Forest

Chapter Two

Waiting in the elevator, with a couple of other people, I listened to the music playing through my earbuds. I'm sometimes a socially awkward person, and awkward silence weirds me out. That's a symptom, or sign of PTSD, from my childhood. Partially my parents death, but also the various foster parents who didn't really care for me. Eyeing the digital number above the elevator doors, I've reached my floor. Awkwardly scooching past the other people, I stepped onto the third floor of the hospital, where the therapists work. Not taking my earbuds out, I walked up to the receptionists desk, "I'm here to see Dr. Billmoore."
The receptionist tapped on her keyboard a couple times, I didn't need to take my earbuds out to know what she asked, "Has any of your information changed?" Giving her a small smile, I shook my head. "Ok, have a seat." She returned my small smile. Holding my wallet in my lap, I messed with the fraying edge of one of the corners. It's been a couple months since I've talked about my nightmares to Dr. Billmoore, but there weren't any differences, not until now. I watched the door where the doctors come out and call out their patients' names. I was a few minutes early, because of my shower I didn't get here as early as I'd have liked to. It wasn't long, Dr. Billmoore pushed open the door, holding a clipboard in his hand, I imagine with a fresh piece of paper for writing down our conversation. "Mavelynn?" He asked, looking at his clipboard.
Taking my earbuds out, I went ahead and got the formalities out of the way, "Hi, doctor, how are you?"
"I'm good, how've you been?" He asked, leading me back to his office
Still fiddling with the edge of my wallet, I answered, "I've had a development in my nightmare. A new one."
Dr. Billmoore raised his eyebrows, "Really? That's interesting, we haven't talked about your nightmare in a couple months."
My lips pulled tight in a strange smile, "Yeah, I know, I thought maybe they were gone. I think you'll find it interesting, though."
Dr. Billmoore gestured for me to walk into his office first, using his clipboard to point. Dr. Billmoore is a believer in the Night-Walkers, he's never had an interaction with them like I have, in fact no one has. No ones seen a Night-Walker. Not even the local Moniquoi Tribe has. Many of their members have died due to the Night-Walkers, the tribe even has a dedicated group within the tribe to hunt the Night-Walkers. Everytime they return, from what I've heard in stories, they either haven't made contact with one, or the entire hunting froup dies.
Sitting on the stiff cough, Dr. Billmoore sat across from me in his big circle chair. "Let's start with the dream, what's different?" He asked, pen poised for writing.
"Everything starts out the same, the scratching noises, the door burst open, you know," Retelling the memory, now nightmare, out loud still makes me nervous. Taking a breath, "I open the door, just enough to peek out, there's the big Night-Walker, walking up the steps," Recalling the dream, it still deeply unnerved me, remembering the eyes of the smaller Night-Walker, it's smell, like fresh dirt and petrichor. "Only this time," I explained, I could feel the perplexed look on my face, and Dr. Billmoore mirrored it, "When I closed the door, you know?" Dr. Billmoore nodded his head, letting me know he remembers from previous tellings, "I reopened the door, do you remember how I told you there was like a black mist when I opened the door, but it was eye level with me?"
"I remember." Dr. Billmoore stated out loud
"Ok," Breathing, those gray, glowing eyes sent a small wave of chills through me, "It wasn't a black mist this time. It was a Night-Walker. It had eyes that were almost glowing, they were gray, almost white. It smelled like the woods. I always thought I closed the door, the second time, after watching the big Night-Walker go into my parents room. It wasn't me, I didn't close the door, the second Night-Walker did. It closed the door in front of me." Taking in a sharp, nervous breath, "This Night-Walker was inches away from my face, Doctor. It wasn't as big as the other one though, the brown one, the one that killed my parents, it was massive!" I used my hands to gesture a large motion, "This one, it was eye level with me, and it was on all fours."
Dr. Billmoore wrote down ever word, and probably ever pause I took, too. "Astonishing." Setting his clipboard down on the table, "Would you mind going back to that moment?" He asked
"Return? To the moment of my parents deaths?" I asked, making sure I heard Dr. Billmoore correctly.
"Yes, but the moments before, not after." Dr. Billmoore further explained, "There is a way to sort of sort through whether or not this is a memory, or a figment of your imagination interjecting itself into your dreams, or nightmare. It's called R.E.M. Eye Therapy. Sometimes its even E.M.D.R. Eye movement and desensitization and reprocessing therapy. This therapy is used frequently to help a person focus on a traumatizing moment, some help reprocess the brain, so the brain feels differently about the moment, or even ultimately forgets the trauma." Dr. Billmoore stated, he turned an eyebrow upward, "I think this method could help you, and me, understand if the second Night-Walker was actually there, or not."
"Is it hard to do? The eye therapy?" I asked
Dr. Billmoore shook his head, "No, not at all. It's sort of like a hypnosis, it works for some people, others don't go into the expected dazed state a professional looks for. All we need is a metronome, and for you to follow my pen with your eyes."
"Ok, yeah, sure." I let out a long puff of air
Dr. Billmoore rose from his chair, on a shelf near his desk, he picked up a metronome. Setting the machine down onto the coffee table between us, he sat back down, settling into his seat. "Let's find out if the second Night-Walker is real." Pulling a fancy pen from his jacket pocket, starting the metronome, "Listen to the sound," He instructed in a calm, monotone voice, slowly moving the pen from left to right in front of himself, "Only using your eyes, follow my pen."

