I always imagined these rooms were supposed to be mostly white, but this room looks just like every other room in the building. It still has the blue carpeting the rest of the station does, and the walls are more of a beige than white. The table is grey and the chairs are blue metal foldout chairs like we have at our school. Dr. Filbert, the bald shrink, sits at one end of the table, coffee in hand. He motions for me to sit opposite him, but even so the officer escorts me to the chair to help me sit. There is a giant mirror on the wall. That must be one of the one-way windows. I’m sure the sheriff and Deputy Yew are watching, but I’m wondering if my family is too.
Just how many people are interested in how I found Shana? It can’t be hard for them to piece together even without me. I wandered into the woods and found her. That’s far from the truth but still something they can go by.
“Can you tell me your name?” asks Doctor Filbert. I’m surprised by his voice. It doesn’t sound aged or deep or anything you’d expect a man of his stature to have. Instead it’s soft but high, like someone who’s trying to coo a child.
“Maybe I should start,” he continues. I want to cringe at that voice; it makes him sound like a pedophile.
“My name is Dean Filbert. I’m a psychiatrist and I’m here to help you,” he explains. I look down at the table. I can’t watch him when he talks.
“I need you to talk to me. If you want you can tell me what happened in your own words, or I can ask you questions?” he tries. I stare at the table. I feel a wave of static pass through me again. That fiend- he, is watching. I grit my teeth behind my lips.
“Alyssa, how are you feeling?” What kind of question is that? My best friend just died and I’m being haunted by a monster. How does he think I’m feeling?
He says a few more things but I just tune him out. What am I going to do? I couldn’t get Shana out and now the entity seems to be following me. Will he wait until I’m alone and then strike? Is he strong enough to pull me into his domain now? I imagine he is basking in my pain right now. If only I could push my emotions away like a sociopath. If I could not care, then maybe he won’t desire me so much.
I look up and catch a flash of annoyance flit across Doctor Filbert’s face, but he wipes it off. I guess it’s unprofessional for a psychiatrist to seem angry with one of his clients. There’s a knock on the door. “Enter,” says Filbert in that peevish voice. I actually do wince this time. I am surprised to see that Bubbe is the one at the door. Sheriff Fraser is behind her.
“Let me talk to her a bit. I might be able to help,” she suggests coolly. Doctor Filbert sizes Bubbe up before reluctantly agreeing. He waves her in. “In private. That means just the two of us. No one needs to see or hear our conversation. Am I understood?” Bubbe asks the sheriff. Sheriff Fraser doesn’t show any sign of disagreement. He gives her one of those ‘whatever works’ nods and then escorts a now-openly-very-annoyed looking Doctor Filbert out.
Bubbe sits down across from me. I’m wondering what she’s going to say, but she doesn’t speak immediately. Maybe she’s giving them time to clear the adjacent room out. I wouldn’t give them the benefit of the doubt though. Then again Bubbe probably already told my parents, who are making sure there are no eavesdroppers.
“That was a very brave thing you did,” Bubbe starts. I look in her in the eye. “I can’t say I would have let you do it, but you did the right thing. I want you to know that.”
What is she saying? I endangered myself and failed to succeed in my mission.
“You can’t keep blaming yourself. I know you did what you could. I’ve never seen someone succeed in the way that you have,” she continues.
“Succeed?” I ask feebly. She nods her head.
“When this thing takes children, they never return. Shana is the only person I’ve known to come back. You saved her.”
I shake my head. “She’s dead... she died just before I escaped,” I say.
“You’re right, she’s dead, but is that such a bad thing?” she asks.
I look at her with bewilderment. What is she talking about? Of course her dying is a bad thing. “Wha- what are you saying?” I ask.
“I don’t know the details. I don’t know how you did it, but when you went in and found Shana, she was alive. Wasn’t she?” she asks. I feel my head throbbing with the painful reminder. I nod my head.
“That means she was alive the whole time she was missing,” she continues.
“I imagine it wasn’t pleasant... in his world. How did it feel?” she asks.
I find her order of questions odd, and not in a good way, but I answer her, sincerely hoping that no one else is watching lest I be pronounced certifiably insane.
“It was dark, and painful... he was laughing at me. I couldn’t see or feel anything... except pain and fear,” I explain.
“And how long were you in there?” she asks.
“It was around... less than an hour... I don’t know. It felt like days,” I say.
“Now how long was Shana in there?” she asks.
I pause for a moment. “...days.”
“If minutes feel like days to you, how long do you think days felt to her?” she asks. I bow my head. Shana was subject to that- no, he’d absorbed her until I cut her off, so she was subject to worse than I was, and for days at end. Her screams... they were very real.
“I think your friend would thank you if she could. She may not be alive to do it, but you did the next best thing. You saved her from him, and gave her death. If she’d remained trapped in that monster’s world, her parents would have been prevented from having closure. Now they can sit shivah for Shana and eventually make peace with her loss instead of being tormented by not knowing for the rest of their lives,” she says. I shake my head.
“He still killed her though. He probably still has her spirit in his clutches.”
