CREEPYPASTA

A Trip To The Dentist Revealed Everything

My eyes were wide and rolling side to side in their sockets, my arms were flailing wildly, my bare feet stumbled through the small layer of day-old snow, my blood streamed down the right side of my face from a small cut on my temple, my veins were bulging out, my neck muscles were extended and strained, and my lips were stretched to their limit as I alternated between screaming and yelling. I was fully exposed, but that wasn't what disturbed me the most. That paled in comparison to my chilling, guttural cries begging for them not to "let them take me again".

The cop stopped the video and looked me dead in the eyes. "You really don't remember any of this?"

I felt my cheeks burning red with embarrassment. It was a strange, foreign feeling, knowing I was looking at myself but having no memory of any of it. There was this disconnect, like a stranger had been controlling my body. I imagined that's how a videogame character would feel, if you could pull them out of their game and make them watch a play-through. I glanced at the cop and shook my head in response.

He lowered his gaze and let out a pensive, "Huh."

The look in his eyes was sympathetic and kind. It had been sterner earlier, before the blood tests came back and revealed no alcohol or drugs in my system.

I leaned back against my hospital bed and touched a hand to my bandaged temple. I would have thought a fracture to my skull would have left me in excruciating pain, but all I felt was a dull ache. Though, to be fair, it wasn't much of a fracture at all. The doctor had almost missed it on the CT scan. It was a pinprick - a little hole barely the diameter of a pencil lead - that had gone straight through the bone. Whatever had done it had left no trace behind. Since I didn't have a concussion or brain damage, the doctor could only assume the lapse in my memory was due to psychological trauma. That was unsettling in and of itself.

The cop cleared his throat and asked, "Do you have any idea what you were doing out there?"

I shook my head again. I was afraid of answering his questions, not because I remembered doing something wrong, but because I didn't think he'd believe I hadn't. That night, I'd gone to bed like I normally would, but had woken up the next morning three counties over in a hospital bed. I couldn't remember running down the highway naked, I couldn't remember screaming so loud my throat went hoarse, and I couldn't remember the motorists who'd pulled over to "help" me. I guess I shouldn't be sarcastic. One of them did help and called 911 for me. The other? Well, let's just say there's a reason there was a video of what happened. What's with people whipping out their phones to film these kinds of things anyways? Though if he hadn't, I guess I'd never have seen for myself how erratic I'd been acting. I'd never have believed what the witnesses claimed. It just wasn't like me.

The doctor walked in. She smiled and leaned against the railing of my hospital bed. The protective hand and ankle cuffs were still dangling off the sides. I couldn't remember when they'd been put on me, but I could remember when they'd been removed. It was after I'd woken up, confused, disoriented, and exhausted. They evaluated me, deemed I wasn't a danger to myself or others, and undid the shackles. Never in my wildest imagination did I ever think I'd need to be restrained for anything other than fun.

"Phew! Good thing you came in doc," the cop said, "this one's been talking my ear off." He winked at me. "I didn't think I could take another minute."

Doctor Winters let out a chuckle. "Oh, I've no doubt. I've never had a more talkative patient," she teased back. She turned her attention to me. "How are you feeling?"

I shrugged, and then gave her a half-assed thumbs-up.

The cop stretched his arm and peered through the blinds on the window. "Looks like Denis is back."