

“Cured?”

The word snapped out harder than intended.

“Because you gave me these meds and I didn’t have hallucinations for a week?” My ironic air quotes trembled with rage.

“I’ve treated dozens of patients like you,” she said. “People who see shadows move. Or see deceased loved ones. All of them found control through therapy, not only medication. If you refuse to engage with the therapy provided here, we must let you go.”

Of course this was happening.

For weeks, I had expected this conversation.

Maybe even hoped for it.

This place wasn’t for me.

But neither was home.

The image of dancing shadows flickered behind my eyes. Always watching. Waiting.

Breathe.

Stay here.

Stay real.

No.

I couldn’t go home.

Not yet.

I was desperate.

And the shadows knew.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered. “I’ll attend the therapies.”

“One more chance,” Doctor Yook said. She sounded stern, a teacher scolding her student.

“No exceptions. Miss one session, and we discharge you. We have a six-month waiting list. The next person will gladly take your room.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Quiet. Too quiet again.

I scraped my throat, painfully aware of how dry it was.

“Let’s try something,” she said. “A brief exercise.”

I nodded. Dread crept slowly up my spine.

“Do you recall seven months ago today?”

The harsh overhead light snapped off.

Then on again.

My nerves prickled.

It’s here.

The psychiatrist barely glanced up.

” Old wiring. Go on.”

“Seven months ago I was still teaching at the university.”

Doctor Yook scribbled intensely in her notebook.

Her notebook had an ornate, leather cover. It looked expensive.

And so did her accompanying pen, with tints of gold reflecting the harsh UV light as she wrote.

I cleared my throat and continued.

“I was lecturing on the myths of the Old Vale tribes, when one of the students took an interest in—”

I paused. The name shouldn’t scare me. It’s only a name.

“Belvoth, right?” Doctor Yook said casually.

My blood chilled.

I never told her that.

I never told anyone that.

Or maybe…Thomas?

Perhaps even the student itself?

My mind was heavy. Details blurred into nothingness.

The medicine flooding my system was not dissolving.

Instead it crawled inside my brain, invading my already tired neurons, displacing any blood that once flowed there.

“Mister Brand?” The psychiatrist looked my cold in the eye.

“Uhm—yes.”

“Go on.”

“The student gave me a book after class. It looked ornate. Gothic almost. It felt heavy. Too heavy for its size.”

A faint ringing rose in my ear. Retelling the story made something in my skull itch.

“The book had the story of Belvoth. He said it was a family heirloom, something passed down for generations. And that he would be honored if I took a look at it. Wanted my scholarly opinion”

The doctor nodded. “And your partner—Thomas, was it?—said that the book was the start of your troubles?”

“Yes. My hallucinations began hours after opening it.”

The doctor’s chair gave a metallic groan as she shifted. The sound scraped along my skin.

“What was in the book?” she asked. Her voice dipped for a moment. The harsh UV light blinked, and in its brief flash, her hair flickered from brown to blonde.

I blinked and looked down. The bottle of medicine in my hand looked back at me. Perhaps we needed to up the dose.

I shifted in my seat and tried to straighten myself.

“The book was old.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “Written in the Valor language. But, its contents matched no surviving sources. It described, in gruesome detail, how Belvoth manipulated souls. And how he toyed with the living for his amusement. Victims unknowingly let him in, eventually begging for death.”

I briefly looked up, the doctor seemed unphased so far.

“It said that he claimed the body first, trapping the soul in a vessel no longer their own. They could only watch in terror as he killed their families, slaughtered innocents and worse… The book also had pages upon pages of bloody imprints at the end. I’d never seen anything like it. If proven authentic, it would redefine our understanding of the Old Vale mythos.”

I stopped.

There was a fine line between ranting and sounding insane.

The doctor nodded. “Do you still have the book?”

The hair on my arm rose. “I burned it.”

A half truth.

It wouldn’t burn. Only smolder.

It was still there, at my house, waiting for me.

“A shame. Would have been interesting.”

The doctor went back to writing her notes.

Every scratch of her pen felt like a razor pulling across something inside me.

The ringing surged again through my ear.

“Good,” Doctor Yook said eventually, finishing her notes. “That’s more that we’ve gotten from you in weeks. Very interesting. You may stay. Let’s try another two weeks.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

A tremor of relief shook through me. I wasn’t going home.

Not yet.

” Just one last formality.” She handed me a form.

The lights flickered again.

I looked at the paper.

“What—what is this?”

“A simple consent form confirming your decision to extend your stay. A formality really.” She went back to scribbling in her booklet.

