Wisteria Forest 

In the hour of blue, everyone is warned never to step foot into Wisteria Forest. The forest got its name from the abundance of flowers that once made it a proud landmark of the town. But that was before the incidents began.

Saint Thompson, a newly licensed psychiatrist, had recently moved from the city to the town. Though new, everyone treated him as if he had always been there. He was an average-looking man in his early 20s, with thin glasses, slick black hair, and a humped nose. His optimism and dedication to his patients were evident as he worked with all ages, from children to elderly adults.

One evening, a scrawny man stumbled into the hospital. His clothes were disheveled, and he clutched a hat tightly to his forehead, his paranoid eyes unsettling the waiting room. The hospital usually took psychiatric visits by appointment, but it was a quiet night, and Saint had time. He reassured the man, guiding him into his office, where he often worked late into the night.

"Please, sit down, sir. My name is Dr. Thompson. I'm a psychiatrist here, and it's my goal to help you. However, I can't do that without your cooperation," Saint said in a low, gentle voice, a reassuring smile on his face. He placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, guiding him to a small couch opposite his own seat.

The room was silent, the only sound the faint click of Saint's pen as he prepared his clipboard.

"Sir, I promise you are safe here with us. Can I—"

"They're out to get me! You don't understand!" the man interrupted, his voice hoarse and desperate as if he hadn’t had water in days. "They watch me from the woods, follow me around town. They know my family, my friends—they know more about me than I do."

Saint recognized the signs of paranoia and delusion but maintained a concerned demeanor. "I see. You're worried for your safety. This is very concerning. Can you tell me who these people are? Why are they targeting you specifically?"

"It's a cult... They must work for the government..." The man buried his head in his hands, gripping his hair as his foot tapped anxiously on the floor. "I saw them do something... something I shouldn’t have seen. If only I had gone straight home..."

Saint's eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure. He began jotting down notes: paranoia, delusions, guilt, and regret. Did this man witness a murder, or was he involved? "Something you shouldn't have seen? Sir, can you explain further? This is a confidential space."

"No... no, swear you won't tell a soul." The man's eyes were wide with fear as he finally met Saint's gaze. His terror was palpable, causing Saint to momentarily drop his calm facade.

"Yes, of course, I swear. Please tell me what you've seen. It must have been traumatic. You're worried for your life and safety, and I can help you get the protection you need," Saint assured him, placing his clipboard down and unclicking his pen. He was prepared to hear the worst, though the idea of a murder in such a quiet town was hard to believe. 

"I... um... A few nights ago..." The man hesitated, then took a deep breath, placing his trust in Saint as his words started to flow more clearly. "A few nights ago, I was walking home from the diner and decided to take a detour through the forest. I just wanted to see the animals, maybe feed them, you know? As I was walking, I saw a group of people. I didn’t think they saw me because I hid behind a tree, but I overheard them. They were speaking in tongues, talking about a failed experiment, abnormalities... It all made no sense."

He paused, taking another breath, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I decided to look, see what they were talking about, and what I saw was horrific. They were surrounding some sort of... thing. It looked like Frankenstein, I swear! Half human, half animal... it looked mutilated, but it was alive..."

Saint's worry faded slightly as he heard the man's final words. A claim of murder, but of something inhuman? He leaned in, motioning for the man to continue. "So you've seen something inhuman, guarded by people? What happened next? Did they commit a murder?" Saint questioned, his skepticism evident.

"Yes, I swear! They were talking about secrets, but I can't remember. I just ran! They turned towards me, and I swear one nearly shot me! They were definitely planning to kill whatever that thing was!" The man's voice became desperate, an uncanny frown crossing his face.

"Please, you have to believe me. Ever since that night, I've been followed by people I've never seen before. They greet me, interfere in my daily routine. Sometimes I see a car pass by my home at night... they're probably listening right now, I know they are!" The man glanced at Saint's clipboard, noticing the checkboxes marked for delusions, paranoia, disorientation, frenzied speaking. "You think I'm crazy..."

"No, no sir. I need to check the appropriate boxes to make sure I can help you," Saint explained.

Without a word, the man gathered his only belonging, his hat, and went to leave Saint's office. Saint followed, unsure of what to do. He felt sympathy, maybe pity, but there was no legal reason to keep the man on hospital property. They reached the doors of the hospital, and Saint opened the door for him, offering a goodbye.

"I'm sorry I was unable to help you, sir. Maybe the police will be able to assist you better," Saint sighed.

"Police..." The man scoffed, disappointment and hopelessness in his voice. "If you don't see me again, they've killed me."

The man left abruptly, and Saint watched him disappear into the night, never learning his name. In the following weeks, more townsfolk came to the hospital with similar stories. Each account varied, but all involved sightings of a cult and something inhuman in the forest. The same story is broken into different fragments in the heads of these people.

