Alice heard the woman’s voice as if through a thick fog. Pain had already taken over every inch of her body, twisting her limbs, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Her mind lacked the strength to string words into sentences or convert them into coherent thoughts, let alone retain the most important ones. It took a long moment before she realized the woman was watching her closely. For a brief second, Alice felt like the woman understood, that she knew what was happening and how much it hurt. Then the woman clapped her hands, and to Alice’s astonishment… everything stopped.

  “Focus, consciousness,” the woman said.

  She was speaking to Alice, but Alice couldn’t take her eyes off the stiff, frozen girl—motionless, suspended in time.

  “What did you do to her?” Alice asked, horrified.

  “I’ve paused her temporarily,” the woman answered calmly. “We’ve got about two minutes, so listen carefully. This is your mind. She and you are components of the identity you think of as Alice.”

  “Then who the hell are you?”

  “You’re in a deep hypnotic state. It was designed to…”

  “Who the hell are you?!” Alice shouted, stepping between the woman and her subconscious as if preparing for a fight.

  The woman studied her for a moment, then turned on her heel and muttered under her breath:

  “Why do I even bother talking to you?”

  “Wait!” Alice ran after her, but after just a few steps, the woman snapped her fingers, and the pain returned.

  “Fuck!”

  With the last of her strength, Alice crawled to the motionless child, cradled her in her arms, and whispered,

  “Wake us up.”

  And just like that, a winding staircase appeared beside her. Alice had no strength to climb, but it didn’t matter. Her subconscious whispered terrifying stories. Memories. From a time when Alice hadn’t always been Alice. When a knife wasn’t just for cutting food. The images came back, one after another: the wounds, the pain, the blood. The places changed. The time changed. Her body changed. But it was always her. She remembered it all, clearly. She couldn’t understand, in that brief moment, how she had ever forgotten.

  She stood. It wasn’t easy, but compared to what she’d already survived, it felt… doable. She walked a few steps, then straightened. In that moment, she wasn’t a teenage girl raised by ghosts. She was a warrior, an assassin, a soldier, and a thousand other versions of herself who had never learned to cower. She climbed, and with every step she took on the shape of someone she had once been. A hundred steps, each one feeling infinite. She reached the last as a woman whose face, until now, she had never been able to remember.

  Alice opened her eyes. The pain was gone. It had vanished without a trace. She felt relaxed, calm, her head pleasantly light. The woman who had put her under hypnosis looked visibly surprised.

  “Alice? How did you manage to wake yourself up?” she asked, walking over and gently placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  The soft touch was the final trigger that pulled Alice fully back to consciousness.

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, jumping to her feet. She began gathering her things. “I don’t ever want to see you again!”

  “Alice, but…”

  “I heard it! I heard everything! You lied to me, you bitch,” she snapped, heading for the door.

  “Wait, I’m sure this is all just…”

  Alice suddenly stopped at the doorway. She turned back, locked eyes with the woman, and said in a calm, low voice:

  “I hope you find him. I hope they come to you and give you exactly what you’ve been dreaming of.”

  The words hung in the air like the heaviest kind of curse. Then Alice left the woman’s apartment. The woman didn’t try to stop her.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Outside, the girl pulled out her phone and called a cab. She felt different, stronger, older. But not better. Once again, she had paid a damn steep price to learn the truth.

  The woman shut the door, made herself a cup of tea, and sat down in the living room, still slightly shaken. Her eyes remained fixed on the sofa where the girl had just been lying.

  How had she broken out of deep hypnosis on her own? How could she have heard everything that was said to her? It wasn’t her first session, and no one had ever done what Alice just did. And those final words… The moment she said them, a chill ran down the woman’s spine, and the house seemed to grow darker, heavier.

  “Was that… a curse?” she wondered, blowing on her tea.

  No. Alice wouldn’t be capable of casting a curse. She held some strange, hidden knowledge, yes, but…

  Movement.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something shift at the edge of her vision. Her heart rate spiked. Carefully, she set her mug down on the coffee table and turned. Nothing. No one was there. She must’ve imagined it. Relieved, she turned back…

  …and stared straight into the eyes of a corpse.

