text: The droning of insects and the chirping of birds joined the general buzz of activity that filled the area. Children dashed around after balls or frisbees. A dog or two could be seen playing with their owners. The smell of grass and the occasional wisp of flowers were on the breeze. Sunlight warmed the area and all who occupied it. All-in-all it was a lovely day at the park. Derrick sat on a bench, people watching, marveling in the normalcy. He had been having a good week. Work has been going well. There were weekend plans with a friend to look forward to. He was healthy. Best of all, he hadn't had a single episode all month. "A good Wednesday," he whispered. Pushing the last bite of a sandwich into his mouth. Lunch was almost over and he needed to be getting back. *Maybe I finally got the right meds*, he thought wryly. *Only took them 25 years*. He would talk it over with his therapist this afternoon. That was for later, work was for now. Standing up he was off. It was only a few blocks from the park to his destination. A large 25 story apartment building. It was easily seen from the park where he had lunch. He clicked his badge back onto his belt as he reached the entrance. He worked for the building's owner, doing maintenance. Keeping the pipes clean and the lights on. He was good at it. It was lucky he had found a person willing to employ someone with his condition. It had taken him most of his 6 month tenure here for him to settle in, to feel confident in his work uniform. Some, including a few members of his family, thought manual beneath them. He had shared that attitude for too long. Denying the peace that fixing something, making it work again, brought him. It was the only time he felt normal. Flashing his badge to the security officer; he was let in. The building was located next to a prominent school and not too far from multiple offices. That attracted wealthy people. More than a few well-off families made their homes here. The price of even some of the lower end apartments made his eyes bulge. Luckily he had a space provided for him. His apartment, if you could call it that, was in the basement. It was small, bordering on cramped. To him, it was just less room to maintain. The last thing you wanted to do after spending all day fixing other people's problems was come home to do more of the same. The basics were all he needed, and he had them. He enjoyed the solitude. Plus, there was a small office next to the living space for him to work. As he entered the office area, he noticed the phone on his desk. There was a small light flashing on it. He had messages, and that meant work. Taking a seat he picked up the receiver and took notes. Some supplies he needed had finally been ordered. That was good news; he had waited a week now. There was a leaky faucet on floor 18, and something about graffiti on floor 10. He noted the date of the order before heading out. Stop at floor 10 to check the unwanted artwork. Then go to floor 18 to see what was wrong, and what parts he would need. The halls were empty this time of day. Anyone who came home for lunch would have returned to work by now. That was perfectly fine with him. Nobody to get under foot, or to ask him silly questions. He stepped into a waiting elevator, and up he went. The elevator dinged and he stepped out, floor 10. There was a small lobby on each floor, brightly lit and inviting. This one was no exception. Halls branched off to the left and right. He set off to the right, his eyes on the walls. He hadn't been told where the graffiti was, but that wasn't a problem. The halls made a large square. The apartments were on the outside of the building, so each one had a view. The infrastructure, like wires and the elevators, were in the center of the building. The walls were finely painted, and the carpets thick. Both were immaculate. The apartment had a whole separate cleaning crew. Well polished brass light fixtures hung from the ceilings, and there were paintings on the walls. This was a luxury apartment complex, and it showed. He was expected to help maintain the image of prestige. He rounded a corner. The first thing he noticed was this hall, unlike the others, was not empty. A solitary man stood sideways in the center of the hall, his eyes fixed to the wall in front of him. His clothes, a button up shirt and slacks, marked him as a businessman. *Great*, he groaned internally. *Somebody saw it before I could take care of it.* "I'm sorry Sir," he called out. He quickened his pace towards the man. "I will take care of the problem, no need..." He trailed off as he got near. No answer was given. The man stared blankly at the wall in front of him. His body was rigid, unmoving. His eyes still fixed on the wall, didn’t blink. He followed the man's gaze. The wall was covered by a large black splotch. It looked as if somebody had opened a can of paint and threw it on the wall. However, the ceiling and the floor were spotless. Only one section of the wall was stained. No drips or drops could be seen around the main body of the graffiti. "What the hell?" he gawked. "Do you see it?" the man whispered. "Yes Sir," he answered, trying to be reassuring. "I see it. It will be taken care of. I will clean it. Don't worry, by tomorrow it will be..." "DO YOU SEE IT!" the man's voice shook as he screamed. Derrick stumbled back a step. The man hadn't moved, but his limbs began shaking. Tendons started to pop out from his clenched