Saint collected and compared these stories, each one adding to his growing concern. The patients showed signs of paranoia, delusions, and severe anxiety. Some became aggressive, others refused to leave their homes, and some were hospitalized indefinitely.

Saint collected information from every patient, every possible victim, but the number of cases only grew. Some people dismissed the occurrences as stress or paranoia, but others were more severe. They grew agitated, refusing to re-enter the world due to their fear. Some were aggressive, others were terrified and hallucinative, and many were brought in by loved ones to be hospitalized until further notice. A mass hysteria gripped once-normal people, all claiming to see the same group or person, something inhuman or abnormal, fearing they would be the next to die during the hour of blue. 

Standard procedures such as medication, trauma therapy, and positive exposure were administered, but word spread quickly throughout the town. The workload began to overwhelm Saint, compelling him to investigate the phenomenon himself. He compared similar stories, details, the ages, and daily lives of the patients, but got nowhere. The only consistent factor was that it always happened deep within the woods near flower beds. 

A society kidnapping people for experiments? A cult working with law enforcement for power? The bizarre nature of the victims' accounts puzzled him: a woman with no eyes whose tears turned to blood, a mutant blending human and animal features with full functionality, a man who claimed to see a ghostly tall figure looming behind trees, whispers guiding people to a known pond. These rumors and folktales had always been used to keep kids out of the forest at night. Saint, a logical thinker, only believed in facts he could see with his own eyes.

Saint's relentless study of the same information drove him to near insanity. Eye bags hung from his face, a scruffy beard grew, and he neglected his appearance; work consumed him. Questions plagued his mind: Why? How? Who? Who is behind this? How is it possible? Is everything he was taught wrong?

These words circled Saint's head endlessly. He began walking through the forest, starting on normal trails before venturing off-path. The forest seemed ordinary, full of animals and nature, except for the abundance of blooming flowers. Every night after work, Saint would walk, speaking to locals and exploring the forest as if waiting for something. During one such night, blue hour enveloped him as he delved deeper into the trees. The forest grew quieter, the overgrowth more frequent. No sound but his footsteps and occasional animal noises. Hours passed, hours that shouldn't have. 

That night, Saint didn’t return home. His car remained parked near the forest by the local diner. No one knew when he exited the forest, but his work clothes were dirty, and he smelled of dirt and grass, his expression haunted. The following morning, he appeared at the hospital, locking himself in his office. He skipped his usual routines, immediately claiming to work. Those who passed by his office reported hearing crying, chalk screeching against a board, even talking—but to whom?

After half a day, he emerged with a box full of documents related to patients of the forest. These patients were given their own category in the hospital, with a new procedure to treat their newly deemed "illness." Saint seemed hysterical, speaking erratically as if in a rush. His coworkers noted his forgetfulness, anxiety, and irritability. He isolated himself in his office, losing his passion for uncovering the forest's mystery and for work in general. Instead of his usual pursuit of answers, he deemed people mentally unfit, prescribed medication, and ordered hospitalizations in the psych ward.

After months of the hospital's new direction, a public lawsuit was filed against it, accusing the staff of using unethical treatment methods, including medical lobotomies. Many reported that their loved ones returned from the hospital significantly altered. Patients were often prescribed heavy doses of medication to be deemed fit for society once again. Ironically, one of the lawsuit's main proponents was a former staff member, who claimed the hospital was misdiagnosing patients as a way to "shut them up." But what secrets were being kept?

Saint remained silent, avoiding interviews and continuing his work. The lawsuit lasted a few months before being dismissed due to lack of evidence. This dismissal sparked public outrage, with many questioning their safety in the hospital and the town. In response, a town hall meeting was held to address citizens' concerns. 

To everyone's surprise, Saint Thompson revealed the cause of the mass hysteria. He claimed that chemicals from the flower beds in the forest could cause disorientation and hallucinations when exposed for too long. These hallucinations could severely impact one's perception of reality. He dismissed the accusations of medical lobotomies as false, insisting that his treatments were based on patients' symptoms and behaviors. Some required more medication and supervision than others. The mayor supported Saint's claims, and together they advised the public to avoid the forest at night and to refrain from venturing too deep into it. The new illness was officially named "Wisteria" and recorded in hospital records as a legitimate diagnosis with proper procedures and medical care.

Despite the official explanation, many townsfolk still speculated about the existence of a cult or secret society lurking in the town. Most people were too scared to speak openly about it, given the town hall's stance. Conversations about potential sightings and secrets continued in whispers and on social media, while others chose to ignore the unsettling events to maintain their normal lives. Though Wisteria is still recognized by the hospital, diagnoses have become less common due to the controversy. Rumors persist about hidden documents detailing the hospital's alleged misconduct and those involved, but their existence remains uncertain.

STORY WAS WRITTEN BY @sanrioroll