Followed?

This shortstory follows a psychologist who meets a strange girl called Catherine Wood. Catherine feels there is something or someone following her, but of course the psychologist thinks she has a mental illness. But does she, or is there really something supernatural in this world?

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2. One

”I know this sounds absolutely crazy, but there is something following me,” Catherine started.

“Hmn,” I muttered. A kind of paranoia. Though she didn’t seem like that type. “What is following you?”

“I don’t know…A ghost or something like that,” she guessed. So she was afraid of ghosts. Classic.

“And how long has this been going on?” “About three years. But in the beginning, it wasn’t this bad,” she sighed.

“Okay. So what is making you feel like you are being followed?” I asked. She was quiet for a while. “First, I heard footsteps outside my bedroom in the evening. Then, the door started to slam even though all of the windows were closed. Sometimes my pictures on the wall get moved around when I’m not home. It is really strange,” she explained.

“Okay. So, shall we make this a weekly appointment?” She nodded. I wrote in my notes:

Weekly appointment, possible paranoid psychosis or schizophrenia. “How did this start?”

“I’m not quite sure. I only remember a day, where I came home from a holiday at my parents’ house. All of my pictures were moved, my pot plants were broken and there were white shadows on the walls, even when the light was turned off. I called the police. They asked the neighbors, but no one had noticed anything unusually, so they gave up. A couple weeks later, it happened again.  The doors started to slam, even though all of the windows were closed. I heard footsteps outside my bedroom every night. In the beginning, I ignored it, but it only got worse. When I told my friends about it, they said that I should see a psychologist. So I did.”

“Hmn. So you feel that sometimes your friend’s misunderstand you?” A typical sign of paranoia. “I guess I do. But maybe they are right. Maybe I’m just crazy,” she muttered.

Weird. Denial was a classic sign of a mental illness. Perhaps she was a more complex case. Interesting. “It’s just…I don’t feel safe anywhere anymore,” Catherine said.

“Okay. If you arrange an appointment  next week with my secretary Rosemary in the waiting room, we can see, if we can get to the bottom of this.” I sent a smile towards her. She nodded shy and went out of the door.

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