November Curtains

“November Curtains”


And then that I'll be murdering
The Man in the Moon to the powder
His staff I'll break, his dog I'll shake
And there'll howl no demon louder.

-Tom O'Bedlam (traditional)




The curtains danced on the autumn winds. Their sheer white form, faint in the gray light, appeared as ghosts amidst the shadows of the large room. The winds commonly approached from the northern seacoast with impetuous turbulence and voice. The cold, salty air entered the room through two large windows that sat adjacent on the east wall. Directly below the windows lay an old bed. It is in this bed that Doctor Richard O’Neil retired each night with grave hope. Under the healing shroud of the curtains he lay - silently praying, silently watching. His hope was for deliverance. His prayer was for healing. The soul of the doctor, bound by the abysmal clutch of hell, cried out to the North Atlantic winds.

Cold gusts lifted and stretched the curtains, unfolding a translucent herald over the old bed. The curtain’s sheerness and beauty would captivate Richard, as they lent a face to the invisible winds. His thoughts wondered, and his heart took the rhythm of a slow, funeral march – delivering a dull echo through the most obscure channels of his mind. The dull sound lay foremost in his head while the wail of the northern winds cried a lament in the distance. His eyes always remained fixed on the curtains as he waited – anticipating her arrival.

In the fall of 1948, Richard O’Neil and his wife Jessica, both bright and successful psychiatrists, entered the small New England town of Stoneshire for the very first time. The town occupied a two-mile stretch of the Atlantic, where large rocks and scenic cliffs adorned a reclusive shore. Stoneshire was established in the latter part of the 17th century by a small group of prosperous, English settlers. Since its founding, great measures had been taken to preserve the town’s traditional appearance and affluent inhabitance.

The doctors instantly became captivated by the town’s charm and prestige, and soon made plans to purchase local real estate. In a short period of time, and with little effort, the couple had moved their practice to a quaint location within the town’s center. Stoneshire also afforded the couple with the house of their dreams - overlooking the grandeur of the North Atlantic.

The O’Neil house sat atop a high, weathered cliff, etched into Stoneshire’s most secluded point. The large house overlooked a span of sea known for its frequent northeast gales and cool ambient temperatures. The doctors spent most of their free time in the privacy and seclusion of their home. They had very few friends – fellow colleagues of the profession, and even those relationships were kept to little more than acquaintances.

For twenty years, Richard and Jessica’s practice flourished within the northeast region, and carried a reputation as being one of unparalleled excellence. Jessica’s specialty was the counseling of clients whose troubles required only moderate therapy, while Richard’s concentration was geared toward the more challenging cases.

Richard was well known within his profession for his brilliance in helping the exceptionally disturbed. The majority of his patients were former clients of other psychiatrists whose talents fell short of the magic needed to mend extreme levels of psychosis. These psychiatrists essentially exhausted their means and referred these special cases to Richard O’Neil.

His success rate with these cases was very high: leaving only a small percentage that was beyond help. These special few were considered “lost causes” by Richard and were eventually processed out to psychiatrists who held little regard as to whether patients moved in the right mental direction. It was, in fact, understood by all the doctors in the region, that if Doctor O’Neil was referring a client to their practice, than the probability of the patient being a “lost cause” was very high and to view this channeling as an additional bonus to their income. Richard came to think of himself as the great last hope for any client that walked into his office. Notwithstanding his success and brilliance, Richard could not foresee or imagine the dread that was about to beset his spirit.

Early indications suggested that the winter of 1968 was going to be calm and uneventful. The first three weeks brought only sporadic snow flurries and unseasonably warm temperatures. By late January, however, there came ferocity like none ever before witnessed in Stoneshire.

January’s winds and snow arrived with heartless brutality. They ravaged the northeast seacoast like a beast ripping through meat. The stark cold tore through Stoneshire and settled deep into the bones of its inhabitants. It crippled the grace and spirit of the region, and at the height of its fury, this heartless winter took Richard O’Neil’s one and only love - Jessica.

