Hugh tore himself from this strange sight, figuring that the little girl had her own logic and reasoning for what she was doing, and headed off towards his entranceway.

He pressed his electronic key to the entrance door and stepped through. He had forgotten about the black-haired girl even before the entrance door closed.

Hugh returned to his apartment and flung himself down on his sofa.

The last two days had not gotten him any closer to understanding his hallucinations, but he was determined to find another doctor. Dr. I's notes had been a spark of hope but were now either flopping through the breeze or being munched on by a sewer rat.

Hugh prayed for the latter.

Laying back on the sofa, Hugh swiped his phone on and tapped straight to his browser. He hovered his forefinger above the keyboard at a loss as to what to search for. His last two encounters with doctors had left him demoralized and with little desire for a repeat performance with another Dr. Carni or Dr. I.

Hugh mulled over alternatives.

He considered searching for a neurologist, but he was set against a return venture to a general practitioner in order to retrieve a reference. He also weighed up searching for a psychologist but the notion of paying outrageous sums of money to lie on a sofa, and talk at the ceiling, didn't sit well with him. In the end, he chose to think outside the box. He decided to plug into the search engine the most ludicrous phrasing that he could conjure. After a quick think, Hugh set himself to typing in the search engine: convalescence for those plagued by media related hallucinations in the modern era.

Hugh wholeheartedly expected the browser to admonish him with an error stating that he shouldn't search with such stupid statements. Instead, the search engine pulled up hundreds of links. Hugh tapped on the first one on the list and up popped a new window.

The banner of the website read the organization's name in big bold letters ‘Office M’ and displayed a tagline that they offered one-to-one consultation in the “mystical, magical, metaphysical and mysterious.”

Impressed by Office M's use of alliteration, Hugh continued to read through the website and came to a list of questions that would determine whether Office M's services were a right fit for him.

Do you have otherworldly experiences? The first question posed to Hugh.

“No, I don't. All my experiences are innerworldly.” Hugh said to himself and scrolled onto the next question.

Do you seek answers to what resides beyond the veil of life? The second question read.

“Also no. I'm too busy and stressed out by what resides on my side of the veil.” Hugh replied.

Do you fear that voodoo, witchcraft, or sorcery is inhibiting your life? The third question read.

Hugh rolled his eyes and didn't answer.

Each question was more ridiculous than the last. They mentioned ghouls, ghosts, vampires, trolls and even elves. Even though High was starting to think that these questions must be a joke, he couldn't bring himself to close out the site. There appeared to be a teether anchoring him to the site and hauling him down the page through the sea of questions all the way to the final one – the one which seemed tailored just for Hugh.

Does the media, news, or television push you towards hallucinations of the peculiar, fantastical, and strange? The final question asked.

Hugh didn't even bother to answer. He swiped down to the bottom of the page, tapped the phone number, and pressed the phone to his ear.

Someone picked up after the first ring. A burly voice, which Hugh thought more fitting for a lumberjack than an office worker, answered the phone.

“What do you want?” The gruff voice demanded.

“Hello. I've visited your website and I would like to make an appointment.” Hugh said.

“Look fella, no need to play games.” The lumberjack said. “We don't have time for that. I don't, Office M doesn't, and neither do you. So, let me ask you once more, what do you want?”

“Maybe you didn't hear me,” Hugh replied, quite sure that he had just answered that very question, “I said that I would like to make app –”

“Or maybe you didn't hear me?” The lumberjack interjected with a quick cut, making Hugh feel like a branch chopped in two. “I'm in no mood to waste time. Tell me plain and simple – what do you want?”

“What I really want is to talk to someone about my hallucinations related to the news.” Hugh said, not believing that the second person to know about his hallucinations was to be a lumberjack over the phone. “Your website said—”

The lumberjack sliced right through Hugh's words once again.

“Say no more Sir. I understand completely and I'm here to help. Let us schedule an appointment with Masha.”

“Pardon me, but who is Masha? Won't I be coming in to speak with you?” Hugh asked.

“Buddy, you're not the brightest, are you?” The lumberjack asked and emitted a laugh that was a combination of growl, grunt, and giggle. “I'm the receptionist.”

“How was I supposed to know that you are…” Hugh trailed off, not wanting to argue the question of how he could have possibly known the lumberjack's position at Office M. “Who is Masha then?”

“Masha is the mystic, the guru, the magi, or whatever other word that may like to use.”

“I see…Magis. Gurus. Mystics. Interesting.”

“No, no, no! That's all wrong!” The lumberjack screeched like a cat whose tail had been pulled. “You are using the plural! There is only one mystic here, and that is Masha!”

“Alright. I'm sorry. There is only one magi, and that is Masha.” Hugh tried to sound apologetic. “When can I come in for an appointment with her?”

“Hold on for a minute and I'll check her schedule, she's very busy.” The receptionist let out a few more grunts and growls and then put Hugh on hold.

Hugh expected to hear some fanciful annoying music that those on hold are typically treated to. Instead, he heard the receptionist clunk the phone down on the table and pound away on the cardboard with what sounded like mallet sized fingers.

“So, I checked the schedule,” the lumberjack said after a minute more of pulverizing the keyboard, “tell me which time is good for you.”

“Well, you've just checked Masha's schedule.” Hugh said. “Maybe you can tell me which times she has free?”

“Did you not hear what I have just said?” The lumberjack asked. “Tell me when you are free.”

Hugh was becoming flustered. The lumberjack had made it clear that he was busy, but he seemed quite proficient at wasting time. Hugh took a deep breath and bottled up his brewing irritation.

“I can do tomorrow at two in the afternoon.” Hugh said.

“No. She's not available then.” The lumberjack responded curtly.

“I see… How about at a quarter past twelve?” Hugh asked.

“No. Also not free.” The lumberjack's response curter than his last.

“Look, you asked me when I am free.” Hugh said, no longer restraining his ire with a growl that rivaled the lumberjack's own. “If your Masha is so busy, and doesn't have a free appointment, why did you ask me about my preference? I feel like you asked me about my preference just so you could reject it. Please tell me when she is free, that will make everyone's life easier.”

“No need to be aggressive. Let me see…” The lumberjack said in a relaxed tone and smacked his lips together in thought. “Masha is free tomorrow at… twelve thirty and two thirty. Do either of these times work for you?”

Hugh was dumbstruck at the receptionist's response.

“Are you serious?” Hugh asked. “You could have just told me that before, when I told you that I'm free at around twelve and —"

“Sir, please calm down.” The receptionist said, proving to be not only a master of wasting time but also a master of cutting people off. “Just answer the question. Do either of these times work for you?”