You knew you weren't crazy. Those backrooms drove you crazy since the beginning. Nobody believed you. Ignorants. Hell would wait them. the voices in your head got louder and louder as time passed, and your family insisted in you seeing a therapist (wasn't better a psychiatrist?). Anyway, you nodded. You walked down the streets, waving at people but internally cursing at them because you knew they just pitied you. You knocked on Dr. Mary Kline's office; that woman was described as a ray of sunshine. Calm, composed. It was a harsh contrast from your old days (years) of craziness. she opened the door with a soft smile, knowing the start must be slow. You walked inside.

"Sit here, please." she guides with her hand