You’re waiting to see your primary care physician. You’re in a room that looks like every other room off the hallway: one part church kitchenette, two parts 90’s exam room. I enter the room talking. “-but you can call me @K.M. Bennet. Only kidding, that’s not my name. And how are you today? Staying cool out there? If it was just the heat it wouldn’t be too bad, I can take the heat, its the humidity. Feels like you’re swimming.”
I am not your primary care physician.
I sit on a brown backless stool and slide effortlessly over, right up to your knees. “So you just need to take a look at these twelve cards and tell me what you see or what you feel, okay? Okay. Here’s the first one, its called The Red Light.”
You look at the card and feel isolated, scared. I am talking immediately. “This one made me feel claustrophobic, really trapped and hopeless. But also like I couldn’t trust anything, you know? Yeah, you know.”
I pull a different card, tossing the previous over my shoulder. “This one is called Wavetouched, doesn’t it just remind you of something? Familiar but unsettling, like your favorite childhood toy dredged up from the bottom of a lake, you know what I mean? Yeah, you know.”
I throwing-star the card across the room, pulling the next. “And this one, nice, right? It’s called Snowdrifter. It’s like an echo of a picture you kind of remember. Ghostly, but not scary, you know? Yeah, yeah, you do.”
I tuck the card into my labcoat pocket, then pull out the next. “This one is, let me see, ah — the Popcorn Ceiling! I love this one, don’t you love this one? Yeah, you do. It’s got that aimless terror of ceiling staring as a child. Alone. In the dark. In an unfamiliar room…”
I stare at the card you’re supposed to stare at, shiver, tuck it into my pocket, then look at you again. “Sorry. Just went somewhere. Hah. Anywho. This one here,” a new card is produced with a flourish, “is called Applied Arts. It’s unusual isn’t it? Myself, I like unusual things, I don’t know about you. This one just buzzes with a strangeness, a whole vibe. Same with this next one. This one is called Black Butterfly. It’s got a totally different feel to it, but it’s still strange you know? Yeah. You know. I see you seeing it. This one is more misty, sort of foggy feeling. Dreamy.” I toss the card toward you, pull the next one. “Edgar Falls Run, this one is called, and it has the sort of eyes-on-you feeling of walking through an empty park, don’t you think? I do. Uhh, this one, called Rosewater, this one grows on you, you know? Yeah, you know,” I wink at you and it is inexplicably loud, “this is an odd and mild and maybe humorous one. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it a little humorous.”
I toss away the card, then blindly hand you the next one. It says Welcome to Honeyhill Estates. “Whoa, whoopsie!” I pluck the pamphlet from your hands, “that’s not for you. Apologies. You couldn’t afford it anyway. Kidding! Hah! kidding. No, I really like this place. Trying to move there, actually. I went to visit though, and it just seemed… too nice, like perfect? There’s got to be some kind of catch.”
I tap the pamphlet against my cheek, vacant stare at nothing. I tuck it into my coat pocket. Flourish, another card appears. “This one is called The Skinless. Yup. Gross name, my opinion. Picture’s neat though. Mmm… let’s see, ah — I call this one Velveterror Rabbit. It’s pretty spooky, right? Sort of horrifying. But also, not. In a way. You know? Yeah, you do. You know.”
Without warning, I push rapidly away on my castor wheels, grab something off the not-kitchenette, then return spinning on my stool.
“Aaaaaaand this is Bluebear-wait, no sorry, it’s caaaaallllllled…” I speed-slide to the counter, read something, and shimmy back with tiny toe-scootches, “it’s called The Safe Test, actually.”
I stare at you.
I blink.
You do not know what to say.
My eyes are ruthless.
The door is flung open and I am escorted out by two men holding me under the arms and your real doctor holding his bleeding nose.
