Sometimes Things Sneak Up on You
A tale of phantoms and fears
Maybe what we have here is a selection for
?It was an overcast evening, and the bathroom was aglow with three candles. Faye usually lit as many candles as she had seen patients that day and this evening was no different, except that she chose the large clawfoot tub instead of her usual shower. A relaxing bath would allow more time for her to review the day’s triumphs and triages…but mostly she hoped to soothe her lingering anxiety.
Resting her head comfortably on the tub’s graceful curve, Faye’s gaze traveled lazily over the 9’ inlaid ceiling until it rested on a black, leggy spider lurking in the far corner. A tiny kernel of apprehension released a surge of fight-flight-freeze chemicals into her bloodstream but immediately, as though withering under her watchful eye, the spider scrunched into a tiny black ball and settled in. Had she not first spotted it with legs fully extended, she would have taken it for a spot of harmless detritus that needed to be dislodged with a broom.
The more Faye stared at it, the more it seemed to shrink, and she forced herself to settle a little deeper beneath the soothing bubbles. She felt a satisfying infusion of pride - she had not allowed her phobia of spiders to take over. She would simply deal with it in good time after her bath was completed; the thing did not merit immediate attention, and again, she experienced a deep satisfaction and sense of control.
Medice, cura te ipsum.
It had been an odd day; Faye had only seen three patients amid the chaos. One man had cancelled due to a strange illness, one lady no-showed (her last session was rough, Faye needed to give her a wellness-check), and one woman called right before her session and began screaming that she needed a therapist who could prescribe before slamming down the receiver. In addition, Faye had reluctantly accepted a new patient, Aaron Katz.
Moira, her assistant, cautioned her that Aaron had failed to answer several of the phone screening questions when he called for his appointment. Faye didn’t work with extreme cases and the new patient phone screen usually raised the appropriate red flags. Aaron was in his early thirties and had never sought therapy before. He was without a criminal record and had good credit. Admittedly, the phone screen relied on self-reporting which meant it was not completely dependable though it had always served as a decent gatekeeper. Moira would conduct a more thorough online investigation after the first call and if necessary, make a referral to a state agency or psychiatrist before the first appointment could occur.
Faye had questioned Moira about her general impressions of Aaron and Moira seemed flustered which was unusual for her. She could not give specifics except that he avoided certain questions with counter-questions and often stated, “I just don’t know how to answer that.” Moira said there didn’t seem to be any indication of heightened anxiety during their phone exchange and he was in fact empathetic to her data gathering attempts, responding with what seemed like genuine warmth and humor.
Faye knew that first-time patients were often nervous - perhaps he was simply unable to answer in a way that made sense to him. She made the decision to squeeze him in before Moira’s more thorough background check could be conducted. Moira offered him an opening from the day’s cancellations, and he had readily accepted it.
The three candles produced a soothing glow but emitted a cacophony of scent while the only sound was a slight echo of droplets that penetrated the bubbles and sank into the water: drip, drip, drip. Her toes played lazily with the spicket interrupting the reecho and in the sudden silence Faye realized she had been mentally counting backwards with each drop: three, two, one.
She shook her head and inhaled deeply as each candle seemed to vie for her attention. Flickering shadows caught shiny surfaces and transformed bubbles into spheres of fire bringing a surreal feeling to the bathroom’s ambience.
Faye’s eye was drawn to the fresh linen candle that represented Shy Hunk. She liked to privately nickname her patients - their moniker was often assigned after a significant breakthrough. Shy Hunk’s name was simply a first impression, and he continued to live up to it each time she saw him. Speaking only about whatever his wife felt, said, did, he was oblivious to questions directed toward what he might feel, think, or the fact that there were options to reject his wife’s unreasonable expectations (demands). His wife’s narcissism (she assumed this was the case, though she had yet to meet the woman) must have drawn her to him from the start; she would be the center of his universe and he, eye candy to impress her friends and family.
Feeling a bit judgy (her education and training as a therapist was designed to annihilate this tendency) Faye interrupted her train of thought - empathize, analyze, offer alternatives. What a crock, her mouthy inner voice yelled, everyone judges whether the verdict is given voice or not! She knew couple’s therapy was the best way forward and had explained this to Shy Hunk. He seemed unpleasantly surprised (evidenced in body language and facial expressions). Yet, he did not give voice to his apprehensions and pretended to eagerly support her recommendation.
