“The Last Session”

By Zachary Holt

The Last Session

A knock came from my open door and I looked up to see Jansen standing there.
“Jansen, come in,” I said.
He stepped into the room, turned, and looked out into the hallway in both directions before closing the door and taking his seat.
“What brings you in today?” I asked.
“Oh, the rain I suppose. You know I’m afraid of the rain, doctor.”
“It has rained a lot since our last visit.”
“Oh, has it? I hadn’t realized. Maybe it’s not quite the rain, then.” A slight lip smile appeared on Jansen’s face when he said this. Not one of happiness, but more so an uneasy smile.
“So then what else? You seem very anxious, Jansen. What’s bothering you?”
“You want me to get right into the meat of things, doctor? Heh, ‘meat,’ that’s kind of funny. Sure thing. You are quite right when you say I seem anxious. I am feeling a bit anxious. But not because something is wrong. No, no, no. Because I want to get on with things.”
Jansen looked straight into my eyes as he said this. Something deep inside me turned cold and heavy. I felt my hair rising and falling. I could feel each piece recoiling from the energy of his presence.
“Get on with what?” I asked.
“Hmm. I almost forgot.” Jansen jumped up and went over to the door. He reached his hand up to the handle and locked it. He sat back down. “Wouldn’t want anyone interrupting us. Anyway, what was your question again, doctor?”
“Wha…”
“Ah, yes! What brought me in here today? Well to put it simply; I ate my daughter. I sectioned her out into chunks. Her tiny arms each in five pieces, her legs seven, and I boiled her head and torso. They’re still boiling, actually. For when I get home. The bones were easy too, because she was just a baby. I swallowed some of those down also. I think that was my favorite
part. Swallowing bone after bone: humerus, ulna, radius. I’m sure you get the picture. Anyhow, I got so excited about it that I wanted to come share it with you right away. Because you’re my friend, doctor.”
I stopped breathing. Totally paralyzed by fear, I had no choice but to sit and listen. “Doctor, you look unwell. What’s bothering you? Do you want to talk about it?” Jansen began to smile. It was an unnatural smile. Like there were invisible hooks pulling the corners of his mouth up on either side. Eventually the flesh of his cheeks began to split as he continued to smile. A line of blood rose up to his ears on each side like the makeup of a clown. His blood mixed with the flesh and blood already on his teeth. It was warm and wet between my
legs. Jansen sniffed the air and began to laugh.
“You’ll taste just as good, doctor.” Jansen said, as he stood up and started approaching me.

“My name is Zac Holt. I am an eighteen-year-old creative writing student at the University of Maine at Farmington. I have been telling stories since I could talk. All I want to do in life is share my ideas and connect with people through writing.”