The Little Things: Parts One and Two

I strap on my belt as I clear my throat, the phlegm the morning usually brings up going back down into it...or my lungs. The throat is better than the lungs, I can tell you that much from experience. Grabbing my badge from my dresser I give my head a good shake. Back and forth, up and down. With a quick twist of my neck to the left it pops slightly, and I find the tension that had built up overnight relieve with it. Got a new case today. Some idiot came by the station earlier in the mornin' I guess, 'bout some time 'tween four thirty...quarter to five. Kept rambling 'bout some stupid sleep experiment that went 'horribly wrong'. His words supposedly, not mine. Said something else about somethin' bein' there with 'im. Worse, the guy's a psychiatrist. Either he went crack-pot crazy or was a quack to begin with. Either way's fine with me, so long as he didn't cause any injury or deaths. By the sound of it, nothing happened. That's good and bad in a way. In other words, if no one got hurt, why the hell did he think he needed to alert us about it? I don't mind personally, that's part of my job. Just don't come to me blabberin' that your cat crawled its way up a tree. I don't take those calls. 'Take them to the fire station up the road,' I usually say. Pillow fights are another concern altogether, so I'm hoping it isn't that. His type going to us about some slumber party gone wrong might not look so good for his resumé come hirin' time.

No, as long as he don't spill his beans to the media, I'm fine with just about anything he has to say. If he does go to the media, the department'll have a lotta pressure seeing to it that the experiment is fully investigated. How the heel we're supposed to investigate some yahoo's sleep experiment is beyond my ability, I can tell you that much. I have a feelin' he may have already gone to the press with whatever god-awful evidence he has. I grab my favorite cowboy hat from its hanger to the left of my front door on my way out. Placing the tattered beige thing on my head I sigh and rub my forehead.

Though...the more I think on it...that's not very likely. Nah...these guys usually like keepin' most things hush-hush. I grumble out a curse, grab my front door's handle and turn it. Giving the oak a good push, I send it flying open and step out onto my porch. Bending my neck left and right, I hear it crack some more as I let the morning light shine down on me. I blink and look up at the sky. No clouds today. Looks like today might go down as okay in my books. First one in a while for sure. I pull in a deep breath, taking in the fine, cool autumn air. There's a certain quality to it, crisp and clean. What a coincidence. That's just how I like all of my cases to be as well. A slight breeze brings the faint coolness of it against my skin, giving me small goosebumps at its delicate touch. Glancing over at the tree line to my right I catch the sight of the wind sending multi-colored leaves flaking through the air. Damn best season I like.

I head off my patio and turn right towards my driveway. I like fall better than spring. Spring just brings a big ol' muck hole. Mud gets everywhere, tracks itself wherever people go...or maybe that's vice-versa. Anyways, trees dyin' and leaves fallin' makes me happy. Call me morbid, I don't really care. I have a job to do today, and I'm not happy getting up at seven thirty in the morning, on a Saturday mind you, to do it. The day is later than I wanted to have gotten up. I just overslept this mornin'. No...I'm angry 'cause Wendy called me ten minutes ago letting me know what was going on. That means the crack-pot's been jibberin' shit to everyone in my building already for almost three hours. I really don't need that woman believing another whackjob's weird tale. I know how much she eats that shit up. Hell, I've never admitted it to her - and never will, mind you - but that's the only stuff I'll read myself. Books are made for sharing one's imagination with the world, not sharing the world through the imagination. That's just plain stupid.

I step around my ride, my still-like-new cruiser, and thrust open the driver side door. Throwing myself in, I fumble with my keychain until I locate the one specific key I need. Finding the only one useful, I readjust my position in the leather seat and jam the thing into the ignition most ungraciously, turning it clockwise. The engine rumbles to life, and growls as I pad my foot on the accelerator. With a smirk that a ten year-old would have, I reach out with my left arm and wrap my hand around the inner door handle. With a quick motion I slam it shut and place both hands on the steering wheel, its cool leather pressing into my warm palms. I step on the accelerator once more, enjoying the engine rumble deeper. Yep, today better be one effin' good day, or the world was going to have Hell to pay.

