The gloomy morning bled into an equally gloomy afternoonLorrena Bray directed the

psychiatrist to the gardens behind the house where the servants had laid out a spread of finger
sandwiches, cut fruit, sliced meat and cheese, and plenty of tea.
Ive brought you here early to further our discussion about the arrangements. I want to
know your first impression of my daughter. Lorrena explained, showing him his seat. Leland
lowered himself to the cushion and nodded to a servant that yes, he would like some tea. As the
servant poured, he contemplated his answers carefully.
Im not completely confident in the efficacy of first impressions, Mrs. Bray. He began,
sipping his tea. He reached for a finger sandwichcucumber and cream cheese, it looked.
However, I can tell you that, if she is disturbed, she hides it rather well.
Oh, indeed she does, Mr. Scott. She is quite adept at conversation and social interaction
she learned from the best, you see. Lorrena put her hand over her breast, signalling that she was
the best. Leland made a mental note that Mrs. Bray seemed to have a slight problem with pride.
However, it is much more difficult for her to hide it while she sleeps. Which is why I must plead
with you, again, to move into our guest rooms. At least for a few days. See what she is like, please,
Mr. Scott.
Her pleading touched his heart, but he shook his head. As I said before, Mrs. Bray, I will
use this luncheon as a means to observe, and hopefully diagnose, your daughter. I cannot
guarantee that I will be able to assist you, but I will do my best with the situation I find myself in.
Lorrena scoffed at his words and threw her hands in the air, clearly frustrated by his steadfast
approach.
As Lorrena grumbled under her breath, Leland ate his first sandwich and finished his tea.
He looked toward the house and saw Josephine emerging from the doorway. He watched her
movements, listened to her footsteps, observed from afar to determine if the girl had any of the
signs of a truly deranged individual.
She walked with grace and poise, back straight and hands clasped in front of hershe
turned her head this way and that, watching the birds and butterflies and listening to the sounds
of the garden around her. She was present in the moment, not hidden away in her own world.
Leland noted all of this with a plan to write down his findings when he had a moment of peace.
He stood as Josephine neared the table and offered to pull her chair outshe declined and
did so herself, folding her skirts around and under her. She nodded to the servant who offered her

tea, even thanked the young girl with a smile. She was rather different than her mother, softer and
kinder and even a tad bit brighter.
There were, however, signs of something strange in the girls eyes, something that
shouldnt be there. He had seen it before, in the eyes of his patientsthey would turn, focus on a
spot where there was no activity, act as if they were listening to something, their eyes flitting to
and fro as if following a conversation.

Josephine turned her eyes to the doctor, who was staring intently at her as she sipped her tea. Had
he noticed her inattention to the luncheon conversation? Had he noticed the subtle things she
murmured under her breath to the being that stood beside her? No, how could he have? She was so
careful not to have her silent conversations noticed by outsidersbut, he was a professional and
he had dealt with people suffering from psychosis. Perhaps he had noticed, and he would be taking
up one of the guest rooms until she proved to be too much for him to handle.
Her thoughts made her smile and she laughed under her breath, surely drawing his
attention once more.
Dear, why dont you tell the good doctor about your artwork? Her mother interrupted.
Josephine startled, turning her eyes to the woman at her left. She took a deep breath and glowered
at her mother, who only smiled shrugged so lightly that it was barely noticeable.
Mother, dearest, you know I havent painted since father passed. Josephines voice was
flat. Ruffled, Lorrena shook her head.
Then, tell him about the artwork you produced previously, child. Lorrena growled.
Josephine sighed again but obliged her mother.
As my mother said, I have been known to paint. My fathers passing drained my muse and
I have not created for some time. Many of my pieces are displayed around the house, and a few are
hung in offices and other residences in town. I am not a master, by any meansI am but a novice,
a hobbyist.
That is incredible. You say your fathers passing drained your musehave you considered
using his passing as fuel for your art? Leland questioned, leaning forward. Josephine swallowed a
scoff. This doctor was interviewing her! She knew exactly what he was doing, and she refused to
play into his game.

