I tried to stay my hand as best I could while I wrote on the yellowish paper. The tension in my body made my handwriting nigh but illegible, but it would have to suffice.

Name: Theodore S. Chatwood

Sex: Male

Years of age: Twenty-three

Psychiatrist: Dr. Edward Prescott

Affliction(s): Schizophrenia. Insomnia. Other, related

Afterwards, I placed the paper within the collection box for the nurse to read when she so felt. It was correct procedure to wait until she directed me, but I had so frequently visited the institution that I did not care to wait before I opened the two swinging doors and revealed the waiting room beyond.

The walls were a mute lavender, and the floors old hickory wood. Usually, my morning visits were quiet and somber, but not on that day. Beyond the rows of uncomfortable seating, there was a man curled into a ball on the floor. He sobbed to himself whilst rubbing his hands against his body, as if he were attempting to shoo something away.

I had no time nor intent to help him, and simply stood there as he continued to shudder and caress. The man wore a large black coat, and dusty black trousers. I could not see much of his face or anything else as he was deep in the fetal position, other than his frayed and greying hair, pulled and disorderly.

Between his sobs of anguish, I could hear the man whisper something in shallow breaths. His voice was rough and faint, as if he had been screaming or yelling prior to his current state. “Touching me... Touching me…” In my single-minded state I was not aware of the door behind me creeping shut, but the insane man was acutely conscious of such a disturbance. Instantly he went from curled to entirely stiffened as the door clicked shut. He looked at me with wide eyes as he screamed. “HANDS! WON’T STOP!”

I gazed in horror upon his revealed countenance. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was puffy, red, and hemorrhaging from deep scratches all about it. His long and unkempt fingernails absentmindedly traveled to his chin where he dug deeper into a gash. As we kept our eyes interlocked, the man crept closer on his knees. He slowly gained momentum, and after a certain point I became able to speak past the lump within my throat. “S-Stay there… You can stay there…”

Yet he did not listen, and after a small bit of shuffling on his knees, the man began to stand on both his legs. I groped for the doors handle to escape, but I found it far too leisurely.

The man was now mere inches from me, his hands still caressing his bleeding face. “THEY TOUCH! THE HAN-“

He did not get to finish his thought, though, as I instinctively raised my hand and grabbed his wrist. Once I made contact, he recoiled fiercely as if he was just kissed by scalding hot iron. With a shriek, he tore himself away and grabbed his arm in pain. Stumbling backward, the man collided with the many chairs in the room and fell to the ground, creating a great clatter as numerous seats descended with him.

The man curled back into a ball as Dr. Prescott’s office door was thrown open. With a shout, the distressed doctor surveyed us. “What the hell is going on!?”

I recognized how antagonistic I looked. Not a bruise upon my skin, but a scratched older man was collapsed on the ground with a multitude of chairs, looking as though he had just been shoved. With a stutter, I attempted to defend myself. “I-I… I did not do that. H-He came to me and just… Fell…”

My testament was completely unpersuasive, but it was all I was able to conjure with so much adrenaline coursing through my head. It did not seem to anger the doctor, though. In fact, his posture went from panicked back to his usual state of calm. “I see… Well, Theodore. Why don’t we discuss this more inside my office. As for you, Mr. Hughes, please take more time to calm down.”

I nodded and began to walk towards the office as Dr. Prescott gestured me inside. The doctor was a calm and dedicated man. His face showed the noble dignity it took to be such an awarded psychiatrist only in his early forties. His hair was neatly kept back with the help of pomade, and his face was always clean shaven. He wore a velvet purple vest with a black dress shirt underneath and matching velvet pants, his shoes were also freshly shined and black to compliment his shirt.

We walked into his office to find a woman sitting in the patient’s seat, looking quite curiously at us. Dr. Prescott reassured her as she stood. “This has been a very good session, Ms. Moore, but I believe that we should end it here.”

She nodded as she stood. Her black hair was tied back tightly, and she wore a common brown dress with what seemed to be self-embroidered flowers at the hem. She smiled as she politely began to walk away. She wore no make up nor jewelry, but her face was round and naturally pleasant. Her skin tone was also a darker and warmer shade than the pale visage of myself and many other people in the grey and foggy city we called home. Her entire composition seemed much healthier than the generally undernourished masses.

After she closed the door and left, I sat down in my seat and Dr. Prescott relaxed himself in his, completely eschewing any conversation about the man outside, most likely due to such behavior being a common occurrence in his line of work. “So, Theodore. How has your week been? It has been a long while since you have had an alteration in your prescription’s schedule.”

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I sighed. My nerves finally began to release tension. “Honestly, I have not fared well in the slightest. Once I became overdue, I barely slept and every time I did I would dream…” I pondered how to describe the unfathomable sights and bizarre creatures I had witnessed, but eventually settled on simply leaving the exact details out of my report. “I would dream very unsettling dreams…”

The doctor retrieved an ink pen and a leatherbound journal from his desk and began documenting. “That is not unordinary for you, yet you are much more distressed than your usual visits. What is it you are neglecting to tell me, Theodore?”