I thrust my shifter into reverse and creep backwards out of my driveway. With a glance right, left and then right again, I launch onto the road with a quick burst of the accelerator and turn the steering wheel one or so revolutions to the left. Throwing the shifter back into drive I gun it, tires squealing as they rub against the warmer asphalt. I'm only five minutes and four seconds from the station, but giving all my neighbors that squeal this early on any day of the week makes my smile flash better. A tip of my dusty, partly burnt hat doesn't hurt either.

+++---+++

I pull up to the station and find my usual parking spot occupied.

"Fuck me," I offer up involuntarily as I glance about for another parking space. "What hillbilly dipshit took MY parking space?"

I almost ram the building before I set the shifter in park. Scowling, I yank the key out of the ignition. Happy mood gone I thrust my door open and stumble out from my pride and joy. I steal another glance at the car that stole my spot to the right of me - one I don't recognize - and storm into the building. I pull the first door open and eye Sherry at her desk. I know she knows what I'm thinking 'cause I already see that look on her face, even though it's somewhat distorted through the glass. I know that one look that tells me she knows I'm annoyed, but that she's been even more so...and for longer. Knowing that, I feel a little better, despite what some would think, and I open the second glass door and walk straight back to her.

"You mind tellin' me,' I blurt out before givin' the poor woman any chance to answer the question she already knew I was gunna ask. She knows me so well, God bless her, that she interrupts me mid-sentence.

"Yeah," she responds in her kinky office secretary kind of way. She looks and sounds, at times, like a mix between Marilyn Monroe and Cali from CSI Miami with as much sass as both combined and then lined with some of Roseanne Connor's personality. Sounds like a different kinda combo, believe me, I know. But, she somehow has her ways of pulling it off. "The guy Wendy called about parked there before he came stumbling in here earlier."

I blink, not expecting that. That figures though. "He drunk?" I don't know what else to make of that, but when a psychologist starts parking at a police station in the sheriff's specially marked spot...he has to be losing it. "Or high by chance?" That or in some type of emergency. I don't like the sound of that very much. Emergencies and psychologists don't mix well with each other. Guess that's the stuff that leads to them unfortunately parking in a Sheriff's spot at the station.

"Doesn't seem to be," she replies as she slaps a manilla folder on the desk to get papers to line up just so inside it.

I glance around looking for my interrogator. Shit, where the hell is Rey now? He really has to go fishin' today? Really?

"Hey, where's Rey at?" I look all around me, wonderin' what mouse hole the rat climbed through to hide from me today. I'm not planning on her answering me, and she doesn't plan on telling me. She just gives me the eye as I glance her way again. Yeah, that tells me everything I need to know. Damn idiot's always runnin' around somewhere without tellin' anyone. I swear that kid'll give me a stroke if he don't fix his tardiness. It's not like I can just fire the boy either. He's the best interrogator I'd ever seen. Shit...I mean, that kid should have been a full-blown detective or in the FBI for goodness sakes. He's observant as a hawk or an owl and can sneak in questions outta nowhere and pick and pull apart details from reports like nothin' I've ever seen before him. That intuition of his is what sells it all. Shame you just can't pin his wings down to keep him from flyin' the hell all over the damn place. It would be a miracle if that kid could be grounded. Heh. Bet his parents couldn't ground him when he was a pup either.

I raise my left arm, taking the front tip of my hat with my hand. As it leaves my head, I run my right one through my hair and step to the right towards our coffee maker. I set my hat down to the left of the unit on the chest-level wood-stained coffee table before me. After a deep breath, an annoyed sigh and an unapproving shake from my head...I lift up one of the styrofoam cups to the right of the unit. Thoughts fill my head, letting me think about what could have possibly happened to send the psycho...sorry, psychiatrist...over the edge. I clear my throat again, putting the cup under the spout and pulling down on the tab. I stare at the dark colored liquid intently as it pours into the cup. With nose itching, I smell the brew, dark by the way, and watch as it quickly fills the styrofoam up. I let up on the tab as it's almost to the top. The steam pouring out means this is a rather fresh pot. They musta gone through one, maybe two already. Shaking my head again I sip it slowly. The coffee burns my mouth a little, but it's worth it. That's partly why some of us like our coffee hot. The burn plus the caffeine wakes us up. Yeah, sugar adds to that. I've heard it also takes away the natural caffeine too. Don't know how you add caffeine to somthin' but I like my stuff natural. Even though I drink my coffee with sugar, every now and then, I like black today. See, it's all about the mood. And I'm feelin' pretty prickly today.