Was she…doodling?

I looked down at the form.

Its edges were charred.

Exactly like the book’s pages.

No.

That’s impossible.

I closed my eyes; focused on my breath.

Breathe. Stay here. Stay real.

The paper looked normal again.

At first.

Then the words on the page blurred. Each of them danced around, rearranging themselves into impossible sentences.

“I—I can’t read this? The words…they are moving?”

She looked over the rim of her glasses. “Ah. A common side effect from the medication. They tend to interfere with reading comprehension.”

I stared at her. Speechless.

She chuckled lightly. “Modern medicine is anything but flawless. The good news: common side effects usually fade after the first month .”

“Common,” I repeated in a soft voice. “This is a common side effect?”

“Ah, yes, there is a long list of possible ones. Patients fixate on side effects if we tell them. And sometimes, their minds manifest them.”

“You think we are that malleable?”

The doctor laughed again. It was a light, chiming sound. It annoyed me almost as much as the ringing in my ear.

“Oh, Mister Brand. You have no idea. The human mind is capable of so many amazing things.”

She tapped her finger on the paper. “Just sign here.”

A neat little square looked at me like a hungry mouth.

I lifted the pen.

A sharp sting bit my finger.

The pen clattered to the floor. Its tip flashed a crimson droplet.

“What—”

I brought my finger to my lips. Metallic warmth flooded my tongue.

My pulse pounded hard in my throat.

Doctor Yook stood up and handed me a tissue. “Oh dear, you okay? My pen…misbehaves sometimes.” Her voice warped. Jumping octaves like a needle scratching across a broken record.

“…hard to keep this up,” she whispered, barely audible.

But something else was off besides her voice.

Her posture.

She stood…wrong.

Unnatural.

A theoretical imitation of a human, but with something essential missing.

“You smell different, from that day” Her voice pitched down again, swirling between octaves.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “What…day?”

“Something in your essence that has changed.” The doctor sniffed loudly. The sound was…not entirely human. “Fear perhaps? Hmm, yes. I can taste the sweetness of it.”

Before I could move, she leaned in and licked my arm.

I jerked back, adrenaline rushing through me.

I looked at the doctor’s eyes.

Really focused on her face this time.

Her eyes shifted colour.

Her face shifted.

And then…he stood there.

The student.

The boy with the book.

Smiling far too wide.

His eyes held an emerald stare.

He took my bleeding hand and pressed it to the form.

He laughed, an animal sound scraping out of a human throat.

He leaned in close. I could feel his cold breath on my ear.

“This was fun.”

The lights died.

Darkness swallowed him.

It swallowed the student.

The doctor?

And the room.

A shrill ringing slashed through my head. I tried to cover my ears but my limbs were stone.

“Hello?” I cried out. Everything felt weightless and heavy at once.

No one—nothing— responded.

I shut my eyes. Wishing it would all stop.

Breathe. Stay here. Stay real.

Breathe. Stay here. Stay real.

Breathe. Stay here. Stay—

And then it did stop.

Silence.

Darkness.

And then the sound of a lock rattling. The metal hinges screamed to life.

The door swung open.

A kind face greeted me.

A familiar face.

“Hello, Mister Brand, I’m Doctor Yook, I’ll be your psychiatrist during your stay. Your partner, Thomas, admitted you for hallucinations and violent episodes. How are you feeling today?”

In the corner, something moved.

A trembling shadow.

It was…laughing.

My voice faltered. “No. Doctor Yook—we’ve met. I’ve been here for weeks. Please doctor. Please tell me—”

But her expression said enough.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “But no, we haven’t met.”

Her voice faded behind my panic.

And it didn’t matter.

I could only focus on the corner of the room.

Where the dimensions of space itself tore apart.

“Mister Brand?” she called. “Mister Brand!”

But I couldn’t respond.

And it didn’t matter.

A hand emerged from the tear in reality.

Wrapped with fur. Too many fingers. Too many claws.

Blood was dripping from it.

It was holding something.

A piece of parchment.

It unfurled slowly.

And there it was.

Of course it was.

Burned edges.

Dark script.

And in the center; my handprint. Wet and crimson.

Another signature.

Another signed contract.

For him.

My body.

My soul.

The room spun.

Time folded.

In the corner of my eyes, the universe tore apart.

Doctor Yook faded somewhere far away, separated by layers of collapsing reality.

A single whisper stayed with me, slithering into the hollow spaces of my mind.

Forever mine.

It repeated it.

Again.

And again.

Forever mine.

Until the room itself fell away.