Jessica’s death was sudden and brutal, offering no hint of apology or reason. The abrupt end to her life shocked the community and ushered in a profound sense of fear and uneasiness. Richard was devastated. The unforeseen blow caused the man immense pain and suffering; consequently, various bouts of depression surfaced, often crippling his will to endure.

In an effort to free his mind from the ongoing agony, the doctor spent longer hours at the office. He increased the number of clients that would normally be accepted and always maintained a feverish schedule. In time the combination of Richard’s latent anguish and the trying nature of his profession gave birth to a grave sickness.

After years of unlocking the sometimes horrific and disturbing entanglements within the minds of his clients, the doctor, in a vicarious state, inherited a high degree of mental torment. The onslaught of the sickness arrived approximately one year after the loss of his wife and progressed for the next two.

The affliction worked with fervent determination. Disturbing thoughts, often reaching far beyond the horrors that were shared by his clients, invaded his mind. Whispers from hell sought to lay hold of the doctor’s soul, and, indeed succeeded in their quest. His pride stood in the way of him asking for professional help. The infliction rendered the doctor’s ability to help others nonexistent, and his practice quickly withered under the spell. The doctor felt that most all his sanity had abandoned him, and his hopes of recovery diminished to almost nothing. Such was the state of the maddening doctor when the visions of his dead wife first arrived through the haunting dance of the curtains.

On the threshold of consciousness and deep sleep, Jessica would appear. Her image flowed on the other side of the cloth like a beautiful ghost. Silently, Jessica emerged out of a dark and cold, rolling mist - haunting and captivating. Her skin looked as white cream, and her eyes appeared as pools reflecting a deep forest. Jessica’s hair flowed past her shoulders and danced on the winds like strands of beautiful red silk.

Whether the advent of the visions originated from the North Atlantic winds or from the curtains themselves was a mystery. Initially, the visions were vague and seldom. Richard became convinced that his madness had reached a profound level, as the dream like images wavered through the curtains. In time, however, their frequency and clarity increased with even the slightest of winds. It soon became evident that the ghost, (if it were in fact Jessica’s true spirit) or the mere image of Jessica was not a conjuring of the doctor’s mind; moreover, the visions themselves appeared to have a healing quality that became more apparent as the time passed.

The miracle of the curtains, as the doctor referred to the mystery, worked deep within his soul – slowly mending.

Jessica would stand within the dark realm silently reaching out her hand toward Richard. At first, the doctor was hesitant. He would lie in awe and disbelief while her image wove through the waves of the shroud. For many nights, Jessica appeared and faded without the doctor attempting to do anything but watch. Eventually, Richard made an effort to reach out through the curtains and touch Jessica’s extended hand.

The curtains gently whipped as his hand touched the softness. The howl of the winds seemed to heighten in response. A sudden shift occurred, and Richard immediately found himself standing within the strange realm. A black mist surrounded his person and rendered a sensation that felt as though his spirit was being filled by a cool, light liquid. The winds that lifted the curtains now penetrated and swirled within the confines of his soul, causing the residing horrors to temporarily flee.

His awareness became remarkably acute, and except for sight, all familiar physical attributes seemed to be absent. He could still see his body, but he no longer felt any normal physical sensations. He felt no sensation of breathing, exerting muscles or the force of gravity or any other kind of physical resistance. What he did feel was a calm peace that far exceeded any that he had felt before. The doctor was also certain that this unique peace that he was experiencing came from the winds that now stirred deep within his being.

Richard took Jessica’s hand. The mist around them rolled and thinned, revealing the shore of a stormy sea. Jessica and he walked together along the water’s edge, as the force of dark waves built and unleashed. Her red hair whipped in ocean winds, her face alive and radiant and her green eyes glimmered with hope. He felt her love radiate and splinter into his being. There were never words spoken, nothing that was clear at least; the only sound was the haunting voice of the winds. Their voice took on human similarities, not of spoken word but that of human-like screeches and cries. Their pitches, howling off the cold ocean waves, set an eerie tone through the sheer cloth.