"You see him just send him back," I tell her as I turn around and look the place up and down. Stained wood panels make up the entire station. The floor, the walls and ceiling alike. Never was much for the walls bein' stained too, but that was just how the job came too. Stained. Sheriff before me wanted a log cabin. Guess this was the town's way of gettin' even, though I don't know who the joke was supposed to be pulled on...him or me. As I guzzle the liquid down, and burn my throat this time in the process, I hear the first entrance door open. The suction or whatever musta moved the second one, as that's what got my attention. I turn around and see Rey as he strolls through the second one.

"Well it's about time, sunshine," I smirk as I call him out. "What's the matter? Fishes ain't bitin' good today?"

"Nah," he flashes that grin a his and takes his sunglasses off with his right hand and his hat with his left.

"Oh?" Sherry calls out in her exotic timbre. I glance over at her and see her glaring up from her paperwork towards the hotshot. I can't help but find a smile curling on my lips. She got dumped with a bunch of paperwork yesterday. Rey's paperwork. Normally I let them two - and Wendy - figure out how to divide the work up, and I guess by the look she has now she definitely got the shaft end of a stick. This is about to get interesting.

"Nah...I just thought I'd help out and do my part as a dep-you-tay today." His tone is uplifting, and his smile is chipper. It took me a while to figure out why he was so damn happy.

"You mean you want to look good for the sheriff today and see if that raise is gonna go into effect, huh?" Sherry rolls her eyes as she returns back to her paperwork, the top of her pen twirling around in circles as she speaks.

I can't help but laugh out loud and give a clap on my knee. "Hooooweee! That's right! I totally forgot 'bout that review today! It's been what? Two years now?"

"Three years, sir." Rey's smile halves but he still remains chipper as he hangs his hat up on the rack to his left and then strolls across the room to me. Sherry clears her throat before he gets halfway. It isn't the same way I cleared mine earlier. No, this still has that Sherry-custom sass to it. Having been given the privelage of working with her for five years I got to know what her mannerisms meant. Her throat-clearing is one of the easiest to dissect and learn. You see, it means only a handful of things. One is her saying, 'Hey, do a better job.' The second is, 'You didn't do your job.' For me she has a custom third one that means, 'Hey, you're preventing me from doing my job.' Guess she's found a new use for that one.

As soon as Rey hears it - and it is quite clear that he did - he knows which one it is. He pivots on his heels and might as well of waltzed over to her desk like a fairy on pixie dust. "Sorry about that Cher."

Dang he's slick. All I do is shake my head and take another swig of my scalding joe.

"You'll be even more sorry if it happens again," she mouths with her Monroe red lips curled up in a wicked smile that somehow neglects to show any ill will towards the kid. She hands him a stack of papers two inches thick. I'm beaming now.

"Hey Rey, you know having that many papers to do doesn't look that great on review day," I say as innocent as ever. Can't hold back a little jovial laughter though. "Kinda shows how unresponsible and messy you are."

"Yeah, I know." He thumbs through the papers quick as he turns around to head back towards his original destination - his office.

"Well, you can make up for it by gettin' in the interrogation room and chit-chattin' with our friendly guest."

Rey stops halfway across the room and glances at me. His expression goes from remorseful to confused in the time it took me to open my door that morning.

"Guest?" He cocks his head and gives me that deer-in-a-headlight stare.

"Yeah guest! I know you know. How often do I not have the privelege of parking in my own spot?" I glance to my right as I move the cup to my left hand. I swipe up my hat with my right hand and fling it back on my head. "Now come on." I pace over past Sherry's desk and down the hallway. "Right now we have a psychiatrist to examine." Heh. I know Rey'll get a load of this.

"Psychiatrist?" I hear Rey question as I open the second door on the left.

