It seems like it’s been decades since I took a break from writing fiction. Can’t even remember the last time I wrote something with my usual style of short fiction for this blog. Although I’ve been trying my hands into some new things, one of which hopefully I’ll reveal soon, I’ve also been experimenting a little with the whole craze around GenAI. I’ve been trying different prompts with ChatGPT to see if it can come close to how I’d normally write. And after a few attempts, I think this one came quite close. While I try more and hopefully reach a place where I can once again just write for the heck of it and not need ChatGPT, do read this and tell me what you think!

The Patient

Dr. Collins had seen many patients in his long career, but none as peculiar as Mr. Grant. The man was a mystery—a reclusive figure in his late fifties who rarely spoke but always appeared impeccably dressed for his weekly therapy sessions.

Each Wednesday at 3 PM, Mr. Grant would sit in the leather chair across from Dr. Collins, staring out the window as he recounted fragmented memories of his past. There was something unnerving about the way he spoke, as if he was trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces.

“Tell me about your childhood,” Dr. Collins would prompt, and Mr. Grant would respond with the same story—a tale of growing up in an old, decaying mansion, his only companion a strict, elderly nanny.

But one detail always changed. In each session, Mr. Grant would describe a different room in the mansion—always a dark, musty place filled with forgotten things. Dr. Collins had never been able to make sense of it.

One rainy evening, after yet another cryptic session, Dr. Collins decided to dig deeper. He accessed old records, searching for any clues about Mr. Grant’s past. The name of the mansion Mr. Grant mentioned struck him—Ravenwood Manor. It had been abandoned for decades after a notorious murder-suicide.

Driven by curiosity, Dr. Collins visited the dilapidated mansion. Inside, he found dust-covered furniture, cobwebbed chandeliers, and a stifling silence. But in the basement, he discovered something chilling—a child’s room, untouched by time, with a small bed, old toys, and a faded photograph on the nightstand.

It was a picture of a young boy, no older than six, standing next to a middle-aged man. The boy was unmistakably Mr. Grant, and the man beside him… was Dr. Collins.