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Grade
10

Nothing had prepared him for Oregon. There was thrashing rain, howling wind, and the sky was murky, with fog as thick as wet velvet. Despite the treacherous weather, the silent drive up the mountainside was deafening. He found himself lost in thought, he just saw his sister last month for Thanksgiving, he never would have thought that would be the last time he’d see her. Now in Oregon for her funeral, he can’t help but mourn. He broke away from his dismal thoughts and noticed the bus was approaching the large estate. As the bus came to a stop, he hurriedly got off and trudged to the front gate. The tremendous and decayed house had vines winding all throughout the exterior, barely leaving a stone uncovered. Opening the gate, he stepped through the overgrown weeds, made his way to the front door and gave it a strong knock. After what seemed like forever, the door creaked open to reveal a tall, strongly built man with tousled hair and an inviting smile. “Mr. Dawson, Welcome. We’ve been expecting your arrival, step out of the cold and get yourself settled in.” He insisted, stepping out of the way and showing Mr. Dawson up the stairway. “You’re Dr. Wilson I presume?” Mr. Dawson asked unknowingly. “Dr. James Wilson, I work at the Psychiatric hospital just a mile down the road.” He replied, with a slight smirk. Mr. Dawson couldn’t keep his eyes focused. Walking up the stairs and through the hallway, he couldn’t help but notice the cobwebs strewn across the crown moldings and the tattered wallpaper peeling away from its former spot on the walls. They approached the end of the long, creaky and dusty hallway, “Here’s your room, Mr. Dawson, Dinner will be served at 6:00, If you need anything before then I’ll be in my office.” Dr. Wilson concluded, disappearing through the dimly lit hallway. Mr. Dawson looked around, noticing a dusty grandfather clock in the corner of the room, the pendulum swinging gracefully. The clock read 3:00, three hours until 6. He dropped his luggage next to the doorframe and made his way to the four-poster bed. With three hours to spare he figured he’d lay down and collect his thoughts, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. When he opened his eyes the room was pitch black. He reached over to the table next to him turned on the oil lamp, and the room instantly lit up. He turned to see the clock and it read 8:43. Realizing how late he was, he frantically tried to make his way out of bed and downstairs to explain himself. As he got up he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach that made him collapse and wince in pain. “Dr. Wilson!” He exclaimed miserably. Moments later footsteps could be heard making their way down the hall, and the door slowly creaked open and Dr. Wilson appeared in shock, “What Happened Mr. Dawson?” He stammered, “There’s a dreadful pain in my stomach, it feels as if I’d been stabbed.” Dr. Wilson rushed to his side to help him up, “Let’s go to my office, I’ll take a look at you.”, He reassured. Mr. Dawson got up, clutching his abdomen, and followed Dr. Wilson down the hall, where the sconces on the walls blew out, leaving them in the dark. Dr. Wilson lit a match as if on cue, and they arrived at the other end of the hallway, Dr. Wilson’s office. “Have a seat on the examination table, I’ll be there in a moment.”, Dr. Wilson stated as he prepared his tools for examination. Mr. Dawson hoisted himself onto the examination table and took a look around the room. The room had an ominous feel to it, the only window was barred, there were dark crimson stains on the floorboards and the room had an antiseptic smell that made him feel even dizzier than he already was. His eyes still scanning the room he noticed the door slightly creaked open, and through the small opening, a single eye could be seen watching Mr. Dawson contently. Mr. Dawson’s breath hitched, and a quiet and almost psychotic laugh could be heard before the door silently closed, leaving Mr. Dawson in fear. “Doctor, did you mention anyone else staying here?”, He asked fearfully. “One of my patients, Michael. But he won’t bother you until tomorrow, I put him to sleep.”, the Doctor consoled, “Now this should relax you, and help with the pain.” Dr. Wilson approached with a 16 gauge needle, and before Mr. Dawson had a chance to protest, he had been injected with whatever substance was in the syringe. He felt his body go numb and everything went black. When he regained consciousness, his whole body ached and his pulse was the only thing he could hear. He sat up, noticing he was still in the Doctor’s office, and he tried to recollect what happened before he went unconscious. Noticing a bulletin board he hadn’t seen yesterday, he dragged himself off the examination table to see what was on it. He approached the bulletin board with and saw newspaper clippings with Dr. Wilson on the front covers. He cautiously read the papers, ‘Psychiatrist goes crazy, kills patients’, ‘Stressed Doctor dismembers patients’. As Mr. Dawson continues reading he notices a list of patients lost, one name stands out, ‘Sarah Dawson’. He feels himself go cold like all of the life had been sucked out of him. He knew he had to run, but he couldn’t move as he was frozen still in disbelief. How did this happen? Why did this happen? His sister was gone because of this lunatic. Suddenly he felt the sharp pain in his stomach again and toppled over, unable to keep his balance. Clutching his stomach, he felt an unfamiliar mark across it. He lifted up his shirt and across his stomach was an eight-inch long incision sloppily stitched shut. He was now more terrified than ever. Despite his fear, he picked himself up off the ground and walked over to the barred window. It was still pouring outside, and lightning could be seen through the forest of trees. As he stared out the window, he heard footsteps approach and the rusty-hinged door opened, and in walked Dr. Wilson. The Doctor stood there with his inviting smile, ”You’ve figured me out haven’t you?”, He questioned as he approached Mr. Dawson. Mr. Dawson knew the only way he could get out of this was fight back. “I believe I have figured you out Doctor, you’re not real. You’re only a figment of my imagination.” Mr. Dawson proudly exclaimed, “You’re only here because my sister is gone, you got in her head but I won’t let you get in mine.” Suddenly the rain stopped and thunder could no longer be heard. The incision on Mr. Dawson’s abdomen has disappeared. Mr. Dawson approached his mental illnesses instead of running and hiding from them, and Dr. Wilson no longer existed. THE END

State
New York
Zip Code
10031