---{+++}---

As I stroll into the room I notice the psychiatrist nervously glancing around it with the same tenacity as some meth addict surrounded by explosives in his lab. Yeah, I'm sayin' he went off the deep end after seein' somethin' weird. Maybe he's just been hallucinating. Won't that be another waste of an otherwise perfect day?

"So, you wanted to speak to the Sheriff about something?" I try to sound interested and comforting simultaneously. Think I sounded confusing instead. He flinches after my voice hits his ears. Yeah, he definitely saw somethin', or at least he thinks he did. I believe in weird stuff happenin' 'round the world. Haven't seen anything yet, but I believe weird things are possible. He is definitely one weird cookie for sure himself. His clothes, a simple pair of jeans and a white tee under a beige overcoat, are all disheveled. Right away I see mud stains on his left knee. His overcoat is torn at both his arms and his black hair is greasy with...somethin'.

"Ya, ya, yes...yes sir!" He stammers out his reply like he's seen a ghost. Maybe he saw them all around him. I shrug my shoulders, not caring which it is, and sit down, leaning back deep in my light brown leather chair. I flop my hat to my left on a little hanger emerging from the wood-stained wall. For all I know maybe he has actually seen a ghost. I see Rey walk in on my right and I stare at the guy who bolts upright like electricity just passed through his body. I swear I saw his hair stand on end.

"Okay, fella. Just take it easy." I keep my voice as calm as I can as Rey settles down in another chair to my right. Our guest returns our stare, individually, several times before running his hands down the front of his pants. After he removes several wrinkles, he runs them through his short hair and takes a seat once again. He grips the arms of the chair hard. Damnit, now I'll need to replace the damn thing. I'm beginning to like this guy less and less. He still has my sympathy though, so far. If for nothing else than the fact that his career is probably history after today.

"What's your name?" Rey takes charge as I keep my eyes glued to the man's face.

"Ja, ja, Jame...James. Muh...muh...Mick, fear. Mickphearson." The guy stumbles his words out like a preschooler spelling a word for the first time. I mean, his name isn't that hard to pronounce. My face twitches and I fold my hands in a tent shape on top of my lap. Best to let Rey handle the formalities. Might take longer if I don't. I glance at my watch. We gonna be here a while anyway.

"Well Mr. McPhearson, I'm Rey and this here," my deputee says as I see him jab a finger towards me. "This here is Sheriff Willson."

"Puh...puh...puhleashure m...m...meet...meeting ya...ya...you." I've witnessed the aftermath of people who had fallen into frozen lakes just about naked shake less than this guy now. No doubt something spooked him. I take another sip of my coffee, savoring the taste as I set it on my coaster to my left. This guy's been here for a while already. When was he going to calm down? This better get interesting quick, or this is goin' ta be one very long and unproductive day.

"Would you like any coffee? Anything to drink Mr. McPhearson?" I know he doesn't need caffeine. Seeing how he's already disguised as a a squirrel on crack, I figure adding caffeine to the situation would just be plain dumb. Whole place would prob'ly be shakin' then. I do find that being nice in victim situations usually works out the best in coaxing out information, though. I also think genuinely being nice gets you farther with people just the same.

"Nuh...nuh...no. Th...thank you, though." He stumbles out the words again as gracefully as before and glances out the window to his right - my left. Rey proceeds with the interrogation, shuffling some papers on the desk that he had brought in. Best to keep things rolling while they're fresh. Someone as jumbled as this guy might forget or repress events no matter what profession they have.

"How about you just tell us what happened. Start at the beginning." I watch as Rey opens his notebook, his pen twitching and skimming across the page. It's always something seeing him interrogate someone. I have a feeling this isn't going to be much of an interrogation today, though. Probably more like storytime. I hope this is a good one.

"Okay," McPhearson leans in towards us, puts his elbows on the table as his hands fold together in front of his face. He rests his head against them and I see his chest move as he takes a deep breath in and out. He clears his throat and he starts to tell his story.

"We're a rather unheard of research team." His voice is more timid. Just like storytime, as best I remember it.

"Who is?" Rey interjects without any change in his dialect. Calm, almost uncaring, but not quite. Detached. Inquisitive.