Faye gazed at his candle and wondered if he had yet found the courage to suggest such a thing to his wife; there was little to be accomplished working with half the problem. She sighed and wondered if maybe one of those sugar muffin or caramel scented candles would have been more apropos to represent him and his cloying sweetness. But she had chosen fresh linen. Some kind of buried attraction that bespoke of bed sheets…?! Hmmm, it was always important to be aware of her own reaction to clients. Feeling an emotional attachment was a hazard of the job, where else except with loved ones did people share that level of intimacy and vulnerability?
But seriously, what would she even do with such a man? Admire his physique…boss him around…grow more wicked each time she wielded unchecked power over him? She imagined herself as Galadriel being offered the Ring and heroically refusing it as she hunkered down comfortably in the bath. Faye had not had a satisfying relationship for a number of years and as her mind reached back, she realized maybe she never had. A wry smile appeared on her face.
Medice, cura te ipsum.
Her eyes rested again on the ceiling, and she noticed the spider had creeped closer and was hovering on its thread over the spicket end of the tub. She sat up quickly as water splashed and bubbles broke. Even uglier now, the thing brought with it an aura of lingering threat.
It scurried back up its thread and scrunched again into a tiny innocuous ball.
Faye eyed it suspiciously - the sneaky bastard creeped around when it believed it was not being observed. She turned her head so that it was a black dot in her peripheral. If she could have looked into its hideous little multi-eyes, she was certain they would have been looking away from her with its chelicerae pursed and whistling nonchalantly. Killing it would not be an easy task - the frigging things could jump like Olympic athletes… and it had the advantage of high ground.
Her plan, after her bath was over (which she now felt had been robbed of all its good vibes) was to get one of the long-range shooting bug sprays from under the sink. A few shots would dislodge it so that she could smash it to smithereens in the empty tub. The thought of the spider falling through the air clutching its swinging lifeline or pole vaulting toward her face produced a wicked chill even though the water was quite warm.
She watched for several moments, and it did not move.
Slowly, Faye tried to relax again.
It was just a stupid bug.
Drip, drip, drip. Three, two, one.
One of the candlewicks popped and Faye’s attention was drawn to the cinnamon and apple spice candle representing her favorite patient (of course, she had a favorite just as every parent has a favorite child though they are loathe to admit it). Elleanor Rigby. The sweet girl had a problem with passive-aggressive paybacks after her efforts at people-pleasing failed; so out of touch with her own feelings, so attuned to everyone else’s. Much to unpack here, yet plenty of time – Elleanor was only twenty years old.
Faye did not know why Eleanor was her favorite, such things could not always be explained; perhaps she saw a bit of her younger self here…a person who used to be afraid of everything and everyone, nearly agoraphobic. A person who over time, exhibiting tenacity and focus managed to secure a place in this world of authority, power, prestige, a place that inured her to feelings of helplessness, unworthiness, lingering fears…
…except for that persistent spider phobia.
Medice, cura te ipsum.
With only one more candle to go, Faye closed her eyes to allow Epsom Salts to work its magic. She was feeling uneasy but determined to complete her task.
Next and last.
Aaron Katz, the Midnight Thunder candle.
He had entered with head hung, deferential even, and seated himself in the furthest chair, closest to the exit. Faye always provided several seating options to ensure patients would feel comfortable and in making their choice, she learned much about their current internal state. Few had ever chosen the furthest seat, and it was never an encouraging sign - it was even angled to face away from the therapist. The few who had chosen it in the past (all had become psychiatric referrals) had at least attempted to shift the chair to better face her. Aaron did not.
Not attempting to make eye contact, he stared at the far wall; his profile revealed an aquiline nose, sunken cheeks, cleft chin, negligible lips which nonetheless worked constantly. Perhaps in response to a chaotic inner dialogue, his expression morphed from amusement, puzzlement, to anger and back again.
Faye’s red flag was immediately raised.
