The psychiatrist walked on the muddy street where there were no streetlamps, to meet his patient.

It was night time and there was no light at all. Only unending darkness. He squinted at an address board outside a gate, through his round glasses. Blue waves Apartments. At that very moment, it began to rain. The psychiatrist groaned in frustration as the drops hit his head though he knew that one must always surrender to nature. He pushed open the gate to find a strip of grass on either side of a path, basking in the moonlight. He reached the building and approached the guard.

‘I thought you would be outside the gate,’ the psychiatrist asked the guard.

‘What and get wet?’ pat came the reply.

‘Well, anyway, I wanted to know where this gentleman lives,’ informed the psychiatrist as he showed the guard a note.

The guard looked at the note. And then he looked up at the psychiatrist.

‘Who are you?’ the guard asked suspiciously.

‘A psychiatrist,’ said the man impatiently.

The guard chuckled.

‘He certainly needs one,’ the guard expressed with a malicious grin as he handed back the note, ‘he’s on the thirteenth floor.’

The psychiatrist thanked the guard, but somehow, he didn’t like the look on the guard’s face.

He tried to use the elevator but changed his mind. He used the stairs and after a long time reached the thirteenth floor. At the far end of the corridor was a door. The psychiatrist read the nameplate on the door. Yes, he was in the right place. He knocked.

There was no reply. The psychiatrist turned the doorknob, and it opened.

It was unlocked. He entered the room and looked around.  In the corner of the room stood a revolving chair facing the other side, and the psychiatrist could see a head bobbing out of it.

‘Are you Michael?’ asked the psychiatrist.

The chair turned.

‘Welcome doctor,’ replied Michael. Michael’s face was dark and broad and had beads of sweat running down his face. The psychiatrist would have had a nice day that unfortunately ended here, in this unlit room. 

‘What is your name doctor?’ asked Michael.

‘Don’ was the reply.

 There was silence for a moment.

Then Michael spoke.

‘There is a reason why I called you here, sir.’

‘What is it?’ asked the psychiatrist professionally.

‘I feel strange when I come near certain objects or things,” said Michael.

The psychiatrist went back to the door and closed it. Michael seemed nervous.

‘In all, how would you sum up your feelings as?’ the psychiatrist asked again, now very eager to know the problem.

‘Fear,’ said Michael with a very scary expression, ‘And I have my reasons. I fear things because strange incidents happen. It does not happen to anybody else. I didn’t know what to do, I could not understand what I was seeing and believing it was true or not, that is why I called you. I need your help’ he finished, exasperated.

The psychiatrist bit his lip.

 ‘I don’t believe strange things happen. You might as well be overworked, you know,’ he explained.

‘Maybe I am. But you must show me that what I think happens does not happen.

Please prove that my fear is unreasonable and that what I believe is not what it is. That it does not exist. Please help me,’ said Michael.

‘I will’ assured Don, ‘just tell me where to begin.’

Michael hesitated. Then some words came out of his mouth.

‘The elevator.’

Michael opened the front door and walked out.

Don followed.

‘Here,’ Michael pointed at the elevator. He then pressed the button to bring it up. Michael looked at Don.

The escalator doors opened. And Don’s eyes widened.

‘Are you sure there is something wrong with the lift?’ Don asked.

‘I think so,’ Michael replied. Michael entered the lift. Don followed. Michael pressed the controls and felt the lift descend.

‘Now, what is it, Michael?’ Don asked.

Michael did not say anything. The doors opened on the eleventh floor. A man who wore a suit entered. The doors closed. The doors opened on the ninth floor, but no one entered. The lift started to descend. Suddenly, Michael felt something brush against his pants.

‘Don’ whispered Michael in a terrified voice.

‘What is it?’ asked Don in a concerned manner.

‘I felt something brush against my pants. See? This happens almost every day when I travel by elevator. I’ve ignored it dozens of times. But I felt it again Don. It is here somewhere’ he said, his face turning white.

‘There is nothing Michael. I see nothing at all,’ said Don.

Again, Michael felt something.

‘DON!’ cried Michael hoarsely.

‘There is nothing at all, Michael,” said Don, sternly.

‘Don!’ Michael shouted again.

‘Will you shut up?’ said the man in the suit as he looked in their direction,

‘You are shouting again and again. I am already tense. I’ve got to drive in this bad weather and attend dinner with my bosses. I have enough on my plate without people shouting madly’ he finished.

He walked out as the doors opened on the ground floor. They followed him and were on the path between the two strips of grass as the man took out his car from outside the gates and drove away.   

‘He couldn’t even see me talking to you,’ said Michael.

‘Yes. Though your guard saw me,” said Don, looking at the guard. Michael looked back at the guard and saw him to be asleep.

‘Lazy fellow,’said Michael wearily. They started walking back to the building. Michael looked back vaguely.

‘Don!’ squealed Michael.

‘What?’ Don questioned as he looked back too.

