Enamored

CRAZY?

"I know a doctor."

[name]'s first mistake was trusting what Helen had to say. Knowing a doctor from Helen's position didn't exactly mean they were a sane doctor, and [name] had to sit there knowing this fact. She wanted to do some digging before painting the picture of the killer that he had in mind (both literally and figuratively).

Searching up, Creepypasta Doctor did not exactly help his case.

Doctor Smiley was the result that came up multiple times, with different images portraying the, presumably, human male. Tall, black hair, pale skin. [name] noticed many different ways people drew him; sometimes with a surgical mask, others without the mask, and with dark, red eyes instead.

[name] narrowed her eyes and tapped the Wiki page while shifting in the chair in the kitchen. There wasn't any origin on this character's page, and his whole personality screamed sadistic psychopath. The main image on the right was one she had seen while scrolling listlessly through the images of Doctor Smiley. Black, messy hair with black where the whites of his eyes were supposed to be and red irises. His doctor's uniform was decorated with a large amount of bright, red blood while he grinned like nothing was wrong.

Was this the kind of doctor she wanted lingering around her home?

If Helen was here, she'd stare at him with disappointment, but he had disappeared hours ago and she had just now looked up the doctor he was referring to.

Dr. Smiley welcomes death, and urges his patients to embrace it, [name] read, her grimace becoming all the more permanent, he lures in sick people with the promise of free treatment.

"Free treatment," [name] huffed in amusement. If only it was that simple. She scanned the rest of his short background, sighed, and turned off her phone.

That was enough worrying for today.

Yet, as [name] placed her phone on the counter, thoughts that came into her head like colors and images caused her fingers to twitch. The instinct to have a brush in her hand to portray the ideas that swarmed her was absolutely overwhelming. It didn't sit right with her, feeling this much inspiration dawn on her after reading about a doctor who tricked sick people to cut them open while they lay awake, strapped to a table.

[name] could imagine it, feeling cool metal burn against her back as a knife or scalpel pierced her belly. There was no pain in that imagination of hers, but she could feel the warmth of blood spilling from that wound, beading first, then soaking her skin.

She quickly shook free of these thoughts before they could become any darker and slowly pushed herself off of the chair and onto her feet. Outside, the orange rays of the sun seeped through the blinds that shielded the windows that looked out to her backyard. She would need more if she didn't want to be looked upon by that tall, faceless creature. [name] never knew when it was watching her, only when it was around; because the static that followed it never went away.

Speaking of which, her steps faltered when she found herself being drawn to her studio, an invisible pull tugging on her legs, harder on her injured one which forced a small, pitiful whimper from her lips. She was being suffocated by the order to come, the order to listen. To obey.

Obey.

Obey.

Obey if you don't want to be hurt. Obey if you do not want to be killed.

[name] would obey. Her steps quickened across the floor, placing too much force on her tender foot at times that caused the tears that she forced herself to keep back to fall. An invisible hand on the back of her throat now, a silent message as she yanked the door open.