The niceties of her introduction and attempt to shake his hand produced no in-kind response until at last, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Faye awkwardly acknowledged his discomfort and offered him a card from the psychiatrist she regularly referred to.
He finally turned to face her but scrawled across his full-frontal countenance was an indescribable expression of hatred and rage.
For a moment, she actually feared for her life!
Faye stepped back to place the desk between them and reached under it for the “panic button” known only to herself and Moira. Pressing it would signal Moira to call the police and open the door to interrupt the session. As her shaking hand sought the button, Aaron took a step toward her, and a beatific smile spread across his peculiar face.
Puzzled at the abrupt change, Faye’s finger hovered close to the button.
“I know you,” he offered as his eyes crinkled with some approximation of joy and epiphany. “I have always known you and at last you will know me.”
Frowning and shaking her head, she stared at him as he stood docilly before her.
With a benevolence that belied his previous display he said, “Don’t be afraid, Faye, all your questions and confusion will be cleared up soon. I don’t need your referral, but I will leave as I can see that you, as usual, are anxious to be rid of me - no need to press your button.”
Faye had no retort though a myriad of emotions crossed her face as he turned to leave.
Aaron opened the door, then in Schwarzenegger fashion whispered, “I’ll be back” and laughed maniacally as the door slammed.
Moira entered a few moments later to find Faye shaking and in tears.
“Are you ok?! What happened? What can I do?”
Moira laid her hands on Faye’s shoulders and tried to look her in the eye.
What should she say to Moira, to anyone, to the police if she were to call them? I had this client who looked creepy, claimed to know me and expressed enthusiasm about getting reacquainted. He had an unusual sense of humor and demeanor. No, no, no. Everyone would think, ‘there is nothing here, nothing of consequence happened’. It would be embarrassing, and it would put her professionalism into question.
Faye pulled herself together and said, “Don’t worry, Moira. I just feel a bit over-worked today and that last patient seemed to trigger me in some way. I’ll be fine.”
Moira looked at her oddly and started to say something as Faye cut her off, “I am going to go home a bit early, if you wouldn’t mind closing and finishing up with typing my notes?”
“Sure…no problem,” Moira said with obvious hesitation and worry.
Faye had no time or energy to console a distraught administrative assistant - Moira needed to learn to suck it up and take things in stride.
“Good night, Moira, see you tomorrow,” she said with a forced chipper-ness she did not feel. Moira nodded and left the room without further comment.
Meanwhile, Faye had decided she would keep her 9mm Glock in her purse for a few days though she had no idea what the concealed carry laws were in her state…and whether she would actually be able to shoot someone…she felt scared, more scared than she had been in years. How did that man know her? An uncomfortable twinge of familiarity entered her mind, a face, a place, something from her often-murky past threatened to surface from the unlit corners of her mind. No time to think about it now; she just needed to get away and think it all through later.
Faye felt as though she was on autopilot during the drive from her office through the city and out to the suburbs. She felt a huge relief when she entered the sanctuary of her home.
She sat straight up suddenly after drifting in a daze for…she didn’t know how long but noticed the water had lost its warmth.
Faye nervously glanced at the ceiling only to see that the spider had finessed its way directly over her head and was descending again on a silken thread!
She leaped from the tub sloshing water and bubbles onto the slickened tile and nearly fell as she grabbed the towel rack. She reached down and grasped the nearby toilet bowl brush wielding it like a sword and expertly severed the delicate thread from the ceiling.
The spider, crafty weaver that it was, quickly spun another thread attached to the toilet brush and Faye suddenly understood his diabolical plan! He would scurry up the thread to where it met the handle, skitter over her hand, up her arm and reach her shoulder where it would entangle in her hair and find the perfect spot to insert itself painfully into her mind!
Was that her reflection in its eight malevolent eyes!? Naked, panicked, surrounded by darkness, frozen, small and defenseless? Just as in her childhood dreams where she would try to run from the monster that she could never clearly see, her body became both leaden and fluid as it undulated and sank into the quicksand of her dreamscape.
The most frightening part of all was her belief that monsters are never truly vanquished - they just lay low and return when you least expect them in another form, another time, and a new place. It had been a long time since Faye felt these things - many years since monsters held agency over her.