Now she shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I think he needs them alive, weakened, yes, but alive. If he tries to take them when they’re too weak, then they’ll only end up dying, and he’ll lose them,” she says. I close my eyes. Do her words ring true? Have I really saved Shana from a fate worse than death... by bringing her death?
The thought sounds dark... in fact I think I actually feel worse for a few minutes. That means she was tortured all that time... how I felt... she felt that and much more and for a longer period. I shake the thoughts out, now- hopefully, all that is behind her, and she can rest in peace like Bubbe just said.
“You can’t keep ignoring the doctor like this though. You and I may both know you’re not crazy, but if you don’t prove that to him, he can have you locked up, and then there will be little we can do to protect you from him,” she says.
“What can protect me at all?” I ask.
“You have to listen to me Alyssa, give these men the information they want. Even if it’s just a wild goose chase, it will give them something to go on, and then we’ll figure something out,” she explains. I admire her wisdom and nod my head.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She exits the room, and almost immediately after her departure, Doctor Filbert reenters. This time he is holding a bottle of Sprite. He waves the bottle, nonverbally asking if I want it. I could use a soda, at least if I’m going to be dealing with this guy.
He sits back in the chair opposite and doesn’t even wait for me to finish opening the Sprite before he starts talking. He doesn’t repeat his first questions, instead he moves on. He asks a lot of redundant ‘how am I feeling, what am I thinking about right now’ questions that make me think he’s not really the best doctor to have out here. Eventually he does try to figure out exactly what I was doing.
It’s mutually understood between Bubbe and me that I can’t just tell him that I ventured into the woods trying to rescue Shana from an entity, but I do have to give him a story that adds up. I’m not able to just think up a lie, not with my current state, but I do manage to leave essential parts out to make a linear story. It seems like his whole inquiry will a
nswer the questions the police may have too.
“So let me get this straight, you were distraught about the loss of your friend. So you proceeded to steal a woodcutting axe to take your anger out on a tree that always bothered you when you ran by it?” he asks.
I nod, hoping that doesn’t ‘prove’ to him that I’m mentally insane.
“While venting on this tree, you cut one of the branches off, but then you hear something. You chase after it and find Shana lying on the ground in the woods. She didn’t appear to have been attacked or raped, but looked like she had just run from something and was too exhausted to push further?” he continues.
I nod again. “You try and help her to her feet and while she is leaning against you, you hear a noise and think it might be whoever kidnapped her coming to take her back, so you pick her up and run as fast as you can in a panic?” he asks.
I nod for a third time. “And you managed to get away from him- if he was chasing you in the first place, and that’s where the police found you?”
“That’s correct,” I say.
“Alright, so that answers that. Now you said you were feeling anguished at the loss of your friend, which is what led you to attack the tree. Tell me, have you ever had any sort of destructive thoughts towards another person? For instance, people you don’t like, or maybe yourself?”
“You’re asking if I want to hurt people because of what happened to Shana?” I ask a little miffed.
“Or yourself,” he corrects. I shake my head.
“No, I didn’t even have too much of a problem with the tree. I just, don’t have a diary or punching bag and it’s creepy anyway, it felt like it would help,” I explain, hoping he isn’t about to say I’m a danger to those around me.
He gives me a little nod before speaking again in his squeaky voice. “Alright, so I can understand how you’re feeling. I’ve met a lot of people who take their emotions out in worse ways, but a lot of their actions start out like this, and then they sink into depression. I am going to suggest you do something to help with your emotions. You should maybe invest in keeping a diary, maybe get a stress ball, anything to help you vent without being destructive. I’m also going to give you a little medication to help with your feelings until things aren’t so overwhelming for you.”
“Medicine? I’m just sad I don’t think I really need any type of medication,” I protest.
“Alyssa, you’re stealing, sneaking out of your house at night and venting your anger in destructive ways. It is my job to set up some precautions to help make sure that these unhealthy behaviors don’t escalate. This medicine will help, but I need your commitment. Do you have any ideas on how you’re going to handle your emotions from now on?” he asks.
I draw a blank. I don’t have too many hobbies and normally I’d vent all of my problems to Shana, but now she’s dead.
“Do you have something you enjoy doing with your spare time? Do you like to read, or write? Maybe some art?” he suggests.
“I play guitar?” I answer.
He nods. “Well, why don’t you practice writing some new songs on your guitar when you’re feeling down?”
“I- I’ll give it a shot,” I answer.
He writes some things down. “Alright, I’m going to hand this prescription over to your parents, and I’m going to give you my card. I hear you’re going to Michigan, but I will need you to call and follow up with me every week okay?” he asks. I nod. He gets up and leaves the room.
As the door opens I can hear a hysterical woman. It’s Mrs. Hawthorn. I put my hands to my face, listening to her cries. She’s begging the police to find out who did this to Shana. As her pain radiates out, I can feel it. She’s lost both of her children, all her family has worked for. Her dream was to raise her kids, send them off to college, and then retire with her husband. Now she has no children, and wants whoever is responsible- the fiend, to pay. I can’t blame her, but as her cries hit me, I feel his presence. It’s here to either stalk me or revel in her pain- probably both.
