Horror of Alley Creek

Chapter One: Present

I had never thought of myself as someone who would one day need counseling. Yet here I was, in a counselor's office, trying to figure out what the heck I'm supposed to say to someone who is a stranger.

Note this. It was not my idea to go to therapy; it was my girlfriend Maddison's idea. She thought I could use it after noticing that every time a thunderstorm went through, I would be a little on edge, and then the nightmares that would wake me up every other night didn't help anything.

I had tried to tell her it was nothing, but she knew. It was not nothing. My mind was constantly reliving the incident.

"Mitch, can you think of anything that would be causing these 'nightmares' you and your girlfriend told me about?" Dr. Ann inquired as she crossed her legs and pulled down her skirt, which was way too tight for her build for the sixth time within 30 minutes.

My green eyes narrowed as I thought about what I would say. "I..." I froze for a moment. "I can't think of anything." That was a lie. I knew what would happen if anyone found out the truth. I would be made out like I had lost my mind, or worse. I could lose my job.

Dr. Ann did her best to give a kind smile without showing her yellow-stained teeth. Really, the only expression she gave looked like constipation. I did have to resist the temptation to raise my brow at her. I didn't need her to think I was mentally judging her.

She stood up, her shirt was tucked under a couple of folds below her breast and the middle of her stomach. She pulled her shirt out as she made her way over to her cabinet. Reaching up, she lifted out a blank dark blue journal. "I want you to start writing down how you're feeling in this." She handed me the journal before sitting down in her chair.

I looked through it. I did not enjoy writing much, which I can blame my dy.. jeez, I can't even spell it as I type. Dysgraphia. That's what I'm looking for. No, I don't mean dyslexia. Dysgraphia is different. Still, I didn't give it back to her either. "What if I can't think of anything? Or even figure out how to put down what I'm feeling on the page?"

"Then try to describe it. Like, let's say you're upset at something. Just put down that you are upset that you can't find your keys or something like that," she explained, as though I was a kid. Not surprising though, she was what. 50? So, in perspective, I am young enough to be her kid.

Either that or I am over-estimating how old she is, and she really is treating me like a kid. "Yeah, okay," I finally say as I try to readjust the sling that's keeping my left arm in place.

She glanced down at her rose gold wristwatch, which was snug around her thick wrist. "Very good. Well, let's reschedule for next week, and I will see you then." She typed into her computer the days she was available. "How about next week on Thursday at one?" she kept her gaze on the computer as she waited for a response.

"I should be available that day," I replied, standing up from the chair.

She moved her gaze from her computer to me. "I will see you next week, then. Have a good rest of your day, Mitch." Dr. Ann looked back down at her computer without another word.

I gave a quick smile before pulling my dark grey jacket from the chair and pulling my right arm in one sleeve and covering my arm that was in the sling.

Outside of the office, it was cloudy. One glance up and I knew it would probably rain. 'Great.' I muttered to myself as I reconsidered my decision to walk to therapy that day instead of driving, which would have been a waste of gas when the office was so close to mine and Maddison's house.

I passed by a few people on the street as they rushed by, going to various places. A few, however, stopped me as I walked by.

"Hey!" a young girl who was probably in her early 20s shouted as she ran back over to me. "I recognize you." She stated as she made sure I had stopped walking.