Page 8 of Dark Therapy
The chill deepened, the shadows feeling somehow darker, thicker around me, like they were closing in, smothering what little resolve I had left.
“You think you’re safe,” the voice continued, a snake-like hiss that twisted its way around my spine, “behind all those credentials, all that confidence… But fear makes youreal, doesn’t it?”
Something cold traced the side of my neck, sending an icy shiver down my body. It lingered, pressing just enough to make my breath catch, a reminder of how vulnerable I was, how easily he could reach me. I clenched my fists, every fiber of me demanding that I stay calm, that I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
“Why…are you doing this?” I managed, fighting to keep my tone steady.
The whisper drifted close, nearly brushing against my skin. “Why? Because watching you unravel…isfascinating.”
I forced down the panic clawing up my throat, but his laugh—a soft,mockingsound—echoed in the darkness, as though he could sense every beat of fear pulsing through me.
Then, I heard the footsteps recede, slowly, as if he were drawing out every step, savoring the fear he’d left behind. But just as I thought he was gone, the whisper returned, inches from my ear.
“Remember, Dr. Harper…this is only the beginning.”
And in a flash, I was alone. The silence swallowed the room, but its grip on me lingered, haunting, filling the air with the promise that this was far from over.
The room began to spin, the edges of reality blurring as I fought to stay grounded, but my mind was slipping, inch by inch. The cold pressing against my neck, the darkness, the voice—all of it started to fade, melting into one hazy, indistinct feeling of dread. My heartbeat slowed, the sound growing faint and distant, like it was coming from somewhere outside myself.
I blinked, or tried to, but my eyes felt so heavy. Breathing was like wading through thick, smothering fog, each breathharder than the last. I felt my body sagging against the restraints, the last remnants of resistance slipping away, along with my sense of time, of place, of anything real.
My thoughts became a scattered hum, only fragments of fear and questions looping through my mind as everything drifted out of reach. I felt the pull of darkness tightening, drawing me under, swallowing everything—until there was nothing left but silence.
ECHOES OF THE PAST
Amelia
I woke with a start, heart racing and breath caught in my throat. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across my bedroom. For a moment, I lay still, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to me like cobwebs. I blinked into the brightness, disoriented, the feeling of fear still thrumming in my veins.
It took a few moments to gather my thoughts, to shake off thevividnessof the nightmare that had left me gasping. I glanced around, my gaze darting across the familiar room. My bedside table, cluttered with books and a half-drunk glass of water, my well-worn armchair in the corner.I was safe here. But the remnants of my subconscious were hard to shake.
I pushed myself up into a sitting position, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My head throbbed, a dull ache that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. The memories of the nightmare washed over me: the darkness, the whispering voice, the cold metal brushing against my skin. It all felt soreal, so threatening. I could still feel the grip of fear tightening around my chest.
Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that it was just a dream. A product of an overactive mind, perhaps, fed by stress and the intensity of my recent sessions. Still, the unease lingered, a shadow in the corner of my mind. I swung my legs down to the floor, wincing as they touched the cool surface.
I took a moment to collect myself, to breathe deeply and steady my racing heart. The sun poured in, warming the room, and I focused on that warmth, letting it seep into my bones.
As I pushed myself off the bed and padded to the kitchen, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The air felt heavy, as if the remnants of my nightmare lingered just beyond the threshold of my consciousness. I forced myself to focus on the mundane: I needed coffee, something to kickstart my day and chase away the lingering shadows of my dreams.
I switched on the coffee machine, the comforting sounds of brewing beans filling the kitchen. As I stood there, waiting for the familiar aroma to envelop me, I couldn’t help but replay the nightmare in my mind. What did it mean? I prided myself on my ability to analyze and interpret the subconscious, but this was different. The fear felt too raw, too visceral.
The coffee dripped slowly, and I leaned against the counter, my fingers gripping the edge. Perhaps I should consider talking to Emily about it later. She always had a way of helping me make sense of the chaos in my mind.
The machine finally let out a cheerful beep, signaling that my coffee was ready. I poured a steaming cup, the rich, dark liquid swirling into the mug, and took a moment to inhale the warm, inviting aroma. With each sip, I hoped to reclaim a sense of normalcy, to banish the remnants of the night and the unsettling thoughts that threatened to bubble to the surface.
But as I drank, I couldn’t ignore the flicker of unease in the back of my mind, a whisper that reminded me of the darkness I had glimpsed in my dreams. I had to stay grounded today,especially with Damien’s session looming ahead. I needed to be sharp, to maintain my professional composure.
I finished my coffee, the warmth spreading through me, and prepared to face the day, reminding myself that I was stronger than my fears.
I set down my empty mug, feeling a little more awake and ready to face the day. As I glanced at the clock, I realized I had plenty of time before my first appointment. An idea sparked in my mind. I hadn’t visited the library in a while, and the thought of being surrounded by books and the comforting silence felt appealing.
Grabbing my bag, I made my way to the door. The library had always been a place where I could escape into the worlds of others, find solace in the pages of a novel, or lose myself in the wealth of knowledge stored in every corner. It was the perfect antidote to the heaviness that clung to me.
The drive to the library was pleasant, the sun shining brightly overhead. I rolled down the windows, letting the fresh air washover me. The breeze felt invigorating, chasing away the remnants of anxiety from the morning.
Pulling into the library’s parking lot, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. The building stood tall and inviting, its grand façade an echo of the past. As I stepped inside, the familiar scent of old books and polished wood enveloped me. I took a moment to appreciate the stillness, the gentle rustling of pages and the soft footsteps of fellow patrons creating a comforting background noise.
I wandered through the aisles, letting my fingers glide along the spines of the books, each one holding a promise of escape and adventure. I loved the tactile sensation of the bindings, the weight of the stories contained within. It was as if I could feel the lives of the characters pulsing beneath my fingertips.
