Paper Cuts

The Doctor's Appointment

I thought since the small paper cuts that I have been receiving all over my body are scaring me to death, Id schedule a doctors appointment. I pick up the phone and dial the number. I hate doctors appointments. . . but I think I was going to have to go at some point since the cuts are getting worse.

    Im shaking. Someone picks up the phone on the other end.

    Hello, this is Dr. Johnsons office, how may I help you?

    Hi, um, Id like to schedule an appointment for myself today.

    Whats the name?

Excuse me?

    Whats your name? For the appointment?

    Ah, yes, I beg my pardon, um, Angela Brooks.

    Is 3:00 P.M. okay, Angela?

    Yes, thank you. I will be right over. I said with a guaranteed tone.

Alright, Mrs. Brooks, we will see you in a half an hour. she said pleasingly.

Miss Brooks.

Excuse me?

My husband died in a work fire 3 years ago. Im a Miss, not a Mrs.

Oh, Im terribly sorry for your loss, Miss Brooks.

Yeah, I am too. . .

Yeah, well, we will see you then.

Thank you.

Yes. Ba-bye now.

"Bye. . .

That was one of the most strangest conversations Ive had since the cuts have been appearing. I think Im getting delusional. Thank, God, for this appointment. If there even is a God. . .

I get in the car and start it. Driving out of my driveway and onto the road, I feel that I soon might not be seeing this house or this neighborhood anymore.

Time passes do to driving

I get out of the car and walk quickly up to the doctors office door, eager to discover what is wrong. I go for the handle of the door and swing it open very fast, when all of a sudden. A man was on the other side of the door as I was opening it. As I pulled the door open he pushed the door open. We abruptly bumped into each other.

Oops! Im so sorry. I said to the strange looking man.

He had a dark, shadowed face and a worker hat on. To be exact, the same business hat that my husband had, and always wore, before he died. The man also had the whole get-up from the business. I took a closer look at him. Identical. Identical to my husband. It cant be. I gasped. I jumped. Im shaking.

Jonathan?

He said nothing as he got caught off guard and suddenly kept walking. This was the first time that I had ever experienced seeing my dead husband. Well, good thing Im at my doctors office so he can see if Im going mad. . .

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Angela Brooks, how are you? my doctor asks.

Im good. . . Actually, Im not. . .

And why is that, Miss Brooks?

Well, I was hoping I could talk to you about something that I have been experiencing. Im scared.

What is it?

I-- I had a slight pause but continued. Ive been having strange things happen to me.

What type of strange things?

Like, I been seeing things and getting feedback, negative feedback. . .

Supernatural appearances and feedback?

No, it cant be. . . How would that be possible?

Its very common, you know? It could be entirely possible in all ways.

But ghosts arent real. . . I say in a voice that is kind of a let-down. He chuckles.

Yes! Though, it is opinionated!    It can be very much so real! he tells me.

Tell me what you call, negative feedback.

Well, Ive been seeing my husband who, as you know, died in a work fire 3 years ago. And ever since I have been seeing him, I get more and more of these-- cuts.

Cuts?

    Yes, like paper cuts.

    Hm, interesting. . . he said with an intriguing, curious voice.

    What? Have you experienced this?

    No, not quite. Though, Ive had patients who have!

    And, what does that mean? You know how to handle these situations? What am I supposed to do? Please help me. . .

Well, I dont wanna freak you out and I know you dont believe in spirits but--

Get on with it!!!

Youll need an exorcism. As soon as he said that, the room got silent between the two of us.

Are you nuts!? Are you trying to kill me?? I said, frightened.

No! Of course not! Im just trying to help you!

HELP ME?!

YES! THATS RIGHT! YOU MAY BE POSSESSED AND I DONT WANT YOU TO DIE! I CARE, ANGELA!

POSSESSED!? YOURE CRAZY!

He hands me a business card. It reads the name of Mr. Charnas and his personal number.

What is this? I complain.

Look Im just trying to help. Think about it. Dial the number. Trust me, Angela.

I looked at him with a look of distress. Then, I walk out of the room. I rush to my car, get in, and drive off. He has got to be insane. . . I just dont understand.