I don't remember exactly when the hallucinations began, but I do remember the first time I was in a ball on the floor crying my eyes out because of all the flames and screams, which apparently only I could see.
My dad found me. I don't know how I would've pulled through if he hadn't been there telling me it would all b okay. That I was going to be fine. That everything would be fine. Afterward, he kept bugging me about seeing a doctor or a psychiatrist or a priest or someone, anyone, who could help me with the horrible images in my mind. At first, I wasn't very keen on the idea. I didn't like the hallucinations, but I didn't like being told I was sick either. I didn't feel sick at all.
But as the hallucinations got increasingly worse, and my dad kept reassuring me that I was just reliving some childhood trauma and any person with a PhD would be able to fix me right up. I finally went in and had a talk with my doctor. He told me it was post-traumatic stress syndrome. That I was experiencing it due to the horrible car crash my parents died in when I was a kid.
He gave me some medicine and the hallucinations went away. And so did my dad.
~I know this one isn't really scary, but I just liked the story, OK? It's my book.~
YOU ARE READING
Don't Get Scared
HorrorSome random creepy stories that I found on Pinterest. I will credit as many as possible, but I can't promise that I will be able to. I am not taking credit for any of these stories, and if they are, I will say at the beginning f the story that it w...