No, doctor, I never considered that at all. Why, perhaps that is what I should do! She said,
her voice laced with sarcasm. It wasnt lost on the doctor and he made a mild shrug at her, smiling.
I see. Well, Miss Bray, I would love to see your work. Perhaps after we finish here, you
would show me? Leland asked, extending a slight form of peace to the girl.
Josephine baulked at the request. Few others had understood her sarcasm and it took her a
moment to respond. Of course, Dr. Scott. She was silent for the remainder of the meal, listening
to her mothers conversation, studying the doctor, and watching the figures that were not there
begging for her assistance.

This is one of the last pieces I created. Josephine presented a canvas that was covered in black
paint. Mother refuses to hang it anywhere in the house, so I keep it here. She never comes in here.
The room had been locked and the furniture covered in white sheets. A layer of dust had
settled over everythingeverything except the painting. In the dark paint, Leland could see the
shapes of trees and headstones, he could see dark flowers and a path. In the centre of the image
stood a figure shrouded in darkness, pointing further down the path with a single thin finger
stretched out. The image gave him a chill.
What inspired you to paint this? He asked, turning away from the canvas to focus on
Josephine. She had pulled a chair up and dusted the sheet offher hands were folded in her lap
and her face was turned away from the painting, looking out the tall window to the gardens.
It was a dream I had. She responded, not looking back. More a nightmare.
Explain it to me. Leland requested, finding a second chair. He sat beside her and waited
for her to speak. She struggled with her thoughts and words, this much he could see in her eyes
and in the corners of her mouth. She fidgeted with her skirts, bunching the fabric between her
fingers.
There is a garden surrounded by a wall deep in a forest. The gate is locked as if whoever
owns the garden does not wish to invite intruders. I was able to unlock the gate with ease. Inside
the wall, passed the garden and mingling with it, are headstones. Graves of people long dead,
names I do not know. At the centre of the cemetery is an altar. It is a long flat slab of stone with a
few steps leading up to it.
And, who is the person in the painting? Leland pushed. Josephine shook her head.

A child. A young boy, maybe fourteen. He looked horribly rotten, as if he had been left to
decay in the weather and not buried properly. She shuddered. I dont wish to speak of this
further, Dr. Scott.

Day turned to night, and the evening meal was served in the dimly lit dining room. Josephine
refused to speak further of her artistic endeavours and instead listened to her mother poke and
prod the doctor about his schooling and experiences abroad. When the meal was finished she
retired to her rooms without a word.
Papa, I am at a loss. I dont understand what is happening to me. Why are these visions
coming to me? Why do I see things that are not there? Am I insane? All of these things feel so real,
as if they are there, just outside of the perception of others. Perhaps they are not open enough to
the existence of these creatures But, papa, I am scared. Mother hired a doctor, and she wants
him to prove that I am insane Oh papa, why havent I seen you yet? Where are you? Josephine
cried against her pillow, staining the cover with her tears. She breathed deeply, but the tears still
flowed from her eyes.
As she sobbed, she felt the weight of sleep cover her in a blanket of darkness. She closed her
eyes and fell into the void of her mind, falling deeper into the hole. When she opened her eyes, she
was outside the gate that led to the garden. She remembered her father taking her here when she
was young, teaching her about all of the flowers and the plants that grew, their medicinal
properties and what she could do with thembut there was information hidden within the
flowers and leaves of the plants, information her father had imparted upon her but that she could
not recall. She remember which ones were poisonous and which were edible, but there was a gap
in his words, as if she had blocked them.
The boy appeared on the other side of the gate. She had not seen him for weeks, had
believed that the nightmares had stopped after she had finished the painting. But, there he was,
his skin falling from his face, the bones of his neck and arms and chest shimmering in the twilight
glow of the sky.
What do you want from me? She asked through the rods of the gate. The child pointed
down the path, toward the graves. What is it? Why wont you speak to me? The boy opened his
mouth and Josephine could see, though not clearly, that he had no tongue. She gasped at the sight,
her hand fluttering to cover her mouth in horror. With his other hand, the boy beckoned her to

