To Hell and Back for You

Chapter 4: Unexpected Therapy

The interior of the out-of-place home was as lovely as its exterior albeit a little messy. There was a day room off to the right, directly after stepping inside, which was filled with canvases, paints, brushes, and a lot of other art supplies.

In the center stood an easel, displaying an unfinished portrait of what looked like a shadow person. Since the intriguing painting was quite coincidental, I couldn't help but to inch nearer to study it.

When I was young and the trouble with sleep started, I had seen my fair share of the unsettling creatures. They had been one of the first things I researched too. Apparently, shadow people were a common sight during sleep paralysis experiences.

Dreams during these occurences were referred to as hypnagogic hallucinations since the body wasn't entirely awake or asleep. In fact, it wasn't unusual for psychosis patients to see them during their waking visions either.

I stared at the painting, letting it consume me. The paranoid state shadow people were infamous for inducing seemed to begin reaching out of the canvas to surround me...almost as though the more I locked my sight on its representation, the more I brought it to life. My mind connected to the fear and uncertainty always felt in their presence.

"Coffee?" the abrupt sound of Ames' voice jolted me from my trance.

Spinning around and grinning awkwardly, I took notice of her blank expression. She stood in the hallway behind me, holding a yellow mug. I blinked my eyes away and accepted the token.

"Thank you," I nodded, following her into the living room opposite us.

There was a large leather couch and matching recliner centering a flat screen television and an old record player. On the long coffee table in the middle of the room were several files, stacks of papers, and a couple of books. The woman took a moment to flip some of those things over before taking a seat in the recliner.

"Do you have sleep problems?" I asked, my gaze flitting across the way and finding the art again.

"Hm?" her gaze matched mine, sight of the piece seeming to jumpstart her brain, "Oh. Um, yeah. You too?"

I nodded, "Since I was little."

"Why don't you sit down?" she motioned to the couch between us, reminding me that I was still on my feet.

I looked away from the picture and to the sofa. It was a bit worn, but looked fairly new. Given the appearance and possessions of her home, I gathered that she wasn't hurting for money. That came off as strange due to her background though I suppose many successful or at least stable people had come from broken families. Another possibility was that she had come into cash by selling the story about her dad.

I picked a spot on the middle cushion where I sat leaned forward, staring down at my drink. It was black. I had never drunk coffee without cream and some sort of sweetener. Even back when my nightmares were at their worst and I was doing all I could to stay awake, my java was watered down to the point of being more milk than anything else.

"Oh, I forgot to ask how you took yours," Ames appeared to be reading me.

I looked up, mouth opening, yet unable to speak before she continued.

"There's sugar in the freezer. Keeps the bugs away," she said, "And I don't have creamer, but there's some milk in the icebox, if you'd like."

I mumbled a thanks and then stood up, taking my mug with me to the kitchen past the wall behind her. The kitchen was just as nice as the rest of the house that I had seen. Fresh paint, stainless steel appliances, and cabinets and drawers that looked perfectly straight without any scuffs.