Gemotions

The doctor's office felt sterile, the air thick with antiseptic. Henry was sitting beside his sister, staring down at the drawing of "Whisper," his childhood companion, that his niece had produced. He fiddled with the strap of his bag, the leather now feeling rough against his fingers. He had come here for a test, and the drawing seemed to add to the mounting dread.

Whisper, with his ever-changing form and silent voice, was now real again, rendered in crayon and marker on a brightly colored piece of paper. The familiar sense of being watched, of something unseen lurking at the edge of his vision, returned with a vengeance. He needed to get out. To leave. To erase this from his mind.

He tried to focus on his sister's voice, her calm reassurances, but the image of Whisper's shadowy outline filled his mind, casting an inescapable darkness over his world.