"Welcome back," Dr. Billmoore greeted me, his hands folded on top of the clipboard that went from the table, to his lap, without me noticing.
Shaking my head lightly, "So? Did it work?"
"It did. The second Night-Walker is not a figment of your imagination, but real. Apparently it even spoke to you, which you didn't mention earlier." Dr. Billmoore explained.
"It spoke?" I asked, confused, out of all of the rumors and fairy tales about Night-Walkers, none of them have ever said that they're capable of speaking, or mimicking human speech.
"Yes." Dr. Billmoore flipped the top page on his clipboard, reading, "It said to you, 'be quiet, I won't hurt you. Hide.' Then at this point it closed the door."
"Why don't I remember the Night-Walker speaking in my dream?" I asked
Dr. Billmoore removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I have no idea why you would block that piece of information out. Maybe your brain decided you weren't ready for it yet?" Sliding his glasses back on, "There's a few guesses I have, but that would be my best guess. I don't think anybody would be ready for a Night-Walker to speak english."
Shaking my head, I was astonished, there were not just one, but two Night-Walkers. I survived and there were two of them inside of my house. One of them purposely closed my bedroom door, and it spoke to me?! "Jesus," I whispered.
"It's certainly a lot to take in." Dr. Billmoore stated, then offered, "We can end the session here if you would like? To process what we've learned today, or we can continue, and touch base a little on your experiences in the fostering system. It's up to you."
Leaning back against the couch, the nervous picking at my wallet has long since ceased, "Uh, what about my foster families?"
"We've talked a little about them, but never in detail. Could we start with the first family?" He asked
Rubbing my head, still in awe about the information I'd just received, mindlessly answering, "My first home, it was with the Tulmans." I started, "I was ten, they were the family I was placed with immediately after my parents." I slowly let my mind shift gears, from Night-Walkers to the Tulmans. "At first they seemed nice, they had a couple kids of their own, biological children." I further explained, "After, um, about six months, things took a turn. They started keeping me home from school, they started leaving me at the house alone while they took their other kids out to town. Then they stopped feeding me as much, eventually they moved me to the basement of the house. They told me they wanted to give me my own space, since I was the oldest of all the kids." I anxiously pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. "I soon found out that they didn't put me in the basement for my own good, but so they could forget about me. They continued to collect a check, the school believed some bullshit lies, and I came very close to dying. No matter how long they had starved me, though, I wouldn't die?" I paused, chewing on my thumb nail, "That part has never made sense to me. I should have died, the doctors said that when I went to the hospital. I didn't, though. My body, I guess, wasn't ready to go."
"You said you think your body wasn't ready to go?" Dr. Billmoore repeated what I'd just said, "Was your mind ready to just lay down and go to sleep, to never wake up again?"
"I don't know, I never really thought about it. Surely I must have wanted to live, I remember being really grateful for surviving." I answered.
"Out of the six families, which one treated you the worst?" Dr. Billmoore asked, taking small notes on his clipboard.
"The Newbon family. They were a perfect family, if you were on the outside looking in. They were my third family. I was physically beaten, emotionally abused, made to work and clean to a degree that broke both mind and body." I answered vaguely. My emotions were turning off. The Newbon family were monsters, I'd dare say even more monstrous than the Night-Walkers.
"How about at our next session, we talk about them, then? We've barely scratched the surface of your history with any of you foster families." Dr. Billmoore suggested, nodding my head, I felt a little funny. I felt sort of empty. Dr. Billmoore opened his office door for me, "Just go ahead and schedule your next appointment before you leave." Dr. Billmoore advised, "I'll see you next time. Have a good rest of your day." He smiled a polite smile, I returned the same politeness. At the receptionists desk I set up my next appointment, put my earbuds back in, and left the building.