follow him. The gate opened and she pushed on the metal, hearing the creak of the hinges. It
echoed in her head, sending a sharp pain through her eyes.
She was not supposed to be there. She knew that now. This was not a place for the living,
and yet this boy led her down the path as if she belonged amongst the headstones. As they moved
along the path, more figures appearedthey joined their journey down the path through the
graves. She tried not to focus on them, their decaying flesh, the way their bones shimmered a stark
white in the dim light of the garden.
The boy stopped at the end of the path. She looked beyond him and saw the altarthe
strange stone slab that sat, like a dais, in the centre of the graves that stretched further beyond and
into the line of trees. There was so much death, so much misery coming from the people who stood
behind her. They were all young, they were all children. The boy pointed to the altar and she
understood that he wanted her to climb the few steps to see it more closely.
She felt the weight of each step she took, saw stains on the stoneat the top step Josephine
was able to see the surface of the slab and she screamed. Blood pooled on it and flowed into rivets
that had been etched into it. She screamed and gasped for breath as she fell back down the stairs.

Josephine! Josephine, wake up! Her mother shook her awake and with a groggy gasp, Josephine
opened her eyes to see Lorrena and the doctor standing over her. You were screaming. You were
screaming so loudly that you woke the entire house, Josephine. What happened?
I had a nightmare. She whispered. Just a nightmare. Nothing to be concerned with. She
sat up in her bed and scratched her head, yawning. She could remember the entire sequence of
events with perfect claritythe colours and the smells and the images were all vividly imprinted
on her mind. She looked at her mother, who had stood from the floor and was moving toward the
doorLeland remained, watching her, a look of concern on his face. He patted her shoulder before
turning away and leaving the bedroom.
Alone, Josephine fell back against her pillows and sighed deeply. Sleep found her quickly
and she fell into the void, but no images rushed at her, nothing appeared in that darkness but
more darkness.


Mrs. Bray, with the information you have provided and my interactions with your daughter, I can
with certainty diagnose her with severe depressionthis was likely brought on by your husbands
recent passing. It is not as apparent as it has been in my previous patientssuicide attempts,
severe isolation, being non-verbalhowever, it is concerning. I cannot, without question,
diagnose your daughter with what you want me to. I cannot diagnose her as schizophrenic. Not
yet, at least. She has many signs of onset schizophrenia, but that will require more observation
and sessions with her. I will need a moment to contact my employer, but I believe that he will
agree to your demands. Leland explained as he watched Lorrena from across the small table. A
servant refilled their cups with steaming tea as silent settled between them. Lorrena looked visibly
shaken, but she hid her concern for her daughter well. If Josephine truly was suffering from
hallucinations, it was likely that her mother did as wellit was assumed to be hereditary, from the
mothers side, but research into the theory was still in the early stages.
Of course, Dr. Scott. Lorrena whispered over her cup. She took a sip of the tea and closed
her eyes. There is a telephone in the kitchen. Please, feel free to use it whenever you need.
Thank you, Mrs. Bray. It will only be a moment. He rose from his chair and a young girl
showed him down the hall to the kitchen, where a rotary phone sat on the counter. He dialled his
employers phone, hoping that he would not be scolded for waking the man. On the third ring a
groggy voice answered.
Hello, Arthur, its Leland. He opened. I am at Whitmour Manor, with the Bray girl. I
believe that she suffers from chronic depression and shows signs of onset schizophrenia.
Yes, yes Leland. The voice answered. What is it you need?
Mrs. Bray has offered me room and board to remain here for diagnosis and treatment of
her daughter. She agrees that if the girl gets worse, she should be institutionalised. If I get to work
quickly, I may be able to treat her before the hallucinations become dangerous.
Of course, Scott, you are one of the best psychiatrists in the county. We will divvy your
other clients up between your colleagues so you may focus on the Bray girl. You will, of course,
write up a full report and keep a log of all sessions and treatments?
Yes, Arthur. I will make sure to write down any and all observations.
Wonderful. Arthur said. Good night, Leland.
Good night, Arthur.