hands. His neck swelled as he clenched his jaw. His eyes stretched open wide. Pupils whirling in their sockets as it tried to take in every inch of the blotch. "I can see it, I see it now," the man cooed. "Show me more, give me more." His eyes shifted back towards the wall. The graffiti was dripping now. Long black lines ran down the wall, pooling onto the floor. "It wasn't dripping before..." he started before cutting off. The mass of paint shifted. It started to swirl, spiraling into itself. The edges fuzzed, and the line between the wall and the stain blurred. Tendrils of black sludge started coming out, extending into the room. Jerking their way forwards, struggling to come into existence. The strange man lifted his trembling arm, reaching out to them. "No, no, no," Derrick whined, taking more steps back. The appendages continued to force their way into reality, twisting as they lurched out. They waved towards the men, beckoning them forward. The man pitched forward, his arm outstretched, touching one. Instantly it wrapped around him and pulled. His whole body coming off the ground as he was drawn into the black inky void. A joyous smile spread across his face as he vanished. Fear welled up in the now lone man in the hall; he spun and ran. All thoughts of his job and duties forgotten. The walls and lights became a flickering blur as he dashed away. He frantically smashed the button on the elevator, sweat dripping off his brow as he waited for it to come. He forced his way in even before the doors were finished opening. His fingers pressing the floor one button over and over. Eventually the doors closed and he huddled himself into a corner. "It's not real," he rocked himself back and forth, arms wrapped around his shoulders. "It's not real." The ping caused his head to snap up. The doors opened and he dashed out. A crowd of professionally dressed people stood in front of his path. He pushed through them, knocking into a young woman, who yelped in surprise. He muttered an apology keeping his eyes down, fearing to look at anyone too closely. The outside doors grew larger in front of him; he stumbled his way out. The sidewalks were filled with people. It didn't matter where he looked, someone filled his vision. He tried not to focus on them knowing what he would see, heads and limbs distorted into dark monstrous shapes. Void like faces twitched unnaturally, jerking left and right. Overly long arms, or warped legs dragged along the ground. Occasionally one lashed out at a passerby. Passing through their body, and leaving a slimy residue behind. Every person he saw had something wrong with their body. A corrupted part of them shining out in the afternoon sun. He glanced up only as necessary. Shuffling along trying to avoid everyone, flinching anytime he bumped or was bumped. He had never gotten used to this. His whole life had been this off and on nightmare. Kids in school with no faces. Teachers with tentacle-like arms caressing his back as he cried in horror. He would curl into a tighter ball as they tried to comfort him. It had never gotten better. *I had been doing so well*, he lamented, as he wrapped his arms around his hunched shoulders. *I was free for a month, that was longer than ever. Why now?* He traveled as fast as he dared, struggling to avoid any person he came across. Block after block passed as he went. Not far now, only a few more streets, he would be safe. A familiar building came into view. A squat structure, compared to its surroundings. A small sign hung above the door stating its name. New Horizons Counseling, his sanctuary. He made his way in quickly. The small waiting area was empty. No secretary sat behind the counter on the side of the room. Walking around it, he walked down the short hallway. Three doors were in front of him. One on each wall to the right and left, and one at the end of the hall. The door to his right had a small light fixture above it. It was dark. He knocked on that door. "Yes," came a calm, feminine voice. "Ms. Whitelock," he called. "It's Derrick." "Derrick? One moment." He waited, seconds stretched by. The wait seemed like hours. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he began to wring his hands. Eventually, the door pulled open. A tall, shapely blonde woman appeared in front of him. Her tailored pant suit fit her well. Long hair was tied back into some form of intricate braid. Black eyes looked confidently over her guest. Like always, her very presence made him feel somewhat shabby. "Mr. Fletcher, you are about," she looked down at her wrist and the watch located there. "Two and a half hours early. Given your appearance, it is safe to assume something has happened." "Yes," he said, stepping in. She placed a hand on his arm stopping him. "You know the rules Mr. Fletcher." "Yes Ma'am, sorry. May I come in?" "Of course. Please, sit," Her hand came off of his arm. She stepped to one side and pulled the door open farther. He scurried in. The room was standard fare. A dimly lit comfortable space. The walls were a light blue, a few drawings and paintings decorated them. A large mirror hung on one wall. A couch and a comfortable looking chair sat in the center of the room. A bubble of light cast by the ceiling fan housed its occupants. He glanced at the slightly shadowed corners as he sat on the edge of the couch. Was that one darker than the other? Was that one moving? Sarah Whitelock, his therapist, walked calmly over to the