The Beast Made of Ink

Chapter 10: The Wish

-Your P.O.V.-

Your head was going a million miles an hour as your eyes finally adjusted to the dim lighting of the room. Looking around, you saw that you were now in the center of the pentagram.

Your eyes practically popped out of your sockets as you shot your body up off the ground, shivers that were crawling all around your body beginning their slow decease. Hopping out of the circle, you went back to grab your axe at the doorway in which you entered through, only to find that it wasn't there.

Confused, you shot your head around till you saw that the axe had somehow ended up upright against one of the coffins. You could feel another shiver crawl up your spine with the knowledge that somebody must've been in here, in this very room, with you.

"Oh god, don't tell me they watched me sleep" You thought to yourself horrified. That would just be way too creepy.

Actually, what was more creepy than the idea of somebody watching you sleep was that dream you just had. It bothered you to no end that you couldn't seem to remember what happened in it, but you knew it was a disturbing one.

You woke up shivering, and it wasn't from the cold. You only get those shivers from nightmares, meaning that this dream must've been a bad one.

With a somewhat forced sigh in hopes of calming your nerves, you slid your hand into your pocket, reminding you of your empty Xanax bottle. You could feel yourself pause in your steps as a sudden memory played back in your head.

.........

"PTSD?" You questioned the therapist nervously.

The psychiatrist who sat across from you nodded her head solemnly.

"Yes. It seems that your Great-Uncle's death caused you to develop post traumatic stress disorder." She explained to you. You could feel your hands become even more clammy than prior.

"Wouldn't it have developed sooner though?" You questioned, making the psychiatrist shake her head back and forth.

"Post traumatic stress disorder is not always instant. In many people, it can take years to develop. It seems like his death triggered panic in your mind similar that you had during your childhood, along with remembrance of many of the events that had occurred in your past."

Swallowing deeply, you brought your face up to meet the therapists eyes. With a shaky sigh, you asked her a question that you oh so desperately needed answers to. "How... how long will I have it?" You stumbled out.

Your gaze was met with a sympathetic one.

"I cannot tell you. It's different for every person. I'm sorry."

.........

It was shortly after that when you were prescribed Xanax. You took 1 to 2 milligrams of Xanax as needed depending on the panic attack severity. However, that dose was recently increased due to your major depressive episode as 2.5 to 3 milligrams as needed. You've always had your generalized anxiety, but PTSD... Well, it's new to you.

Shaking the bad thoughts out of your head and grasping the axe in your dominant hand, you approached the door. Turning the doorknob to open it, you found that although the knob turned, the door didn't budge. It was as if something was blocking it from the outside.

Before you were able to make sense of it, a familiar and deep voice echoed through the wood. You recognized that voice, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't pinpoint where you've heard it before.