Who's In Charge Here?

My friends told me I was insane.

Living in Creek Falls? They were certain I’d be dead by the weekend. But as a psychologist, I truly believed I could reform my patients. My therapy would civilize them and make a difference.

As I walked down to the basement, Donna, our secretary and my usual greeting, was missing. She’d always arrived an hour earlier than me so she’d have enough time to set out the chairs, open the windows, and prepare the room for our weekly sessions. Plus, having her around added a bit of warmth to that cold basement where our support group meetings took place.

But the sight of her empty desk made my stomach drop.

Perhaps she was setting up the room. She’d done that before.

As I snuck a peek through the half-open doorway, no Donna. Was she having a late breakfast? Or an early lunch? It was so unlike her.

I took a deep breath and smiled before entering, as Shy Sally hated it when I frowned. It was only last week I’d finally gotten her to stop reverting to her bat form as a coping mechanism.

Upon entry, my eyes locked with Bob, our resident bodybuilder trying to go vegan. His shaggy head hung almost immediately—a classic, telltale sign of guilt.

“Bob?”

His amber eyes looked everywhere but in my direction. “Yeah, Doc?”

“Be honest.” I sat down, trying to make myself less visually intimidating against the six-foot six hairy man-child huddled across from me. The chair made a grating sound as Bob shifted in it. “This is a safe space, so you needn’t fear judgment or punishment…”

“Okay.”

I cleared my throat. “You ate the secretary again, didn’t you?”

“I tried really hard this time,” Bob said between sobs, stroking the fur-trimmed collar of his coat that was definitely new. “But the scent eventually got to me.”

“You said the smelling salts were working.”

“They were!” Bob said through a growl that made everyone jump, including me.

Sally—seated across from Bob in the circle—scooted her chair to the furthest corner of the room.

I had to maintain control, or she’d never attend another meeting ever again.

“And you kept up with your meditation?” I asked, hoping the calm look in my eyes would put Bob at ease.

“Every night,” Bob insisted. “Even during the moon phases.”

“What about your daily food journals?”

He let out a sigh. “Sorry, I caved. Seeing all those veggie entries night after night... I finally lost it.”

“Told you, dude,” Pete chimed in, seated next to Bob. “Vegan werewolves are a myth. But to be fair, last night was a full moon.”

“That’s an overgeneralization!” Sally blurted out, flashing her fangs. “A relapse doesn’t make you a terrible vegan.”

I stifled a smile. That’s page forty-five of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. Looks like someone’s been reading my psych books again.

“You think so?” Pete’s lifeless eyes sagged a bit more than usual, which made reading his emotions that much more difficult. Not that he revealed his emotions, anyway. “I’m just saying Bob couldn’t help himself.”

“Naturally, you’ll take the man’s side,” Sally muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

“At least I didn’t say his brain made him do it, right Doctor Morgan?” Pete’s voice had that typical zombie slur, but his rotting face looked hopeful. “Progress, right?”

“Right, Pete,” I said, holding in a chuckle. “We finally got you off the brain train.”

“Please don’t fight, guys,” George said, his green pointed ears twitching. He leapt from the chair that was way too tall for his three foot-frame. “I brought snacks for everyone. There’s grasshopper chips and scorpion granola bars…” His long, leathery fingers plucked several bags out of the burlap sack he’d walked in with. “Who needs to talk about their feelings when your bellies are full, huh? Not me!” He tossed the snacks to each member in the circle—one going right through Eleanor, who was too busy scrolling through her undead cellphone to notice. “Unless you think I should? Do you think I should? Because if you do, I will! But only if you really want me to.”

“Sit down, gremlin!” Florence yelled before puffing smoke circles from her nose. “No one cares about your stupid snacks.”

“Speak for yourself, dragon,” Bob said, already sinking his sharp teeth into a scorpion granola bar. “Food is always a welcome surprise.”

“I’m a goblin,” George said, flaring his giant nostrils. “And would it hurt for someone to say ‘thank you’ around here?” He made sure to mumble that last part.

“Gremlin, goblin; same difference!” Florence stomped her scaly foot, slightly cracking the concrete. “I don’t know why we keep doing this, Doc… it’s the definition of insanity.”

The anti-social dragon was quoting my thesis statement back to me? Perhaps this mission wasn’t as hopeless as I thought.

“How goes the Haunted Hub, Eleanor?” I asked, determined to find someone redeemable in this support group. Even if it killed me. “Any scare updates to share with us?”

Eleanor rose from the chair with a swoosh. “Unfortunately, it’s the same report as last week, Doc. Bupkis.” She drifted back to her seat; her flowing white hair and translucent skin glowing under the flickering fluorescent lights. “Forgot to scare the hotel guests again… if anything, they scared me—which the other ghosts got quite a kick out of.”

“You’re the worst ghost ever,” Florence said with a roar, fire glinting briefly in her car trunk-shaped mouth. “You had one job—scaring people—and you can’t even do that!”

“Have something you want to share, Florence?” I asked with a smirk, knowing exactly what her answer would be.

“You know I don’t!”

Sally put her hand up. “Can I share, please, Doctor Morgan?”

Wow, Shy Sally was volunteering to share? Perhaps my methods were working after all. The socially anxious vampire would be my breakthrough.

“Certainly, go ahead.”

She stood up and cleared her throat. “Hi everyone.”

“Hi, Sally!”

“Uh…” Her shoulders drooped. “Sorry, still too soon.” She promptly sat down and flicked her cape collar up, sinking her neck further into it.

So close.

As we collectively calmed Sally down, Mike, my childhood friend—and one of the few remaining humans in Creek Falls—stood in the doorway, clad in his police uniform.

Not a good sign.

“Hey,” I tried to sound casual. “What’s up?”

“Good morning, Sam.” His face was grim, which for Mike wasn’t that strange. “I’m looking for your secretary, Donna. Have you seen her today?”

I slipped my hands into my pockets. “Can’t say that I have.”

Not a total lie.

“Uh-hmm.” Mike fished a pencil from behind his ear and scribbled something onto his notepad. I craned my neck to make out what it was, failing miserably. “And I suppose asking you about your prior secretaries’ disappearances is also a waste of time, huh?”

“Do you want my expert opinion as a psychologist or my honest opinion as a friend?”

Mike shook his head. “Like there’s a difference. This town talks, Samuel. And if things like this keep happening, I intend to listen.”

For a moment, I considered whether Mike was right. Whether I was wasting my time on this mission. But I couldn’t afford to let myself think like that.

“What about your monster patients?” Mike adjusted his police hat. “Would they happen to know your secretary’s whereabouts?”

But before I could respond, Bob’s voice rang out from inside the room. “Doc, Sally turned into a bat again!”

“Don’t let her escape… shut all the windows and guide her to her coffin.”

Mike raised his eyebrow. “Still think you can redeem your personality disorder freaks?”

I nodded. “Therapy works… even for monsters.”

Back to the drawing board, I guess. Tomorrow would be better. Hopefully.

Or at least a new secretary.