A Strange Therapy Appointment 

The following event took place in 2010. 
I am a therapist who specializes in addiction. Have been for quite some time, and probably still will be for years to come. But something happened in 2010 that made me question if I wanted to remain in the field, even if I ever wanted to interact with another…human being…at all. I am not going to give my name or location, or the name of the patient due to privacy guidelines that I’m currently breaking. I’ve kept this story inside me for years now, and it’s time someone else knew.

It was time for my 1:00pm appointment, and the receptionist called me and told me the patient would be walking in momentarily. I thanked her and waited. The patient, a young man I will refer to as John, who had a problem with methamphetamine and PCP, walked in looking severely distraught. His clothes were a mess, dirty and torn to shreds in some places. His eyes were deeply sunken into his skull, with bags underneath them darker than midnight. His lips were dry and cracked, and his nose was running, with blood caked at the bottom of his nostrils. It looked to me like a going through a severe case of withdrawal.

”You’re not looking too hot, John.”

”No shit…” He replied as he slowly sat down.

”Are you withdrawing? How long has it been?”

”I don’t know what it is. I fired up about two hours ago.”

”Was it your regular drug of choice?” I asked, puzzled.

” Yeah, but I got it from a new guy, and it’s some bullshit. I don’t even feel like I’m withdrawing. I don’t know what I feel like.”

”Do you need medical attention?” I asked, hoping he would take the offer.

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His jaw just hung down. And then it opened further. And further, until his jaw unhinged. The skin on his cheeks began to tear, sending blood dripping onto my carpet. I gasped and said something, I don’t remember what, as he stood up from his chair.

His lower jaw continued opening until his bottom lip touched his throat. A small hand came from deep within him and pulled his upper lip over his nose. The hand retreated back from whence it came, and John’s head cocked back, sending his jaw up. As it lowered again, John’s teeth were no longer that of a human. He had a series of different sized fangs protruding through his gums. They were rotten and cracking, with an instantly noticeable odor. His head dropped forward and his tongue fell out of his mouth, before inching back into it as if someone were pulling it like a rope from the other end.

I was absolutely frozen in terror. I didn’t want to move, in fear that whatever John now was would try to stop me. I didn’t want to startle it by yelling. I just had to sit there and watch.

The same hand from earlier reached far out of John’s mouth and grabbed a handful of his tattered t-shirt. With one pull, the shirt ripped off of him, revealing John’s scarred and bruised torso. After the arm once again retracted, I saw something pulsating inside his stomach, moving around. Suddenly, a clawed, red finger poked out his bellybutton. Then another, and another, and finally a thumb and wrist, revealing a four fingered hand on a tiny, slender wrist that looked as if it would break from a gust of wind. It was the opposite arm that had been coming through John’s mouth.

The arm came out past the wrist, and the other arm returned from his mouth. It was then that John fell like a stiff board onto his back. The arms flailed wildly as he descended to the ground. Just then, his ribs on the left side of his body began moving, further apart, and closer together, as if they were being stretched and then moving back to position. It was then that I heard a loud CRACK, a sound I will never forget, and a hoofed foot tore through the lower side of his torso, squirming around looking for ground. Closer to his heart, now, came another CRACK, this one louder than the first, and another hoof came bursting through his skin, desperately trying to find ground to stand on.

I watched in horror as the four extremities flailed about on my office floor, desperately seeking some kind of stability. Then I heard a series of cracks, quieter than the ones that had just flooded my ears. Each rib cracked on his right side, one after the other. His skin raised on his side at two points, as if they were trying to get through the skin. They did. Two horns protruded from his side. The skin between the horns stretched as the rest of the head attempted to free itself, before finally bursting open and revealing it’s hideous face. 

It had four smaller horns between the two primary ones, jet black eyes without eyelids; they looked like two marbles had been crafted from darkness itself. It’s nose was a snout like that of a pig, only it was much smaller than a pig’s nose. It’s mouth was the same as John’s had turned into, only it contained more rows of the horrible, vile, rotten teeth, and it’s breath filled my office with a near palpable odor that threatened to make me vomit. 

It looked around for a moment, seemingly taking in it’s whereabouts. It must have noticed it was on the floor, because it suddenly used its hands to push itself up on to its feet. It couldn’t have been more than three feet tall in its entirety. As it stood, John’s body simply dangled, hanging to the sides. I couldn’t tell what the monster’s actual torso looked like, as the bulk of its body was actually John’s stomach and chest area.

It looked directly at me, gazing into my eyes, seemingly staring into my soul. I blinked, and in that split second, the monster (and John’s lifeless body that it was inside of) turned around and dove through the second floor window of my office. I quickly got up and ran to look over the edge. They had landed in the bushes below. The monster bursted through the rest of John, then did something I can’t properly explain with words. Whatever it did, it healed the majority of John’s wounds instantly. He still had cuts and scrapes and bruises on his body, but nothing about him would suggest that some sort of monster had just been born from within him. And with that, the monster scurried away, dragging its much longer left arm behind it.

The police were called, and after seeing John up close, I decided not to tell them what had just happened. I told them he had just mentioned feeling suicidal and subsequently jumped through my window. 

I don’t know what it was. I don’t know how it came to be. I don’t know what it wanted, or what it’s doing right now. All I know is that it’s out there. Somewhere. Doing God knows what. John and I still see each other. He cleaned himself up for a while, but eventually fell back into his addiction. We spoke about what had happened that day, as if he truly had mentioned feeling suicidal and attempted to take his own life. But today, he mentioned the monster. Six years ago, he was conscious for the whole thing. And he saw him for the first time last night.

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