Amid the Recesses: A Short Story Collection of Fear by J. A. Crook

swept back after he stepped away.
    “ I’m a clinical
psychiatrist, specializing in cases of OCD and extreme
hoarding.”
    “ Like a crazy-people doctor
then.”
    “ I wouldn’t say that,
Eddie. I help people with disorders, like yourself. We’re here to
help you, alright? Now, why don’t you tell me a little bit about
what’s going on here?”
    “ I was kinda hoping you
were going to tell me something about that, miss.”
    He explained his situation.
The kids. The investigative work. The failure. She listened
affirmatively. Her head bobbed like a dash board character. She
smiled and showed pretty white teeth. Straight. Orderly.
Organized.
    “ Well, it’s apparent that
Eddie has suffered some sort of serious trauma as result of his
investigative work. He wishes to make things right. Unfortunately,
the struggle has resulted in a severe hoarding case. It’s a
sanitary issue. It’s a mental health issue. It’s caused strain on
his personal relationships.” The psychiatrist said.
     
    The camera centered on
Eddie.
    “ I look alright?” He asked
as he adjusted his suit.
    “ Yeah, Eddie. You look
great. Now Eddie, when was the last time you had someone over?” The
cameraman asked.
    Eddie leaned back into his
seat. He placed a hand on each of his knees. “It’s been years. I
had a girlfriend when this started. Wasn’t easy on us. Things
didn’t work out. How could it? Some times were worse than
others.”
    “ Do you think she would be
interested in an interview with us, Eddie? We like to interview
ex-girlfriends, family members. They add to the whole scene, you
know? Speaks to the sickness.” The cameraman said.
    Eddie sat stunned. “Oh, no.
No, I don’t think so.” Eddie’s eyes shot around. “Have you seen my
glass of water?”
    The cameraman shook his
head.
    “ She’s been gone a long
time. I don’t know where she is. It’s too much for her.” He
shrugged. His head swiveled as he searched for his
water.
    The psychiatrist winced as
she listened. She gestured to him. “How would you say her leaving
changed things, Eddie, if at all?”
    Eddie stopped looking and
watched the psychiatrist. His eyes squinted as the red light of the
camera beamed at him like an alien probe. “It didn’t make things
better, Doc. I could dwell, you know? I could dwell on it and let
it eat me up and take up more space in my life. I don’t have any
more space.” He opened his hands and motioned to the clutter around
them. “I kept things that reminded me of her. They’re here and
there and, you know.” He laughed desperately.
    No one else laughed. The camera
buzzed.
    “ We going into the
bedroom?” Eddie asked.
    “ That’s the plan.” The
cameraman said.
    Eddie tugged on his shirt
collar “I look alright?”
    “ Real nice, Eddie.” The
psychiatrist assured with a faint smile.
    Eddie slicked back his
greasy hair and puffed a breath out like a revving engine. He
approached the door of the bedroom and placed his hand on the brass
knob. He opened the door.
    A sudden distinct smell
permeated the air around Eddie and the crew like a black miasmic
poison gas that was indescribable and instinctually threatening.
Everyone covered their noses except for Eddie. They descended the
stairs. Eddie pulled on a ball-bearing lanyard coated in cobwebs
and a dim light filled the space.
    “ I sleep down here most of
the time. I keep it dark.” Eddie said.
    Firetrucks and dolls and
xylophones and coloring books littered the stairwell. In the center
of the stairs was a narrow path for passage.
    “ I’m seeing a lot of the
toys you mentioned collecting down here. Is there a reason you keep
these items closer to where you sleep?” The psychiatrist
asked.
    Eddie nodded as they
reached the base of the stairs. Toys, dolls, bicycles, train sets
and a large canopy bed fit for a princess sat in the center of the
room. The pink, silk obscuration draped from the high posts of the
bed. The crew paused in a silent reverie of the sight.