Time passed, and the degree of turmoil within Richard’s mind lessened. The memories of the couple’s walks were like snapshots. He often wondered how long the walks would last. Time seemed to be a non-factor, as there was little sense of it in the surreal setting. Richard could never remember leaving the realm each night, but the next morning was always the same; he awoke refreshed and relaxed in the comfort of his bed with the scattered memories of his walk lingering.

Throughout each day, he would hold on to the visions of his wife – recalling the fragmented memories in his mind. The healing qualities were evident in the early hours, but as the day passed, the sickness would creep back into the doctor’s mind. A battle would ultimately ensue. While clinging to the visions of his wife, dreaded whispers would echo through deep channels of his mind. As twilight approached each day, Richard sought the comfort and healing of the curtains.

On the threshold between visions and the deep sleep that followed, there arose a dark image that invaded Richard's subconscious. During his waking hours the doctor was vaguely aware that this specter had found its way into his mind. He would experience flashback images of the dark figure standing off in the distance. Richard was not sure whether the memory was conjured in a dream or that he had actually saw the specter during the walks with Jessica.

The flashing memories revealed a tall, dark figure that stood motionless before the violence of a storming sea. The winds off the crashing waves whipped the figure's long, black hair and carried a foreboding cry into the heart of the doctor’s. He believed that it was a man, but could not be certain, since, within the memory, the image appeared well off in the distance. Each night the doctor would look for the specter during his walk with Jessica, but there was no sign of him. With time, the foreboding memory began to fade.

~_______________________~~~~~~________________________~

Dusk hung in the October sky like a cold, orange quilt fading into the depths of twilight. This particular night, like many in the past, found Richard in a state of panic and desperation. The whispers had started early this day. Their evil song, propelled by a dark fury, sought to devour the doctor’s fragile sanity. He lay on his side - arms wrapped around his front and knees drawn close to his chest – rocking in the cool softness of his bed. The doctor’s eyes strained skyward, fixed on the graceful waves of white that cast overhead. His lips delivered a chant that sounded like odd, broken Latin - holding a cadence to the rocking motion of his body. The damp winds carried a thick salt that seemed to be laced with a musty mold scent. The smell triggered childhood memories of Christmas – specifically, memories of the Christmas decorations that his mother stored in the attic. The scent brought subtle comfort, as nostalgia worked its way into his thoughts.

She emerged from the pitch that settled beyond the cloth. Richard’s trembling hand stretched toward the curtain in a desperate gesture. The cloth wrapped around the hand like a python coiling about its prey.
Richard stood in the mist. The hellish chant had left. Calmness washed over his being.

"Walk with me, Richard." Jessica’s hand gently took hold of his, as the mist rolled and parted. This was the first that he had heard Jessica speak in the realm. Hearing her voice deepened the peace that he now felt. A dark sea stretched before them. Hand in hand, they started to walk.

"The winds have calmed their voice for the moment," she said, "but they are sure to return in fury." Richard stared at his wife – taking in every feature that poured from her image.

"Jessica, I don’t understand what any of this means. I’m not even sure you’re real…" Richard’s voice sounded soft and distant within his own being. He found this an odd contrast to how he heard himself in everyday existence. “Is all of this really happening?”

"In time, Richard, this will all be clear to you." Her face took on a countenance of distress, as she continued. “ All of this, everything you see before you is his."

“Is whose?” Richard responded.

Jessica remained silent for a long moment before she answered.
“We knew him as £, long ago. Do you remember? ”

Richard felt a hint of fear seep into the calmness. “Yes, of course I remember him. He was beyond help; we both knew that. What do you mean, this is all his?”

