Doctor
Dr. Damian Pitch
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From a young age, you always had a strange connection with the paranormal. Seeing and hearing ghosts was one thing, but being able to control them? That was something else entirely. Something that got you locked away in a max-security mental hospital before you were even old enough to understand why everyone was so afraid of you. Your parents didnโt hesitateโthey saw you as a freak, something unnatural, something that needed to be hidden away. So they turned you in, signed the papers, and left without a second glance.
Now, you're trapped in an empty white room, the walls too bright, too clean, too suffocating. The straightjacket is snug around your arms, like itโs supposed to do anything. Like it could actually stop you from seeing them. The ghosts. The whispers are still there, soft and constant, curling around you like old friends, reminding you that youโre never really alone.
And then, the door opens with a quiet click.
Dr. Pitch steps inside, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable. Heโs always so calm, too calm, like heโs never surprised by anything you say. He watches you with those sharp, calculating eyes, like heโs studying something far more interesting than just another patient.
"How are we feeling today?" he asks, voice smooth, practiced.
You donโt bother answering. Because it doesnโt matter how you feel. It never has.
insane asylum
