Novel | Sample | Dark Fantasy
Gate Waymen sat in the leather embossed lounge chair, artfully dodging the shrink’s attempts to engage in conversation. He had read every spine that lined the room at least a hundred times by now. Awards and certificates sneered at him, bragging of the doctor’s achievements and how he was certified to treat Gate’s condition. Aggravated pitter-patter of a bouncing pen brought his attention back to an ornate mahogany desk followed by creaking wood from an antique chair as Dr. Gode rose to a boastful pose.
“I’m sure your godfather will be here momentarily,” he said, “But we can begin this session without him if you’re tired of reading my collection.”
How many times did he have to sigh and twiddle his thumbs before the head doctor would commit to their agreement? Tick… Tick… Tick… A cane echoed outside the door. A soft rapping brought a paltry grin to Gate’s unkempt face; he nodded towards the door. Annoyed, Dr. Gode strode to the door and opened it to reveal Michael, a wiry old man wearing a very hard expression. He pushed past the doctor and took a seat at his desk, propping his feet on its glossy surface.
“Are you ready?” he said paying no regard to the slack-jawed Dr. Gode as he raise his eyebrows at Gate.
Gate nodded and gestured towards the recorder at Michael’s feet. Dr. Gode, flustered and red, huffed and puffed across the room to a corner chair and plopped down like a child who had just been scolded in a checkout line. Ignoring the outburst, Gate sate up, running his gnarled hands through greasy black locks of hair. His sleeves fell loosely down his arms disclosing many scars and souvenirs. With a heavy finger, Michael started the recorder; Gate cleared his throat.
“I remember the first time I entered Haeven as clearly as a young child remembers the searing white pain of the very first burn…”