“We accepted his offer, my love…”

“That was sheer lunacy,” Richard exclaimed. “ We knew what he said was all due to his condition.”

“Did we, Richard? Did we think he was not who he said? Think of the success that came to us soon after.”

"This can’t be! – That’s just completely ridiculous!" Richard started to back away from his wife, as anger rose in his soul. "My success has been due to my hard work… my natural abilities…nothing more!"

“Richard, my love, please understand, we can not reverse what has been set into motion. He is unyielding, my love, and as enduring as death, and he will never forget.” Jessica paused, while slowly reaching out toward Richard.

“You are aware of the thoughts – the voices that you hear?”

"Yes, yes…they are part of all of this?" Richard asked, as he hesitantly took her hand.

Jessica nodded. "They are mere songs of elation, anticipating his arrival."

The winds began to ramp up their pitch - drowning words in its hollow cry. And, in the distance, a dark figure stood and watched with utter delight.

November ushered in - casting a raw canopy over the small town. The gray suited Richard. With the sun’s harsh glare absent, color seemed to bleed with intensity from most everything. The doctor had a passion for contrast, and the murky skies provided the perfect backdrop for viewing the vivid beauty in the world around him. In Richard’s mind, November was an ideal time for fresh starts, so with the encouragement and help of some trusted colleagues, the doctor began a slow transition back into the practice of psychiatry.

Precautions were set in place. The early hours in the day served the doctor well, but as the daily hours approached dusk, things would dramatically change. Because of this, limitations were set on the amount and type of cases Richard was willing to take on. He no longer, at least for the time being, offered counseling to the exceptionally disturbed. His clientele did not exceed a small handful, and their state of mind could not surpass a moderate degree of mental anguish. With these restrictions in place, the doctor’s transition back into his practice was proving to be a smooth one.

The office of Dr. Richard O’Neil was located on the main street of Stoneshire’s center. The practice occupied the first floor of an old, colonial style house that was built in the early parts of the 19th century. Richard entered through the front doorway and walked down a narrow hallway into a small foyer. There, an attractive woman in her late fifties sat typing behind an old oak desk.

"Good morning, Richard. Did you have a nice walk in?" Rita continued to type but offered Richard a bright smile. He shot a glance in her direction and then quickly looked at his watch.

"Yes, yes … it was nice," he was annoyed that she asked such a mundane question.

Rita stopped typing and gave a look like she had seen this mood before. Since the beginning of the practice, Rita had been the O’Neil’s sole receptionist. She was dependable and loyal, having the utmost respect for both the doctors. She had seen the changes, and now, two weeks back, Rita looked forward to things returning to how they used to be.

"Are we all set with our client today…he’s new, correct?" Richard asked.

"He is new – that is correct, Richard. He actually called about twenty minutes ago confirming his appointment."

"Yes, well…alright," the doctor gave another glance at his watch, "let’s skip the forms and bring him right in. I want an early day today."

"Of course," Rita stood to help him with his coat. "He is due in at one o'clock. Would you like me to start some coffee?"

"That would be fine, Rita. Thank you."

Richard walked into his office and closed the large wooden door behind him. The broad room was somber. Dim light seeped from the edges of closed, heavy drapes. The doctor methodically walked to each window, and grabbing the overlap of the drapes, he separated the fabric with quick, outward thrusts. Grayness filled the office, casting long shadows off a sparse arrangement of furniture.

Richard walked across the room and sat behind his large desk. His gaze landed on the old grandfather clock that sat on the opposite side of the room. Richard’s mind wandered, as he listened to the clock pendulum mark out its invariable cadence.

The patient arrived at the precise, scheduled time. Rita quietly knocked on the doctor’s office door to announce the man’s arrival. She opened the door and poked her head in.

"Mr. Kemp is here, Doctor O’Neil"

"Thank you Rita, send him right in."

The door swung wide open.