‘I just saw a patch of grass flatten. As if it had been walked on.’ 

Don looked at the patch of grass.

‘Nothing at all,’ replied Don and looked at Michael.

‘Believe me Don,’ said Michael desperately, ‘there’s something wrong.’

Don and Michael entered the elevator again and Michael had the same eerie feeling.

Again.

‘What?’ asked Don.

‘I am not complaining,’ muttered Michael. He had a feeling that Don had lost interest and must have thought him to be completely mad. They reached the thirteenth floor and entered his apartment.

They were in the living room.

‘You sit here Don. I’ll be back in just a moment’ said Michael and went to his bedroom.

He bent down and started searching his drawers for his glasses. Just then he touched something like rubber. He took it out of the drawer and looked at it. It was a mask. It looked like the face of a monkey and had slit for eyes.

‘I’ve never seen this before’ he said and wore it and looked in the mirror. He certainly looked like a monkey and laughed heartily. Just then, all happiness drained away.

As he gazed at his reflection, Michael saw a ball flying in mid air. He turned to his bed. There it was, lying on the bed, not moving at all. He then looked in the corner of the room. A banana was flying towards him and Michael ran out of the room, still wearing the mask.

‘Michael?’ asked Don with concern, as he saw the monkey faced man running towards him.

‘Don! Don!’ cried Michael, out of breath.

‘Where did you get this?’ asked Don, looking at the mask.

‘Forget that’ said Michael, still wearing the mask, and pulled Don along with him to his room.

‘That ball kept there,’ Michael pointed ‘I saw it floating in the air. And that banana,’ he pointed his finger at the banana still lying on the table, it was floating towards me.’ Michael turned his gaze back to the bed again and stared at the ball for a few moments.

After some time, he realised that Don was still in the room. He saw that Don was looking into his cupboard. Michael stood next to him.

‘Take that out’ Don pointed at an object. Michael took out a photo frame.

‘Who is this?’ Don asked.

‘He was my son,’ said Michael. They both sat down on the bed.

‘What do you mean, was?’ Don asked again.

‘He died long ago. He had a fatal disease,’ Michael completed.

‘Have you been having dreams Michael?’ asked Don.

‘Yes. I have dreams about my wife. She died too, in an accident. I just can’t seem to forget about her or my son’s death.’ 

‘Then you must understand that what all you see is not real. It is just the effects of their tragic death. When your wife walked on the path, those memories got stored in your mind. That is why you see things, yes that is correct, you see things. That is because you still think of their deaths and not the happy moments you shared. Clear your mind and begin your life in a new way. And I assure you that after that you will have no such experience. You will have no fear,’ explained Don.

Michael looked at him.

‘So, you are sure that once I stop thinking about their deaths, once I stop having those dreams, then it will all be fine, I won’t see things’, he asked.

‘Yes, you’ll feel better. Where is your bathroom?’ Don asked.

‘Beside the adjoining room,’ said Michael.

Don went to the bathroom. Michael fell silent as he thought about the events. Don came      back.

‘You shall not have any problem,’ said Don again and shook hands with Michael.

‘Your fees?’ asked Michael as he put his hand in his pocket.

‘I have got much more than fees with me now. I am taking your worry with me’ replied Don and then departed.

From the next day, nothing happened. Everything was perfectly normal. Michael was a lot more cheerful now and he had stopped having those dreams and those eerie incidents completely halted.

He went to his office and met his colleague.

‘How is everything now?’ his colleague asked.

‘Fine. Dr. Don helped me,’ Michael informed.

‘Oh, so you met him?’ his colleague asked eagerly.

‘Yes, why do you know him?’ asked Michael and looked at his files.

‘I met him months ago. A good person indeed. When I came to his place, I met his son. Don took out a mask from his drawer that looked like a monkey’s face. And then he wore it’, the colleague replied.

Michael’s head turned at these words.

‘That is how his son recognised him. Don always wore the mask when he went home. His son played ball with him and used to carry a banana to him. They were funny.’

Michael’s heart leaped.

‘When will you meet him now?’ asked Michael.

‘Oh, Don?’ exclaimed the colleague, ‘Well anytime is okay, though of course, not his son,’ said his colleague, as he put on his jacket.

‘Why not?’ questioned Michael.

‘Don’s son passed away three months ago.’

Michael slumped into his chair and stared blankly at an empty space.

‘He died in Don’s old home because he had a fatal disease.’

‘Where was his old home?’ asked Michael.

‘Blue waves Apartments, thirteenth floor, end of the corridor. But I would say that Don’s mad. He said that his son’s ghost still lives in the house’ his colleague finished.

Michael had moved into that apartment just a month back and his colleague had no idea. Michael had not imagined things; they had happened.

And Don had taken away his son’s ghost from Michael’s home last night.                

 I am taking your worry with me, he had mentioned to Michael, before he left that night.

‘Michael, are you alright?’ asked his colleague.

Michael had no words. He was speechless.