Sitting Alone

Melissa Daemons sat in the restaurant alone. Other people occupying the tables were smiling, laughing; being happy. But, she, she was not. She had done what her mother wanted her to do. She took the family company from her own brother’s fingers. She was supposed to be feeling proud — powerful.  Yet, something told her deep down in her gut, that it was not the right thing to do. It was wrong. And she knew it, even at the time she did it, but went through with it anyways. Now she had to suffer with the consequences.

She took a swished of the bitter wine and placed it back on the table. Melissa pursed her lips in a sour face. Why did she order that brand? She did not know. She had a great dislike for it’s flavor the moment she had tasted it. Disgusting, was what it was — all it was. There was nothing pleasant about it.

As if noticing her great distaste, the waiter came to her table, almost immediately. “Anything else?” He asked. He was a young boy, maybe even Alen’s age. Messy blonde hair, and blue eyes. He wore a smile that was playful, yet still could pass as mature. He was cute, she thought. Perhaps, if it was another day, she would have asked him to her place.

But today was not that day.

“No,” she told him, putting a fake smile on her face. It felt foreign on her lips. “I’ll take the bill.” He dipped his head and went towards another table, picking up some dirty dishes. Her smile dropped, along with her gaze that went back to the sour wine. She smacked her lips together. What a horrible day it had been. She would be surprised if she did not go to Hell for this. But, then and again, she never considered herself religious.

“Ah, Alen, what have I done?” Melissa muttered to herself, as she stared into the wine glass. It’s dark red color reminded her of drying blood. She shook her head slightly. Why did her mind always resort to dark thoughts? “You probably hate me now. Actually…you must have always hated me. I would not blame you for either…” Her words seemed to get lost in the glass.

The waiter came back with the bill moments later. “Thank you,” he told her, placing it on the table. She only nodded, not even trying to pull a smile across her face. She pulled a pen from her purse and went to do the tip. On the top of the bill, she noticed, was a phone number scribbled in blue ink.

She could have almost laughed. “Funny,” she said to herself. “How very funny.” She wrote down the numbers and left enough cash to pay the guy double his tip. She was so generous, she thought. Rarely, her mind replied back.

That, gave her a sour taste in her mouth. It was like the wine’s flavor had remained on her lips.

You Shouldn’t Do That

A small, concealed box sat in the middle of the table. It only a few inches bigger than Tom Middleton’s own hands. His eyes were fixated on it, staring. He could feel them drying out, but he didn’t blink as he normally would. He had to watch that box. He had to keep an eye on it. Who knows what could be in it. Something dangerous could be in there.

Something horrible.

“Tom,” Dr. Farris said. He sat across from Tom, his legs crossed. A notebook was propped on his knees, and a pen in his left hand. He wore a gray sweater and jeans, with a wide-rimmed pair of glasses set on the bridge of his nose. He was looking at Tom, his eyebrows raised only a little. “Are you ready?”

Tom looked up at him for a moment, before bringing his gaze back to the box. “What’s in there?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Dr. Farris replied coolly. “What matters, is if you are ready. Are you?”

“Yes.” Tom said, hesitant, his voice shaky. He could feel his palms starting to sweat, and he automatically went to scratch the top of his right shoulder — a habit he only did while nervous.

“Open the box, then.” Tom inches his hands over the box. He slowly picked it up in his hands and brought it to his lap. He went to pry the lid off the tops. His hands shook at each movement, and his legs the same. The box looked as if it was in a earthquake. “Remember, Tom,” Dr. Farris spoke up. “If you feel the need to calm down, start to count from 100 backwards. We’ve gone through this before.” Tom slowly nodded. He pulled the lid of the box off.

He almost screamed.

Instead, he made a high squeaking sound, raising his hands near his face. He froze at the sight of what was in the box. Spiders. At least a dozen of them — all crawling around in the box. “D-dr. Farris…” He stuttered. “I-I…” In his eyes, were the image of pure horror.

“You can do this, Tom,” was all the doctor told him. He wrote a few notes in the notebook, studying Tom’s reaction with a hard expression. “All our other sessions have been for this moment, Tom. You can do this.”

Tom swallowed. “I-I can do it.” His whole body was shaking.

“Now, Tom, listen closely,” Dr. Farris paused. “I want you to do something, and you can do it, understand?” Tom nodded, his mouth clenched. His bottom lip was trembling, his brows furrowed with uncertainty. “I want you to pour the spiders on your lap.”

“W-what?” Tom gasped. “Doctor, I can’t — I can’t do that! No…no, I won’t do it. Please!” His voice was a loud, and desperate plead. DR. Farris made no indication he heard him. The other man rubbed his chin with his right hand, and wrote something down with his left.

“Tom, do it.”

“No…please,” Tom begged. “P-please.” Tears started to appear at the corner of his eyes. Dr. Farris pretended to ignore it.

“Do it,” he urged. “Now.”

Tom whimpered, but said no more. He took the box up and tilted it sideways, pouring out all the spiders. They landed on his lap and crawled all over him. Tom’s body shook harder. His legs were fidgeting, and his eyes staring down at the spiders with fear. His hands were tightly pressed to his sides, so they couldn’t shake anymore than they already were.

“Good job, Tom,” Dr. Farris said after a few moments. “I will set the timer for two minutes. Can you do that?” Tom whimpered in response. The doctor took out his phone and started a timer. It started to tick.

“D-doctor,” Tom tried to say. There was a spider starting to crawling up his face. It stopped at his cheek. He shut his eyes tightly. “D-doctor, please, I c-can’t…”

“One and a half minutes, Tom. One and a half minutes.” Dr. Farris told him. Tom’s head shook. The spider moved up to above his eyes, almost on his forehead. It’s legs tickled his skin. He tried to hold the cringe he felt in his throat. The spider went down his face, and then on to his nose. It looked as if it was staring right at him, with every single one of it’s eyes.
Tom screamed.

He stood up and shook around, brushing off every inch of his body. The spiders that were once one him, went flying everywhere. The doctor said nothing. Tom then ran out of the room, the door slammed behind him. The doctor wrote another few words on his notebook and closed it.

He then snapped his fingers. All the spiders starting to move in different areas of the room disappeared. Dr. Farris covered his mouth with a hand.

He laughed.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” a voice suddenly said from the door. He glanced over to see his daughter leaning against the door-frame. She must have opened the door without his notice. Her hair brushed against the door, her eyes blazing with annoyance. “It wasn’t very nice, father.”

“I’ve never been nice.” He said back with a small smile.

“It still wasn’t right, and you know it,” she said bitterly. The young girl walked into the room and sat in the exact place Tom was only a few minutes before. “When will you finally quit this?”

“Quit what?” Dr. Farris asked, propping a hand to his face.

“You know quite well what I mean,” her eyes narrowed. “These stupid games you play with poor, innocent people! They don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, Ariana,” the doctor said. “Can’t you see? It’s just so much fun. Don’t you understand that? Why would I stop.”

“Because it’s wrong.”

“Everything’s wrong if you get right down to it,” he said back. He waved his hands around the room, “Doing this, could barely be considered wrong by other horrible things people have done.”

“You traumatized him.” She spat. “He came to a psychiatrist for help, and you made it worst!” She stood up abruptly, and turned towards the door. As she went to leave, she said, “And, father, you might not seem to care now, but I do. I will stop it, if you won’t.”

“And how would you do that?” Dr. Farris inquired. He looked at her like he was watching an amusing show.

“The same way you got rid of mother.” She slipped past the door without another word. Dr. Farris watched her go, wordlessly, and with a wide grin on his face.