Richard stood but remained behind his desk and stared at the open door. His palms started to sweat in dreadful anticipation. Since his return, the doctor had felt similar anxiety prior to seeing a new patient, but not to this magnitude. The few moments that elapsed seemed an eternity.

The man appeared in the doorway and paused before crossing the threshold. Richard placed a hand on his desktop for support. His breathing felt rapid – almost out of control. A familiar aroma entered the room, as flashes of Christmas decorations entered in his mind.

"Come…come in, Mr. Kemp."

A thin, eerie smile slowly crossed the man’s face.

He was a tall, gaunt man, with a mannerism that revealed confidence and strength. His walk was slow and deliberate – advancing with a sense of authority but conducted as if he had all the time in the world. The man’s hair was long and as dark as pitch. It was pulled tightly back into a bun that centered on the back of his large cranium. The hands of the man were large and thin with long, bony fingers. Each fingernail was kept unusually long for a man and filed almost to a sharp point. Rings, of what appeared to be a dull sterling with various Celtic markings, adorned many of his fingers.

His dress was an odd, traditional style. It initially struck Richard as being very similar to a costume – like one that might be donned for a retro, old west photo. The coat was a thick material, (most likely wool) with what appeared to be dark, silk lining. Its lapel had no straight edges, giving it an almost feminine appearance. His pants were straight legged with a prominent crease running down the front of either leg. A very old looking black leather belt wrapped around his waist. A pleated, velvet bag – crimson in color, hung from the belt by a rawhide drawstring. The pleats were sown deep into the fabric, giving the bag the appearance of a small accordion.

What stirred uneasiness in Richard, were the man’s eyes and grin. Similar to his hair, his eyes were a peculiar tone of black. They looked to have no pupil or color at all, but their depth seemed to plummet into eternal and utter blackness. They remained intently fixed on the doctor, with no sign of blinking and a devilish hint of amusement. The man’s perpetual grin was the other feature that knotted Richard’s nerves. His countenance was what one might expect to see from an older child viewing a picture show for the very first time.

"Please take a seat," said the doctor.

The man made his way toward a leather chair that was placed directly in front of the doctor’s oak desk. His eyes left the doctor’s for a brief moment as he sat. He crossed his legs as his eyes refocused with undiminished intensity. The grin never left his thin lips. The man reached down to his right side and placed the crimson pouch on his higher thigh. His long fingers gently stroked the cloth flat against his leg as the doctor began.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Kemp."

The man remained silent for a long moment. Richard wondered if he had heard the question. The man’s eyes and grin remained fixed all the while.

"Please, good doctor, call me Aleister."

"Alright,…Aleister…please, tell me about yourself."

"Well, my good doctor," he slowly began, "you have come highly recommended, highly recommended indeed, and I can now see that I won’t be disappointed. You may not know it, but we have a good deal in common."

"Oh, how so?" said the doctor.

"Many years ago you had a patient named, Aleister £."

The doctor’s heart wrenched in his chest, and then began a frantic pace. The doctor nervously responded.

"Oh yes…of course," his throat felt as if it were closing shut. "Are you related to, Aleister £?"

"My father," the man answered. "I thought it in my best interest to change my last name."

"I see…how is your father?"

Another long moment, as the fascination in the man seemed to increase.

"He has passed, sadly."

"I’m sorry to hear that."

"Thank you, doctor," the man responded. He paused a moment before he continued. "As I recall, my father had started under the care of your wife."

"Yes, that’s right," A hint of an uneasy sadness washed over the doctor.

"So tragic," the man said, shaking his head – his grin faded slightly. "So very tragic."

"Yes, yes it was," the doctor softly replied.

The grin widened, as the man continued. "My father shared much with me during the hours before his passing, and would you believe, most of his final words were pertaining to you. He spoke of you in the highest regard. It seems you left quite an impression on my father. His admiration for you was, let’s say… monumental."

"Well, I’m certainly flattered. I’m not sure what I did to deserve such…"

"Nonsense!" the man interjected. "You are very much deserving of admiration. Your reputation speaks for itself."