“Just go away. You’ve done enough damage. Just leave us alone,” I mutter under my breath, so quietly that I can barely hear my own voice.
Sheriff Fraser enters.
“Time to go,” he says.
I look at him. “Go?” I ask.
“You’re free to go.” I slowly rise to my feet and begin to walk out.
As I approach him, he gives me a sincere look. “I’m sorry for your loss. We are doing everything we can to put an end to this. I want to thank you. You’ve given us some hope that the rest of the missing children may be alive. We aren’t going to stop looking until we find each and every one of them, and put the crook behind bars. I need you to stay strong, and be careful.”
His words ring in my ears. How many times have people tried to comfort me? There’s Bubbe, the doctor, my mom… It’s like everyone is counting on me, but no matter what the police do, the only way they’ll get the children back is to pull them from the shadow world. The only reason I was able to get Shana back was because I hacked off that totem-branch and then pulled her out myself. Maybe if that tree gets cut down they’ll stop other kids from being kidnapped, but I doubt that would bring the ones already taken back. Even when I removed the branch I still had to manually pull Shana from the shadow world. The sheriff is wasting his time.
17: The Reprisal
I strum a few notes on my guitar. I’m sitting on my bed, waiting. I’m at least humoring Doctor Filbert by trying my guitar, though I don’t know what good it will do seeing as he doesn’t know the truth of the story. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, maybe I’m just trying to pass the time.
We aren’t going to make it to Michigan today. After what happened my parents are trying to help the Hawthorns. I’m not sure what they plan on doing to help, aside from keeping them company by sitting shivah with them, but they’re worried that with the confirmed death of their last daughter, that they might just give up and end their own lives. That’s why they didn’t let Adam or me go with them…they figured there is no need to flaunt their two still-present children in the Hawthorns’ faces.
When that thought plays through my head I pluck another note. I feel the loss of Shana too though. I play another. I feel the static presence, but refuse to look around for it. I guess he’s playing the waiting game too.
What’s he waiting for though? Is he waiting for me to fall asleep, does he just want to watch me, or am I still releasing enough pain for it feed on? I play a third note. I can imagine what he’s doing to the others he has captive right now. He’s probably causing them pain so he can feed off of them. I hardly care about Jason and Leanne. Call me hateful, but there are people I actually do have reason to worry about, like the five year old Lionel. Can he even comprehend what’s going on?
I play the first note again, and realize that the three notes make a tune I recognize, but I can’t name it. I keep playing, one note at a time. Each note seems dark, and hangs in the air, not even having fully played out before the next note. I know this song, but why can’t I name it? It’s very common. The pain has blocked out some of my memories and I’m having trouble pulling them out of my head. I keep playing each now with every ounce of concentration I can muster.
I can still sense the static in the background, but I ignore it. He can sit there and wait all he wants, I’m playing music. Maybe this is what the doctor meant. As I play this tune, I feel apathetic about the shadow’s presence, and I’m so focused on playing the music that my thoughts are not even lingering on Shana. I still feel hurt, heartbroken, and scared, but with this guitar, I can push it all behind me. If only I can remember the name of it!
“Moonlight Sonata,” says a voice. I look up and see Bubbe standing in the doorway. “It’s been years since I’ve heard that song,” she says.
“Moonlight Sonata,” I repeat. It’s one of the first songs I successfully learned. Why couldn’t I remember it?
Bubbe sits on the bed next to me. She has a bottle of pills i
n her hand.
“Your Mom asked me to remind you to take these,” she says. I look at the bottle.
“Prozac,” I say aloud. I look her in the eye, asking if I should even bother taking them with a single gaze.
“I’ve never taken it before, but it might help you. If it’s supposed to help with depression, then maybe it will help with your loss for a while, make it harder for him to get to you?” she suggests.
“My guitar is doing that right now,” I say, resuming the song.
“Then maybe you should take these only when you are going to sleep…or when you’re about to be a hero again?” she says. I chuckle a bit.
“Shana is the only one of them I’d ever do th-” I stop the sentence, listening to how cruel and selfish I sound. It may not be selfish to use that reasoning to refuse from going through the peril of the shadow world, but saying it aloud, when there are little kids suffering from his grasp just makes me sound evil.
“That’s a smart thing though,” she says. I look at her.
“Only risk your life to help the people you can’t live without, like your family. You may mourn the loss of your classmates, but it’s not worth subjecting yourself to him just out of compassion for them,” she explains. I nod, she’s right. I couldn’t live without at least trying to help Shana, but as much as it sickens me to say this, I can live without Lionel Willow.
Bubbe and I sit here quietly while I play Moonlight Sonata. As sad and dark as the song sounds, it actually feels like it’s alleviating the pain. I feel like all the sorrow that is inside of me, making me feel like I’m crawling out of my skin is just flowing out of me. Doctor Filbert is creepy and annoying, but he knows a little about letting go of pain and anger-without destroying things.
I can’t believe how long it’s been since I picked up my guitar. I missed it.
“So, when we go to Michigan, what happens then? Do we just stay there until he leaves?” I ask.
The Slender Man Page 15