The spider’s chelicerae were no longer pursed and whistling nonchalantly, they were working furiously, and she believed she could see venom dripping…was that god damned thing smiling at her?!
‘I’ll be back’ suddenly echoed in her mind from her earlier experience that day with the ominous new patient and now she heard a menacing, gloating follow-up whisper, ‘Honey, I’m home!’
Three, two one.
She was small now, even smaller than when the cloak of childhood innocence shielded her psyche from irreparable damage. This diminutive Faye knew with no uncertainty what awaited her.
Medice, cura te ipsum was not to be, never was to be, really.
She screamed and the sound echoed beautifully off the tiled walls and inlaid ceiling; the acoustics were always excellent in this space. Faye felt a strange sense of déjà vu for she had waged this battle many times before. The spider’s thread swayed to and fro with abandon and each time the arc grew nearer to her naked and vulnerable body.
She thought of dropping it, toilet brush and all into the bubbles. But then she imagined it sinking beneath the water only to quickly emerge and scurry up the side of the tub to freedom, finding a hidey hole from which to launch a future attack.
The candles sputtered as though sensing her distress, but Aaron’s Midnight Thunderstorm burned more brightly than the rest.
Where and when did she have these feelings before? Images flashed through her mind. She was small, vulnerable, black-brown eyes stared down at her, closing in and she could see herself, a self she had never wanted to see again. A self she had hidden away under years of study, accomplishment, research, and clinical work to help others; a self that was curled in a ball, frozen, and unable to tell anyone of its pain; a self that was never known nor even acknowledged in the light of day.
Tears ran down Faye’s cheeks as she shifted the delicate thread toward the Midnight Thunderstorm candle. The flame severed it, and the spider fell neatly into liquid wax and struggled. She bent to watch, both fascinated and repulsed by its slow-motion and hopeless effort.
A breeze from nowhere, a breath of cool comfort entered the room.
Only two of the candles remained lit as Midnight Thunder emitted a dissipating thread of smoke into the dully lit room. Best of all, the spider’s threat was mitigated; its fragrant wax sarcophagus congealed and masked its hideous form.
Donning her robe, Faye walked to the kitchen carrying her candle with its encased mummy. Almost like a funeral march, she walked slowly, deliberately, reverently.
She warmed some water for tea and thought for a bit about making a better effort to rid herself of her spider phobia. Maybe she should begin exposure therapy - she already had her first bout of that!
Medice, cura te ipsum.
The phone rang just as she deposited the candle with spider mummy and all into the trash can - it was Moira.
“Hey, Faye, I didn’t want to bother you but just wanted to check and make sure everything is, okay? I’ve never seen you so upset. You know, you can always talk to me – I consider you a friend…you are my boss, but I truly care about you.”
Faye laughed with abandon, maybe too vociferously for the occasion and it sounded harsh and strained.
She cleared her throat, “Oh, Moira, you are so sweet to check on me and I really appreciate your concern, but I am just fine, girl! Just got out of the bath and getting ready to settle in with a good book to take my mind off that weird jerk today.”
There was a prolonged silence and Moira asked, “Weird jerk…?”
“You know, Mr. Aaron Katz - the nut job that came for about 10 minutes and left?”
“Aaron Katz? You only saw two patients today, Faye. Mr. Katz was a no-show.”
Faye was confused and annoyed.
“Moira, he was the guy who left right before you came in. I was close to pushing the panic button! I admit I could have handled it better; I don’t know what came over me…I totally lost it and was a bit short with you. I apologize.”
Moira was silent and Faye could hear slight background noises. “Moira? Are you still there?”
“Oh, um, yes, yes, of course. I heard your office door slam and must have somehow missed seeing him leave…maybe he slipped out the back door.”
Faye caught herself before admonishing Moira to be more observant as something tickled at her scalp. She brushed at it.
Felt crawly.
Felt sneaky.
She glanced over at the trash where she could see the spider still safely encased, and no longer struggling. She relaxed and smiled.
“It’s okay Moira. Thank you for my wellness call and I’ll see you tomorrow! Make sure to take Katz off our client list and do not let him reschedule again under any circumstances.”
Thoroughly captivating! And it didn't end at all how I expected!
Another reason to take only showers!