I took in a deep breath and contemplated. Never had I enjoyed describing the visions I had, both for the discomfort of evoking their memory and the embarrassment of revealing my weak grasp upon reality. Nevertheless, Dr. Prescott has declared time and time again that healing does not begin until one has come to terms with their state of health. “There was… A thing. An indescribable amalgamation of shapes that made no sense, with colors I had never seen flashing from it. These colors… I felt as though it was using them as some sort of code to communicate with me.”

He continued writing. “Could you comprehend this code?”

With a shake of my head, I continued. “I did not understand it… But I felt as though I could have if I had focused on the creature for longer. It was like seeing familiar letters out of order, rather than seeing something completely foreign….”

Dr. Prescott seemed absolutely fascinated, as he usually did when a new development was made. His curiosity may have been slightly morbid, but it indeed served well for his ability as a psychotherapist. “Now Theodore. I know this may be difficult to put into action, but next time you feel this presence speaking to you, I would very much like it if you could figure out what it was saying. I believe it would be extremely useful for my understanding of your psyche, and it may even help you control those you see in your visions.”

It was an undeniably daunting task to ponder over, but I did admit the thoughts I had previously in the morning. “Earlier I did wonder myself what they were trying to say…”

Dr. Prescott smiled as he rested his journal atop the piles of letters on his desk. “That is a perfectly natural response. We are all drawn to mysterious things, horrifying as they may be sometimes. Embrace that, and you will find it is all much less scary than your mind has led you to believe.”

My eyes drifted across the room as I contemplated his advice. I believed it was true that the psyche assumes the worst. Yet no matter how I envisioned it, there was no outcome of cutting through the dark fog around the beings I saw that benefited me… My mind continued to wander nonetheless, ruminating over the creation I had seen in my dreams. Somehow magnificent and horrifying simultaneously. Alien yet entirely familiar… The geometry of its eldritch mass so complicated I could barely recall seeing it rather than just feeling its presence… But unlike its visage, its presence I remembered perfectly…

This feeling caused my hands to grasp the arms of the chair, rubbing across the design at the end. Searching for some sort of sensation to null the feeling of hot breath down my neck. Even when I tried to pull my mind away from the memory, it seemed as though something imprisoned me there. Trapped in hazy reminiscence…

What pulled me from my state was Dr. Prescott, standing from his chair. “Theodore? Theodore Chatwood?”

The shady murk all around me constructed itself back to the doctor’s office. My eyes finally focused on the surroundings once more. Dazed, I responded. “I am here…”

He nodded as he reached into one of the drawers in his desk and retrieved both a vial and a syringe. “That is certainly good. Remember, I do not want you to indulge in this, Theodore. I simply want you to learn what you can. If you fall into the pit, it would be near impossible to get you out.”

I responded as the doctor grew nearer to me, preparing the needle for injection. “I am aware…” What Dr. Prescott spoke about was a subject very familiar to me. My mother and her madness, it was all further down the path I was trapped to. All the same spiraling slope into uncurable psychosis.

But my train of thought was put to rest as the doctor waved at me to extend my arm out. I was very anxious to take my medicine, and all thoughts drifted away as the needle struck through my awaiting limb.

Simply waiting for the relief to take effect, I continued to survey the room as I was previously. Books. Assorted baubles and trinkets. His journal sitting open on his desk. His journal sitting open on his desk…

It was not the journal itself, but the contents of the pages. There were masses of overlapping inky runes. Hieroglyphs nearly covering the entire page in black. Uncanny characters and bizarre murals… My vision was blurring. The drugs began to take their effect. It was crucial to study the paper with more haste…

These runes morphed together to make what seemed like a face. Not of a man, but the outline of something only vaguely humanoid… Something… Surreal…

Then the medication completely took hold of me, blurring my vision entirely. My eyes closed as I inhaled deeply, transitioning into a sudden but deep euphoria.

Bliss.

Once my eyes opened, I saw Dr. Prescott, putting away his belongings. With one hand he closed the drawer my medicine was withheld in, and in the other harbored his journal. Even though my state of being was now much calmer, I still remembered the disturbing image I saw previously. With hesitation, I questioned the doctor. “Could… Could I see your notebook?”

With a modest amount of surprise, Dr. Prescott responded as he continued packing. “And why is that? You know patients are not supposed to see the psychiatrist’s notes.”

With no other strategy to discourse, I merely begged. “Just-… Please.”

With a sigh the doctor opened his journal and showed it to me. The page was filled with various cursive notes. All benign subjects such as my level of energy, a synopsis on my mental health, dependency on the medication. The ink still glistened in the light like it was freshly put on the page. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. After a good moment for inspection, Dr. Prescott spoke. “May I put it back now?”

I nodded as he closed the book and returned to his work. “Sorry. I… Thought I saw something.”

“Oh? What was it?”

There was hesitation from me. On one hand, I wished to speak about what I had just saw. On the other hand, I wished for nothing more than to bask in the feeling of control I had recently reclaimed over my mind. “Nothing…”

Looking back at me, the doctor saw my confliction and dismay. “Alright then. And do not be so apologetic. I want you to be as comfortable as you can. Let your mind rest, Theodore, and do try to get some sleep.” I simply nodded once more in response, letting Dr. Prescott continue. “It is simply your mind not understanding when to cease its primalistic search for threats. Do not be threatened by such things, Theodore. It is all in your mind, you hear me?

All in your mind…”