"My team. Umm..." He blinks and takes another deep breath in and out. "Deep Dreamers Inc." McPhearson looks down at the table, probably to gather his thoughts...clear his head a little.

"Okay." I hear Rey scribble more in his pad. Sounds like a pretty cliche name to me. "What exactly is it that you do?"

McPhearson moves his hands to his temples. "We conduct certain experiments with sleep and altered states of consciousness." His voice has more power now. This'll be interesting.

"Do you use drugs?" Rey doesn't hesitate to ask the hard questions. I can't help but smirk. He's always straight to the point. He knows how to keep things interesting during a story.

"Umm...yes we have on occasion."

I knew he did, but prob'ly wasn't using actual drugs by our standards. The prescription kind, obviously. Meth and coke don't usually work well with sleep studies. At least I don't figure they do anyways. Shit, that would be one interesting sleep study I reckon. Probably start seein' all kinds of crazy shit goin' down then. Our guest readjusts himself suddenly, like he's awaking from some type of daydream. He must finally realize both of us wonder what he means by his response, because he glances up at me, then at Rey. His mouth opens and closes and his demeanor changes from strung out to slightly anxious. A slight reversal. Progress. We'll humanize him yet.

"No, no. Nothing illegal of course." McPhearson's eyes stare into mine. I slowly turn to glance over at Rey, a practiced motion by now. His eyes lock with mine.

"No, just like sleeping medication. Pr...prescription s-stuff. Sometimes ca...ca...ca...co...codeine, but we always do really th-thorough background checks on everyone. We v-vet them before they a-are even aware they have been se...se..selected."

"How do you vet them?" I had to ask it. As a professional courtesy, that is.

"Standard questionnaire." Another slight shift in his chair. "And once we d...do that, everyone goes through additional questioning and a la...la...lie detector."

I know that got Rey's interest, as he stopped penning as soon as he heard the doctor mention about a detector.

"Oh," McPhearson picks up again on the slight implication of his statement. Looks like our boy's starting to get in line with the game after all.

"We don't ask anything really personal, mind you. We just have them sign a waiver saying that it's for everyone's best interest. We work on grants and don't have a lot of money to pay off lawsuits, you see."

"Makes sense." I clear my throat and catch Rey's look. His face quickly goes back to neutral, leaving no trace that his concentration had been broken by a psychiatrist. Kinda ironic in a way. A deep exhalation of air comes from him and he resumes his questioning.

"Okay, so tell us about this experiment. What exactly happened?"

"So," the psychologist shifts so his hands are folded on the table in front of him. "My team and I conducted an experiment on the topic of sleep deprivation. The basis was that hallucinations and delusions would take place after the participants were slowly deprived of sleep. The test site was located in the country side. Not too far from here either."

"Where is it?" I'm curious. It's not everyday we get to interrogate a psychiatrist. This is a once in a lifetime sorta thing. Wouldn't want someone not including little poor old us if a book was being written somewhere about it.

"Uh, Gedensville. You take a right off of Tine Road onto Pelure Avenue and take the second left. It's an old dirt path that goes up to the...place." His face scrunches up after he finishes. Interesting that he seems to want to detach himself from the core of his own experiment. I find it more interesting thinkin' 'bout what he thinks about a sheriff usin' reverse psychology on him right now. Might not be thinkin' 'bout that at all at the moment.

"Describe it." Rey plunges forwards without regard. Best to keep the mind going forwards.

"So, it's been there since the early nineteen hundreds. Needs some work on the outside but the inside is all new. It was gutted and everything about six years ago. We've been conducting experiments there since then."

I nod. "Okay," I bring my styrofoam cup to my lips and sip more of the hot beverage splashing against it. "Why was that the best place for your studies?"

The doc blanks for a moment as he processes my question. I did not expect it to trip him up this much. "I mean that only as a preference sorta question. I'm just curious."

His anxiety decreases as he flashes a smile at both of us. "The city would have been far too noisy for this type of study to be conducted without interference from the environment itself. If it was, it wouldn't have been very scientific in its basis."

Oh. Duh. Stupid question, Willson.

Rey picks up in my slumber. "And you said that you were the one responsible for the execution of this whole thing?"

