Page 66 of Dark Therapy
Her eyes went wide, her body tensed, the fight beginning to drain from her. She knew—sheknewwhat was about to happen. And yet, there was nothing she could do.
I pressed the mask against her face, feeling her struggle beneath it, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Her body bucked, trying to pull away, but I held it firm, the pressure gentle yet unyielding.
“Shhh, baby… it’s okay,” I murmured, almost lovingly, as her frantic eyes flickered with panic. “Just let it happen. Let me take you back. You’re so tired, so worn out. This… this is what youneed.”
I smiled as her resistance began to fade, her breath growing heavier as the drug began to seep into her veins, drowning out the world around her. “Sweet dreams, Millie,” I whispered softly, my voice a twisted lullaby, sending athrillthrough me. “Sweet, sweet dreams.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, the panic slipping from her face as she lost consciousness, her body slumping against me. The mask remained in place, my fingers gently holding it there as I felt her breath grow steady and slow.
Her soul was mine again.
And this time,there would be no waking up.
DESCENT INTO MADNESS
Amelia
A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through my head as I forced my eyes open, squinting against the dim, flickering light. Everything was blurry at first, edges smudged like a nightmare struggling to come into focus. I blinked, fighting off the haze clouding my mind, and slowly, my surroundings sharpened, revealing the chilling reality of where I was.
The room was cold, damp, and reeked of mold and decay. Yellowed paint peeled in jagged strips off the cracked walls, exposing dark patches of rot beneath. Rusted metal bars stretched across the lone, shattered window, thick and unyielding, making escape impossible. The floor was littered with debris—crumbling plaster, scattered shards of broken glass, and what looked like water stains mixed with something darker,somethingthat made my stomach churn.
I tried to move, but a sharp chill ran through me as I realized I was wearing nothing but a thin, scratchy robe—one of those faded, washed-out gray hospital gowns that clung to my skin like a shroud. I felt exposed, vulnerable, ashiverrippling through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
I pushed myself up slowly, my fingers pressing into the stained mattress beneath me. It was lumpy, sagging in the middle, the fabric fraying and mottled with dark stains. A strange, metallic scent lingered in the air, like rust mixed with something sharp and unsettling. I couldn’t tell if it was real or just my fear twisting my senses.
There was a single, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a weak, sputtering glow that threw twisted shadows across the walls. It swung slightly, as if disturbed by some unseen breeze, making the shadows shift and dance. Every flicker felt like the room was closing in, the darkness pressing at the edges, hungry and waiting.
My pulse quickened as I scanned the room, every nerve on high alert. Across from me, the door was heavy, old, made of some metal that had corroded with time. The paint was chipped, exposing flecks of rust beneath, and there were deep scratcheson it, as though someone—or something—had tried desperately to claw their way out.
The walls were littered with scrawled, faded words, the handwriting shaky and desperate, like the ramblings of someone who had lost themselves here long ago.‘ Help me,’one message read, barely visible beneath layers of grime. Another said,‘No escape.’The words felt like whispers from the past, ghosts trapped in this place, and I could feel their fear lingering in the air,thickandsuffocating.
A chill skittered down my spine as I noticed something in the corner—a rusted metal chair with leather straps hanging limply from the armrests, crusted with something dark and unidentifiable. Beside it, there was an ancient medical tray, the tools on it dulled and tarnished but unmistakable in their sinister purpose. Scalpels, syringes, twisted forceps… tools meant for things I didn’t want to imagine.
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribs, echoing in my ears. Every instinct in me screamed to run, to escape, but I was trapped here, alone and vulnerable, surrounded by remnants of forgottenhorrors.
And then it hit me—a memory of his voice, his dark, low whisper.‘Just let it happen. Let me take you back. You’re so tired, so worn out. This… this is what you need.’
My throat tightened, and I felt a surge of fear mingled with something darker, somethingtwisted.
He had brought me here.
I forced myself to stand, steadying the tremor in my legs, and moved cautiously toward the door. My hand hovered over the rusted metal handle, expecting it to be locked, trapping me in this nightmare. But as I pressed down, the handle gave with a rusty creak, and the door swung open.
I stepped out into the hallway, instantly enveloped by a thick, musty darkness. The air was colder here, sharper, biting at my exposed skin. I shivered, clutching the thin robe around myself, feeling more exposed with each step. A weak strip of light bled in from some unknown source, casting long, grotesque shadows along the walls, twisting and flickering like thingsalive, like they werewaiting.
The hallway stretched in both directions, an endless corridor of bleak, forgotten rooms identical to the one I’d just left. Each door was old and battered, paint peeling in grimy flakes, and most had small, rectangular windows smeared with filth, too obscured to see through. They reminded me of cages, empty cells for the broken souls who once roamed here.
I took a tentative step forward, my bare feet cold against the damp floor, which felt sticky in places, as if the very ground itself remembered things I wanted to forget. The silence was thick, pressing down on me, but beneath it, I could swear I heard faint echoes—a whisper, a shuffle, the soft scrape of something dragging along the floor. I couldn’t tell if it was my mind playing tricks on me or ifsomethingtruly lingered in the shadows,unseen.
To my right, one of the doors hung ajar, creaking softly as if caught in an invisible draft. The room beyond was cloaked in shadows, but I could make out a sliver of something dark on the floor—a puddle, dried and thick, like blood left to rot in the air. I shuddered, stepping back, unable to tear my gaze from that spot, as if it were a black hole drawing me in.
As I continued down the corridor, I glanced inside other rooms through the windows, each one a haunting reflection of the last: rusted bed frames, sagging mattresses, leather straps, and once-white sheets now stained with unrecognizable blotches. In some of the rooms, broken mirrors hung on the walls, cracked and distorted, giving glimpses of shadows that seemed to move just out of sight, fragments of faces twisted in silentagony. It was as if these rooms still held pieces of the people who had been kept here, their pain etched into the walls, marking the air.
I pressed forward, hugging the walls, listening, hyper-aware of every sound—the faint drip of water from some unseen leak, the scurry of something small and quick in the darkness. The smell of rot and rust filled my lungs, thickening with each step. I felt as though the asylum itself wasalive, breathing in sync with my fear, its walls watching, waiting for me to make a mistake.
A sharp creak echoed down the hall behind me. I spun around, my bare feet scraping against the rough floor, my breath catching as I stared into the shadows.
“Hello?” My voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and uncertain. The silence answered, deafening and oppressive.