Scary Week is Here Again!


What is scarier than a monster? A bat-shit crazy person. Even scarier? A bat-shit crazy person with power. And he/she most probably does not look like this, unfortunately.

This treat, is a story (flash fiction) about one such person. Read on…



A woman rushes into a psychiatrist’s office.
“Hello? Thank you, thank you for agreeing to see me on short notice. You don’t have to do anything. I will do it all. I am here to freak out. Like lose it, like get something out of my system, like hang it all out in the privacy of your office. I cannot do that anywhere else. And that is why I paid you two hundred and fifty dollars for the hour.”
“Are you done? Freaking out?”
“I haven’t begun.”
“So may I?”
“Sylvia…may I call you Sylvia?”
“Yes. And please don’t ask me any questions. If I wanted to do that, I’d be at home. Where my family could ask the questions.”
The woman walks all around and screams loudly several times. The doctor watches carefully. After about five minutes of ear-piercing, blood-curling screams the doctor puts a hand up.
“Stop. Pace yourself.”
The woman”s voice is hoarse, as she says, “Why?”
Then she begins again. The doctor looks at her earbuds. What kind of doctor would she be if she plugged her ears? After another five minutes, there is a knock on the door. The woman stops screaming. She rushes into the restroom yelling, “I was never here!”
The door opens and a person pokes her head in, “Everything okay in here?”
“Yes, Sarah, keep moving.”
Sarah is more than curious but she leaves.
The woman comes back out, Sylvia comes back out and sits down on the couch. “I feel pretty good!” She sighs, “Can I get a refund for time not utilized?”
“That is not how this works.”
“Can I fill the hour up in installments? I can come back same time next week and scream for another ten minutes?”
“Sylvia, you have to tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I can’t. It is too embarrassing and too evil. I just cannot tell you.”
“Okay then. It’s been fifteen minutes. Come back again next week for the next quarter of an hour. You should know that I am making an exception for you. My rule is one hour per session.”
“Thank you.” Sylvia gets up to leave, screaming just one more time before straightening her hair and walking out the door.
It takes several weeks but after two hours of screaming, Sylvia has moved on to the next stage. She is ready to talk about the problem in code.
“Have you ever wondered if your work is actually making people more sick?”
“Of course not. If that were true, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Let us say, the person hasn’t found out yet. You talked a person out of his mental condition, and he feels good but then there is a side effect it produced that is still hidden, ticking like a time bomb, inside him, and one day it will just come out of him, explode when he isn’t paying attention, rocking his world, and then you’ll learn that you were good but either too good or good for all the wrong reasons. Like when you make this beautiful raincoat, but when it rains it protects you so well it burns you up.”
“I don’t get where you are going with this.”
“Don’t you?”
“What kind of work do you do Sylvia? It says here you teach people how to crochet at the senior center.”
“That is a part time job. I have another job. I count the change at the tollbooths.”
“It is a job. Anywhere they send me.”
“Do you do that well?”
“There haven’t been any complaints.”
“I see. Is this about me then? Who told you about me?”
“A cousin. Her boss consulted you once.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mrs. Tundra. Her boss’s name is Mr. Morfinus Shackle. “
“Does not ring a bell.”
“It isn’t important.”
“Sylvia, do you keep a diary?”
“Okay. What are your hobbies?”
“Hunting deer. I love riding with my neighbor into the woods. It is the only thing that keeps me sane.”
“Sane did you say?”
“I see the irony. I am not totally insane yet am I?”
“Morfinus Shackle is not a real name.”
“Aw gee.”
“Is your cousin real?”
“She used to be,” Sylvia glares at the doctor, defiant. “One day she decided to join me on our hunting trip and that day she died. An accident. She fell off a cliff.”
“Tragic,” the doctor pauses, when it strikes her – the odd connection. “Has that got anything to do with me? How long ago was this?”
“Right after she told me. You know. The thing I cannot talk about..”
The doctor takes a deep breath in and takes off on a tangent. “Do you think she deserved to die?”
“Who am I to judge?”
“When did this happen?”
“Four, maybe five years ago.”
The doctor digests this, sinking back in her chair. “Sylvia, it may be time for you to consult someone else, someone you’ll feel comfortable with so you won’t feel the need to lie constantly.”
“I am not lying. Why do you think I am lying?”
“You said this happened five years ago.”
“Yes, and?”
“It took you five years to scream?”
“Oh! No, no doctor. It took me five years to believe.”