"Yes, I am the one that came up with, and who charged himself with the execution of, the test that brought about the nature of...this" He points wildly around the room. "...to come into being. I am the leader of the nightmare that ultimately unfolded in the countryside mansion. And I...well," he glances around the room, eyes shortly resting on me. He diverts his gaze and continues, "I have not been the same since."

Well, duh. That part is the most obvious. So far, all we know is that some doc went batty after a sleep test that somehow went wrong in some spooky and newly renovated old mansion in the middle of the countryside. Makes for a good plot for somethin', that's for sure.

"I guess I'll skip over the actual beginning of the test and rush ahead to the date when things started happening." He twitches as he settles for a more comfortable position. Finding it, he takes a rattly breath and begins.

"The first incident was at four-o-clock in the morning on Friday, September twenty-seventh. The five participants of the study were able to get in eight hours of sleep, as was the norm." He pauses, waiting for questions no doubt. Having none, I drift intently into the plot he is laying down for us. He collects his thoughts and expands upon them.

"At half past four I woke the participants and sat them down for a short interview, individually of course. This helped me to secure a relatively private environment for them to be more forthcoming in relaying their responses. Seeing them one on one lets me better conduct my psychological analyses of participants."

"Who were the participants?" At least we can have names on a list. Ya never know how handy they would be later.

"Sam McCoy, Devin Posh, Danica Rortini..." His voice trails off and goes distant after the third name. His head drops to look towards the ground as he turns towards Rey.

"Was there anyone else?" Rey is poking, but not being intrusive. That he always saves for later. The psychologist's body jerks upwards in a weird fashion, as if he is being controlled by strings as a puppeteer maneuvers him.

"Gretchen Childer and Frank Milton," he finally spews out.

"Why were you hesitant to give their names?" Rey's tone tells me that he is just as interested in this as me, which is very. So far he's attempted to distance himself from the mansion and two of the participants.

"I thought you said no one was injured?" I tilt my head at him inquisitively, tentatively testing his mind's capability of withholding information from stress. I'm not much of a psychologist, but I am smart enough to know when someone is keeping something from me. I also know when someone is even trying to down right lie to me. Strangely, I'm feeling a mixture of the two now.

"No!" The man grips his chair's arms and tries to stand up but catches himself quickly. He lowers his partially raised body back down, closes his eyes and proceeds to calm himself. Pausing for a moment he regathers himself.

"No, but I would rather forget what happened there. You see, the first three subjects reported no problems getting their sleep that night. The exception was with the last two names I gave you, Gretchen and Frank."

He sucks the warm air in before continuing his tale. "They reported a strange feeling that followed them into their slumber...though, when I pressed further, they didn't care to comment as to the nature of the matter. It was clear to me and should be noted, however, that despite claiming they did ultimately sleep fine, they exhibited mild forms of stress and anxiety that morning during their sessions. Not that my degree and vast exapanse of knowledge of the behavior of the human body helped me reach that conclusion, mind you..." He glances at Rey as if to jab him for some vague and unknown reason. Must not like amateur psychologists or profilers much.

"But it was quite evident in their behavior even to a normal, everyday person. The twitching of the lips in just the right way to be noticed, the tapping of Frank's left foot and the way Gretchen twirled her hair and eagerly looked anywhere but at me gave them away. When everyone had met at the breakfast hall later that morning, Gretchen had mentioned more to her story. She claimed, openly, that someone must have bumped her keys from atop her nightstand at some point during the night. She mentioned that it was odd that they managed to fall neatly on the small ledge of the trim behind the nightstand and not all the way to the floor behind it. It should have landed on the floor if it had been, in fact, bumped. I remember seeing Frank shift slightly in his chair uneasily in front of me then."

Another pause. His face twitches again. "I didn't make much of that at the time, but I quickly came to believe he knew something more about that night that he wanted to keep hidden from the rest of us."

"The same thing you want to keep hidden from us, even though nothing will go forward if that happens." His storytime is getting long-winded to me, but it sounds like the participants started whatever went down out there. He tries to say something, and failing to do so simply flashes a smile and begins to laugh.

"You wouldn't believe me if I just told you what happened." He shyly looks out the window, his forehead creased as if in deep thought.