"Yes, but at the time I was very much new to the profession and…"

"And my father foresaw the greatness within you, good doctor. He would often comment that he wished he had your head. He greatly admired your renowned talent in the ways of psychiatry. Did he share with you his life long dream of becoming a psychiatrist himself?"

The doctor shifted, uneasy, almost giving a hint of a blush.

"Yes, I do recall him sharing that," the doctor replied.

"Well, we all can’t realize our dreams, can we good doctor?"

An unsettling silence arrived for another long moment before the man continued.

"My father did have some talents of his own, as I’m sure you remember."

The man paused, as a hearty laughter burst from deep within him. He slowly rocked in the leather chair, while the merriment poured from his large frame. Watching the display before him, the doctor felt a trace of panic stirring, as he discreetly wiped his hands on his trousers. The automated function of breathing seemed to be fleeting. The doctor felt he had to think to enable his lungs to draw in air. All the while, the laughing eyes remained fixed on the doctor.

Gaining his composure, but still lightly laughing, the man continued.

"He often credited himself with…with much of your success. Now… tell me please, where do you suppose he got such an absurd notion?"

Richard stared at the man. His heart felt as if it had abruptly jumped into his throat. He slowly shook his head.

"Don’t answer," the man interjected. "I’m regressing – I’m sorry. This is not why I’ve come to see you."

"My father was haunted for a lengthy extent, as I’m sure you will recall. And for me to elaborate on what may have caused his dreadful condition would be mere psychobabble, for this, in all honesty, is your field of expertise…not mine. That being said, I do acknowledge that the possibility of my inheritance of certain, let us say, mental conditions, may exist.

The doctor’s heart raced, as he tried to conceal his anxiety. "Wwwell, gen…genetics is always a possibility. May I ask how…how your father… died?"

Another long moment, as the doctor sensed the blackness penetrating with whimsical amusement. His blood chilled.

"He just…died."

The man’s response to the question elevated the fear in the doctor’s heart. Even as he talked of his deceased father, the grin never left his face; his eyes, with haunting fascination, seemed never to blink. The man’s fingers, caressing the bag, caught the attention of the doctor.

"I noticed you have some sort of bag," Richard said, as he nervously pointed to the velvet.

"It’s a pouch that my father had given me some time ago. I love the softness of it and feel compelled to touch it constantly. It is one of my many idiosyncrasies, I fear, and one that I’m hoping you can cure me of. What brings me here is far more distressing than my fondness for velvet, however. My primal concern, and the reason I sit before you today, has to do with my constant, and frankly, disturbing thoughts."

"This haunting of my mind has recently grown to an insatiable appetite. One thought, in particular, has plagued me ever since my father passed. It is this demonized call that I must put to rest. This is why I’ve called on you, good doctor, for I’m certain that my father has directed me well."

The man rested, as his long fingernails continued to stroked the bag. Silence washed the room. Richard's throat felt almost closed, as his palms continued to sweat. It was as if the man before him was peering into his soul.

"Would you share some specifics on this thought? Has it to do with your father’s death?"

"Well, yes, my good doctor…it has everything to do with his death, but I’m not at liberty to share the specifics at this moment. I will say, though, that the whole ordeal has become somewhat of a paradox for me. I am well aware of the evil nature of this hideous thought," a slight pause, as the grin widened, "and its call to action is quite insatiable – to say the least; however, I’m certain, that until I do the deed, my soul will know no goodness or rest." A long stretch of silence filled the large office - the black eyes remained fixed.

"And with that, my good doctor, I must be on my way." The man stood and extended a hand across the wide desk.

"Well, it’s been my pleasure meeting you," said the doctor, standing. He quickly wiped his right hand on his trousers and took the man's hand.

"Oh no, my good doctor, the pleasure has been all mine. All of mine, indeed."

"I’ll have my receptionist contact you to arrange our next session."

