Chapter 1: Brightly
Billy the Grim (an original supernatural suspense novel by Annette J Sharp)
Dr. Woods stares at Sharma over the steeple of his forefingers. Five ticks of a misplaced schoolroom clock, and he clears his throat. “We have broached the idea of regression before. Have you given it any further consideration?”
Sharma draws a deep breath, eyes dropping with her heart under the weight of his question. The dense sponginess of the chair clutches her body in pseudo-security. Claustrophobia swells. She pulls out of its grasp and away from Dr. Woods’ domineering presence.
Regression.
She rubs her hands over her face, crossing the room to a mahogany bookcase that does not match the lighter oak of the doctor’s desk. Five shelves of tightly packed psychiatric reference tomes. Feigning interest, she trails a finger over the bindings, delaying her response. To unwedge one volume would bring the entire structure with it. Aunt Olhana’s bookshelf bulges with a fascinating mix of horror novels and ancient texts. Like the one that appeared on her doorstep yesterday. She exhales, wondering—
“Why?” Why did Olhana send that particular book?
“Your path to living a healthy, normal life is through full confrontation.”
Sharma doesn’t bother to correct his assumption that she was speaking to him.
“Regression is the way to break the barriers. Only then can you view your aunt’s neurosis for what it truly is – dangerous.”
Sharma turns, jaws clenched around the desire to lash out. She pauses, drawing a deep breath through her nostrils. He’s right, she thinks. Years with Auntie Olhana’s gypsy delusions had warped her perspectives on reality. Billy’s death and her failure to save him through the far keeling had been the match that destroyed her. The reason she was here.
She opens her mouth to speak, A strangled sound squeezes through the tense muscles of her larynx. One, two, three, breathe. She makes another attempt.
“I-I don’t know if I can, Dr. Woods. She raised me when I had nobody left in the world. She’s the only family I have.”
“Unfortunately, I can offer no guarantee that the process of untangling from your aunt’s psychosis won’t cause you to resent her. Hate her, even. As ugly as it sounds, this is healthy. Our continued work together will clear this, too, in time.”
The psychiatrist’s sterile interjection slices over her nerves. Sharma squeezes her eyes shut, wishing she could. Dr. Woods pushes back from the desk, coming around to the front, and props his right thigh on the corner, hand cupping his chin, spark blue eyes boring into hers.
Sharma’s chin rises to an instinctual challenge. A battle of wills witnessed only by the clock’s second hand. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Sharma breaks contact, unable to bear the sense he is peeling back every layer of armor she has cast over her heart and dissecting all that is wrong at her core. Within her soul.
You can’t have Billy. Sharma thinks, protective of the man she loves, even now. She tips her head a fraction. An unruly spring of black hair falls forward from her widow’s peak, partially shielding her from the doctor’s scrutiny.
“It is another symptom of the same root cause. I promise it will be temporary. Every step that brought you here is a stone you carry, and we must work together in the unburdening. It will take time.”
Sharma is grateful for the veil separating them, concealing her inner turmoil. Olhana insisted emotions owed no audience, only serving to showcase weakness – a pathway to hurt. Billy was the only person Sharma allowed that close, and in the end, Olhana’s advice had proven correct.
Sharma jumps at a touch on her shoulder. Dr. Woods looms over her, ceiling lights casting shadows into the hollows of his face, amplifying pale skin stretched over long, sharp features, distorting him into something sinister.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” Dr. Woods says, as if hearing her thoughts. “You know I am right.”
Sharma averts her eyes but gives him a small nod – suddenly feeling insignificant, childlike, in the doctor’s presence, as she often does. If this is what a father’s scrutiny felt like, it’s not something she’s missed in her life. Aunt Olhana had been hard but never made her feel less than valid.
“Good,” Woods drawls. Apparently, taking her silence as agreement. “We are not to meet again until next Wednesday. However, I would like to begin the process as early as Friday and proceed bi-weekly from there. My schedule is clear.”
Sharma’s eyes snap to Woods’ retreating back. He settles against the vacant surface of the desk once again. Never a paper, pen, or speck of dust. Sharma wonders why it irritates her. It doesn’t. It’s his sudden, accelerated plan that feels out of the ordinary.
Sharma brushes moisture of a stray tear from her cheek and smooths back the wild strand at her forehead.
“I need to think about it, Dr. Woods. I will call tomorrow with my answer, if that’s all right.” Sharma clutches her fingers together to keep from fidgeting. Her eyes flick to the office door.
Shock-blue eyes penetrate her before he gives a curt nod. “Of course, you have your nursing schedule to consult.”
Sharma hesitates, then nods, choosing to use his presumption to her benefit. “Yes.”
“Very good.”
To her relief, the doctor pushes off the desk and strides to the door. He grasps the handle but does not pull it open. Instead, he holds out his hand as she approaches. A farewell gesture he offers at the end of each session, and one she repeatedly declines.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Dr. Woods. Thank you.”
“Until then, Sharma.” He gives a curt nod, eyes holding hers as she slips past. Her relief is the gentle click of the door closing behind her.
Thank you for reading the Prologue to my first full-length supernatural suspense novel, Billy the Grim. A limited number of chapters will be posted for free, for a limited time. The novel is scheduled for release in paperback format only, on May 11, 2026. Support indie authors, buy and review their work. It is the only support they get and the only way they can create more before dying.
This book is bound and determined to become a low-budget movie, either organically animated by an artist, or filmed with real-life unknown actors. Help fund the cause below by buying me a coffee. Thanks