  She froze, stopped breathing. The milky whites of something long dead were just inches from her face. A hand, nothing more than bone wrapped in a few dried tendons, lashed out and grabbed her by the throat. It lifted her off the ground and hurled her like a rag doll. She hit the wall hard. Dazed, she looked up. There, in the doorway, stood another monster. She had to run.

  But how? Hands burst through the floor, grabbed her, and pinned her down. A man crouched on the ceiling. He wore a long black apron and some kind of mask. In both hands he held hatchets. He dropped heavily to the floor beside her. And in that moment, she knew: she likely wouldn’t survive the night. A face emerged from the wall—its eyes and mouth sewn shut.

  The woman squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see the next horror appear.

  It didn’t help. They came anyway, one after another, announcing their presence not only in the room but inside her mind. Each one promising death, but only after unbearable pain. Far away, watching it all unfold, stood a man with black hair and cold eyes. He smiled wide and calmly lit a cigarette.

  Back home, Alice locked herself in her room. She had no desire to talk to anyone, and certainly no desire to explain how she’d once again trusted the wrong person. She just wanted to be good. She wanted to fix this broken world, even a little. Why did nothing ever go her way? Time after time, she either ran into con artists or lunatics. And even when someone had a hint of real talent, their level never came close to matching her own potential. How was she supposed to find someone who could truly teach her?

  To her dismay, the image of the Not-a-Doctor rose in her mind, unbidden. Without thinking, she buried her face in a pillow and screamed with everything her lungs could give. She had been searching for a mentor, but deep down, she knew she wouldn’t find one. She’d been guided from an early age, and as much as it pained her to admit it, the black-haired man had known exactly what he was doing. She wouldn’t have reached her current level without his help. Still, he hadn’t taught her nearly as much as he could have. She suspected he had his reasons.

  But now that no longer mattered. If she wanted to learn more, she’d have to seek out knowledge elsewhere. What was she looking for? Everything. She wanted to help souls pass on to the fabled “other side,” but had no idea how to do it properly. She wanted to heal using energy, but again, how was she supposed to do it? She wanted to read fortunes, but tarot cards made no sense to her. She tried predicting the future, but that wasn’t going well either. Everything she started just seemed to dissolve somewhere along the way. Because she lacked the answers to essential questions that kept echoing in her mind.

  Too many doubts.

  Even the books she bought in bulk weren’t enough. They described techniques for people whose potential was barely above zero, and she had long since moved past that stage. Each publication seemed to omit something vital. Always a missing element that distorted the whole picture. She could feel it clearly, but couldn’t quite grasp what it was. Courses bored her too.

  Everything the instructors said, she could replicate in seconds. And yet something important always slipped through her fingers.

  She felt like all her efforts were going to waste. It was as if the world punished her goodness with cruelty. Maybe it was just a phase? Maybe it was karma for something she had done long ago? Every time she asked herself that kind of question, her mind offered up an answer she tried desperately to avoid. Because yes, deep down, she knew the Not-a-Doctor would be able to answer her. She had lost her way. She felt it in every part of her being. She wanted to move forward. She knew she was wasting time, but she had no idea which direction to take. It wasn’t like standing at a crossroads, wondering which path to choose. Oh no. Alice stood in an open field. A field in the middle of a muddy autumn. On a rainy night. With thick clouds covering the sky. The wood was soaked; there was no way to light a fire. And something else was wrong. She didn’t yet know what, but the bleak metaphor forming in her head still didn’t seem bleak enough.

  Of course, she considered the possibility that this was all hormones talking, and that in a few years her entire worldview might change. She considered that possibility. But that didn’t mean she really believed it. What she truly believed, the only possibility she seriously entertained, was that the entire world had joined forces against her. Youth has its own rules, after all.

  She continued spiraling through her thoughts, blaming life for its injustice. She searched for balance, but found only lies and myths. Bitterness took root in her. She didn’t even notice when the tears began to fall. With every drop sliding down her cheek, she felt her strength leaving her. She felt empty. Worthless. And with that feeling, she drifted off to sleep. But on the edge of waking and dreaming, a thought surfaced. One she should have remembered.

  Maybe it’s all because of what that fat bastard did to me, she thought, slipping into the bliss of unconsciousness.