mirror. She looked into it for several moment before speaking. "So, why have you come in so early today?" Her voice pulled his eyes towards her. "It happened again..." he muttered, lowering his head. "You don't need to be ashamed, Mr. Fletcher," she turned from the mirror and took a seat in the chair. Picking up a notepad and pen that rested on the cushion before she sat down. "Speak up and let me know what is going on." "I had another episode," he made an effort to sit up straighter and speak more clearly. "I was at work, and there was this painting, graffiti really, it came alive. It reached for me..." "I see. Please, go on," she began taking notes. "There was a man, He was grabbed by it and pulled in." "You have spoken previously about other people being affected by your hallucinations." "Not like this. He wanted it to take him," Derrick started to rock back and forth on the couch. "He asked it to. He begged for it to 'Show him more.'" "Interesting," Sarah's head slowly turned to look at him. Her focus now solely on her patient. "So this man saw what you saw, and engaged with it?" "Yes, but it's always been passive before. Nobody but me ever seemed to notice these things. I thought I was getting better, but this," he grabbed his hair in clenched fists. "It's getting worse, I'm getting worse, right?" "We don't' know that yet. It is far too early to jump to any conclusions." "But..." "I don't like to interrupt my patients. However, I am sometimes forced to do so. You are, understandably, distraught. Don't jump to a verdict on yourself too quickly," her eyes returned to her notepad. "This sort of thing can change as one ages, or with medication. Sometimes things get worse before they get better. We don't know what is happening yet." "I suppose," what she said made sense. "It's just so terrifying." "Just remember. Everything you are seeing isn't real. It's a figment of your imagination." "Yes Ma'am. It's not real," he took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. "It's not real." They talked for another hour, going over details. He explained everything that led up to the event, and his feelings during. It was uncomfortable, but he pushed through it. Eventually he let it all out. Reliving every moment of that horrific event. By the end he was tired and emotionally drained. A familiar empty feeling welled up inside of him. It always did after his therapy sessions. He did not enjoy talking about his issues. "We made a lot of progress today," Ms. Whitelock smiled, pleased. "The more we talk about this the better an understanding I gain." "I just want it to stop." "Eventually Mr. Fletcher, these things take time." He heaved himself to his feet, struggling to stand up straight. Shoulders slumped unconsciously as he considered what to do next. He would have to call his boss and explain his absence. Most likely he would be working overtime to make it up. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I'm sorry I barged in." "That is quite alright. I am here for all in need. I am just glad I was available to help." "Remember," she continued as she escorted him to the door. "Keep going. Don't hide from your feelings. Let them fill you and then let them out. I will always be here to listen." "Thank you," he gushed, stepping back out into the hall. "You are a real lifesaver." "Anytime," she then walked him to the exit and saw him out with a smile. The streets were not quite as busy as before, but there were still a few people walking. They looked normal. No black, no sludge, no odd limbs, just regular humans going about their day. Just like after all his earlier sessions, things had gone back to normal. He sighed in relief. Rolling his shoulders to try to banish his fatigue he took a step forward, then stopped. In his haste he had forgotten. They almost always set up their next meeting at the end of the current session. He turned and reopened the door. The waiting room beyond was different. It *felt* wrong somehow, even though it remained unchanged. He crept past the desk and down the hall. He didn’t feel better anymore. He didn’t feel welcome anymore. The door on his right seemed to mock him with it's normality. His hand shook as he reached out to turn the knob. The door cracked open silently. Before he could voice his presence, his throat locked closed. He caught a glimpse in the mirror. Ms. Whitelock stood facing a shadowed corner. Towering above her was a slender cloaked figure. Its shoulders were bent so they didn’t touch the ceiling, it's head held parallel to the floor. Large hands hung off of overly long arms. Clawed fingers idly picked at the carpet. He couldn't make out how many fingers were on each hand, but it was more than five. He was about to burst in, worried for his therapist. That is until she turned. Her face, reflecting off the mirror, was black. A mass of writhing tendrils grasps at the air. They seemed to stretch out in all directions. Trying to find something; as if tasting the very air surrounding her. He let go of the knob and turned. His eyes wide, his muscles now stiff with adrenaline. He snuck out. Lungs burned as he began to hyperventilate. “It’s not real,” he whispered to the afternoon sun. “It’s never real.” \ Sarah Whitelock glanced over at her door. It was cracked open. She shrugged. It must not have latched when she returned after Derrick left. She returned her attention to the shadowed room. Her attention now focused on her next visitor.