"Try me," I say with rigid determination. "I can't get to the bottom of anything if I have nothing to go on now, can I?" He fixes me with a simple lock of his eyes to mine. I don't think he trusts us. That only makes me wonder what actually happened out there at Geddensville.

"That night started out the same as the last one had. Each participant went to bed at eight and slept through the night and into the wee hours of the morning. Upon waking up Saturday, I followed up with my usual survey. Gretchen mentioned that the same thing had happened as before, and she found her keys in the same spot as the morning prior. It disturbed her, and so she thought of pressing harder for answers when everyone was eating breakfast that morning."

I glance over towards Rey. He has his nose practically glued to his hand-dandy notebook, which is opened to a page already half full with his pen's black ink.

"When I talked to Frank, he told me he was afraid, for some unknown reason he kept to himself at the time, and so locked his door after being up during the night. He told me that upon waking that morning, his door was unlocked. This puzzled me, as every participant's door locked from inside the room only. I personally made sure of that. I started thinking that the sleep study might need to be closed if they started sleep walking. And so I pressed him further."

McPhearson takes a breath and continues.

"He told me that the night before the first time Gretchen's keys were moved he thought he heard some scratches coming from down the hallway. He said they sounded like they were by the stairs off to his right just before he turned the doorknob to enter his room later that evening after using the restroom. He told me that when he glanced down at the end of the hall in an attempt to trace the racket, he saw a silhouette of some...creature. He said it was about the size of a house cat. It had one paw or whatever extended out to its right towards the wall and was scraping it down continually. Again and again."

Rey shifts slightly, uneasy in his chair. I stop rocking in mine, slender tendrils of chills racing up and down my spine. My hairs even stand erect as I picture the scene mentally. Creepy as fuck. Out of my peripheral sight I see Rey slowly pick his head up and glance at the nervous man. I guess my favorite interrogator is caught off guard every now and then. This psychiatrist already had accomplished that a couple times so far. His whole body jitters every now and then and he had buried his face with his hands, no doubt reliving Frank's memory.

"Creature, you said?" Rey's voice wavers like McPhearson's had when we first saw him in here. Heh. Now whose the shrink?

McPhearson still holds his face in his hands, his voice muffled. "Yes, yes quite right. A creature."

"Were the lights on or off at the time." Rey continues his questions.

"Dimmed, actually. There was a chandelier at the end of the hall the noises we're coming from. It has a built in dimmer switch both at the base and top of the staircase.

His response makes the chill live inside me, squirming its way deeper under my skin. I can actual feel the blood going in and out of my heart freeze. I shift uneasy, uncomfortable to be in the room. Has it actually gotten colder? I wet my lips and glance at the window. Closed. I turn to Rey, who once again buries himself in his notebook.

"He was staring down the dimly lit and empty hallway. He saw it turn slightly and leer at him with a pair of slanted yellow eyes. He was specific that they weren't slanted so much as they were, in fact, not that dissimilar to a rhombus in their shape. After a brief moment, it stopped its horrendous scraping, keeping its claw resting against the scuffed wall. After what seemed like forever to him, it turned around and quickly scurried away, rounding the corner and, presumably, down the stairs. He bolted into his chamber a second after it scampered away from him and slammed his door and locked it."

I ponder the psychiatrist's story through my head, and I know Rey does the same. This is a new one for both of us.

"Any chance he was just sleep walking?" Rey asks casually, poker-faced and intrigued.

"No, I'm afraid not. If he truthfully remembers being awake while being up and then returning to his room and seeing...it...then he was most definitely, and unfortunately, awake. That is my professional opinion, anyways."

He bends in, leaning forwards to put more of his weight on the table. He licks his lips before continuing in a low whisper.

"I have proof of them too."

"Them?" I inquire, shooting him a rather confused look. I wonder why in God's name he actually believed for a single second that creatures were prowling dark hallways of the mansion. This guy is absolutely bat-shit crazy. Yet, I still have that image in my head. I can still feel goosebumps on my skin, and I swear that it actually is colder in the room now.

"Yes, I got them on camera."

My heart nearly stops as I hear his words. Storytime just got a hell of a lot more interesting than I really wanted it to.