A Slender Child

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

It was a Wednesday morning just a few weeks after I'd graduated college, and I was sick as a dog.

I was curled over the toilet. Slendy was kneeling behind me, holding my hair out of the way. I felt awful for forcing him to witness this, but I didn't think I aught to risk opening my mouth just yet to tell him to go away. Besides, he'd probably seen much worse.

"Poor little one," he murmured and gently wiped the sweat from my brow. I groaned and hurled again.

"Call my boss and tell him I can't make it today," I whispered hoarsely.

"My, you are sick aren't you?" He sounded partially amused.

"What?"

"I can't use phones," he reminded me.

"Shit," I groaned, "Can you bring it to me please?"

"Of course." He was gone in a flash, then reapeared in the next second, my cellphone in hand. Thank goodness for Slender walking. Then he disappeared again so that his aura wouldn't interfere with the call.

I dialed work and called in sick. When I hung up I started to hand the phone back to Slendy, who had reappeared when I finished the call, but he pushed it back towards me. "Call the doctor," he ordered.

I looked up at him with pleading eyes. He knew I didn't like doctors. "Can't you just heal me?" I begged.

He was shaking his head even as I asked it however. "Whatever this is, I can't heal it," he said apologetically.

"Why not?" I whined.

I could hear the frustration in his voice when he replied. "Believe me little one, if I knew why, I'd find a way to fix it," he almost growled. "I don't like seeing you hurt like this."

I managed a weak smile. He really did love me. Perhaps I could humor him. Would a trip to the doctors REALLY be that bad?

Noon time found me sitting in a monochromatic waiting room and flipping through an old magazine. My stomach had settled down, but I still felt a small twinge of nausea if I twisted my torso wrong. My head swam and pounded at the same time, my guess was as a result of dehydration from the vomiting.

My feet bounced nervously, lightly tapping the pale tile floor. This was why I hated the doctors - not the needles or the invasion of privacy, but the waiting.

Total wait time between the waiting room, the time it took the doctor to make it to my room once I had been called back, and then twiddling my thumbs while she went over test results was two hours and counting. I was almost ready to shoot myself. Why did I agree to this? I was feeling better now - no need for this crap. I could be home right now, doped up on cold medicine, and snuggling with my favorite myth.

Dr. Farrow walked in, a broad smile on her face. I was in a foul enough mood that I could barely manage a small smile in return.

"I think I know what your problem is Miss Steele," she beamed.

"Please do tell," I said, not reciprocating her sunny mood.

And then she did tell me.

My heart faltered for a second and my jaw dropped as I gasped aloud. Surely, I misheard?

It couldn't be... Could it?