"Very good, I so look forward to our next meeting."

The man’s grin turned to a wide smile that revealed large, brownish teeth. The handshake seemed an eternity to the doctor, as he stared into the black liquid pools – amusement gleaming from the depths.

Long hours passed in the office. Richard sat listening to the cadence of the clock, while he tried to rid his mind of the man. The mechanical rhythm worked its way into his nerve fibers – eventually delivering a peace. He thought of the winds, while a calling rose in his being. He envisioned his wife walking along the shore. The doctor slowly stood to make his way home.

The winds, with an unusual timbre, stretched the white veil over the old bed. Richard found himself alone within the opaque realm. The screams of the sea escalated and whipped in every direction. He could barely hear his voice as he called out to Jessica. Richard turned, frantically looking; his call deadened in the violent swirls.

“Richard.” The doctor heard her voice clearly through the turbulence. He turned toward the sound to find Jessica standing behind him.

“I didn’t know where you were,” yelled the doctor, as a smile of relief etched across his lips.

“It is time, Richard. He has arrived to gather what is his.”

“Who…who are you talking about?”

“The one who was cast out, my love. The one who deserves all that we have become and whose voice is cried by the winds. He has sent his son to reap what is rightfully his.”

Richard stood in disbelief. “This is all a lie!” He felt the panic rise in his being. He stumbled backward - attempting to distance himself from his wife. The mist thickened, while his vision faded.

Richard suddenly found himself in a dark, unfamiliar room. There were large windows hidden by heavy drapes. The drapes lightly shimmered from a subtle breeze, causing dim light to flicker into the room and reflect off of tall walls and old furniture.

There was movement behind him, though he dared not turn toward it. There was an internal warning screaming, screaming ferociously in his brain. He instinctively knew that his heart would not withstand the sight of what loomed over him. Fear froze every fiber of his being, while his heart sent pounding to his throat like an angry entrapped beast.

He felt a swift, cool pressure on the back of his neck. Immediate confusion cast his thoughts in tangled disarray. An urgency to take a breath of air overwhelmed him, but the ability to breathe seemed suddenly absent. A long, thin piece of metal appeared before him, swiftly moving down and away from where he stood. The bewilderment intensified, overwhelming his spirit. Equilibrium became nonexistent, as he felt separation from his body. A brief flash of a large figure passed before his sight. A dull thud sound immediately followed, driving an echo through his brain. His perspective abruptly changed to a level span of an old plank floor. It was as if he was lying flat on his stomach with his right ear flat against the hard wood. His eyes rapidly blinked, while his thoughts scattered and faded.

An odd sensation of being lifted and turned about was felt. His line of sight brushed past the dark figure and stopped before a body lying on the floor. The horror intensified, as he realized the body was his own headless form.

"Nooooo!" With his own scream ringing in his ears, the doctor jolts out of his sleep. His eyes blink frantically, searching for familiarity – his mind seeking understanding. White curtains oscillate above on a cold wind. Solace washes his spirit. It was a nightmare…only a nightmare. A sense of relief splinters through his brain. He lay in his own bed. He lay with thoughts fading, as distant whispers converge and grow. The urgency to breathe, similar to what he experienced in the dream had not left him. The doctor found it impossible to draw a breath. Panic rises.

Beyond the curtains, an odd shadow casts. The doctor desperately looks for Jessica through the haunting display, but only the shadow looms past the veil. The whispers, louder still, heighten to an elated chorus. Richard attempts to rise out of his bed, and suddenly realizes he can not move. In the dimness of the room, he senses movement. The wicked symphony now bellows in his ears and heightens to a feverish pitch. He tries to turn his head in the direction of the movement, but is unable. Richard’s eyes rapidly shift to see what stands before him. Monstrous horror encapsulates his soul. He is slowly lifted to the awaiting velvet and dropped into its soft embrace. A hollow scream echoes through the crimson darkness.






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