The patients of Green Valley Asylum

Monster in the mirror

The walls of Green Valley Asylum had always been cold, but today, they seemed to hum with an eerie tension. Dr. Mills sat at her desk, reading over the case file for her newest patient—Aaron Hayes, age 15. The boy had been admitted after a violent incident at his school, where he had attacked several classmates, leaving two in critical condition. According to the police report, Aaron claimed he was protecting himself from "the monster."

Dr. Mills leaned back in her chair, flipping through the pages. Aaron's background didn't show any history of violence until this incident. He was quiet, introverted, with average grades and no record of behavioral issues. His parents had been described as "strict but loving" by neighbors, and there was no obvious sign of trauma. Yet, something felt off.

The last page contained a single line from the school psychologist's notes: "Aaron insists that the attacks weren't his fault. He says the monster made him do it."

Dr. Mills sighed, feeling the familiar weight of the task ahead. This wasn't the first time she had encountered a child with severe psychological trauma, but each case was its own labyrinth of pain and confusion. She closed the file and prepared herself to meet Aaron for the first time.

The boy sat on the edge of the bed in the sterile, dimly lit room. His brown hair hung messily over his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly in his lap. His frame was thin, almost fragile, but there was an intensity in the way he stared at the floor, as though he were waiting for something to appear beneath him.

Dr. Mills approached quietly, sitting in the chair opposite him. She watched him for a moment before speaking, her voice soft but steady.

"Aaron?" she said gently.

His head lifted slowly, eyes flicking to meet hers for a brief moment before darting away again. He didn't speak, but his breathing quickened, as if the air in the room had become too thick.

"My name is Dr. Mills," she continued. "I'm here to help you. I know things have been very confusing lately, but we're going to figure this out together."

Aaron's eyes remained averted, and for a moment, Dr. Mills wondered if he would speak at all. But then, his lips parted, and a whisper escaped, barely audible.

"He's watching," Aaron muttered.

Dr. Mills furrowed her brow, leaning slightly closer. "Who's watching, Aaron?"

"The monster," he said, his voice trembling. "He's always watching. I... I didn't want to hurt them. But he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't leave me alone."

Dr. Mills nodded, making a note on her clipboard. She had encountered children with imaginary companions before, but there was something different about Aaron's demeanor—something darker, more fractured.

"Tell me about the monster," she said, keeping her tone calm and nonjudgmental.

Aaron shook his head violently, his hands gripping the edge of the bed. "No. No, I can't. He'll get mad. He's already mad. I can feel him... in the mirror. He lives there."

Dr. Mills glanced toward the small mirror above the sink in the corner of the room. It reflected both of them, but there was nothing unusual about it. Still, Aaron's eyes stayed fixed on it as though he could see something she couldn't.

"Is the monster in the mirror right now?" she asked.

Aaron's breathing became shallow, his fingers digging into his palms. "He's always there," he whispered, his voice full of fear. "Sometimes... sometimes he comes out. He tells me to do things. I try to stop him, but I can't. He's too strong."

Dr. Mills felt a chill run down her spine. She had seen cases of dissociation before, but this felt different—more visceral. She needed to tread carefully.

"Aaron," she said slowly, "when the monster comes out, what happens to you?"

The boy hesitated, his eyes darting back and forth as if he were searching for an answer. Finally, he whispered, "I go away. I... I hide. He takes over. I don't remember everything, but when I come back, I see what he's done. The blood... the screams..."

Tears welled up in Aaron's eyes, and Dr. Mills could see the depth of his guilt and fear. This wasn't just a coping mechanism—this was something deeper, more complex. Aaron wasn't simply using the monster as an excuse. He truly believed in it.

And perhaps, in his mind, the monster was real.

Over the next few weeks, Dr. Mills spent hours with Aaron, slowly unraveling the threads of his trauma. It wasn't long before she learned about the bullying at school—years of taunts, isolation, and humiliation at the hands of his classmates. They had made his life a living hell, pushing him to the brink.

But the real breakthrough came when Aaron finally spoke about his father.

"He's worse than the kids," Aaron said one afternoon, his voice hollow. "They only hurt me at school. But Dad... he never stops. He says I'm weak. He says I have to be stronger, tougher. He yells... he hits me. Says I'm useless, just like Mom."

Dr. Mills felt her heart clench. Aaron's mother had left the family when he was seven, leaving him in the care of his emotionally abusive father. The bullying at school had only compounded the pain, leaving Aaron with no safe space, no escape from the constant torment.

That's when Aaron had created the monster.

"I needed him," Aaron admitted, tears streaming down his face. "I needed someone to protect me, to fight back. But he... he's too strong now. I can't control him anymore. He hurts people, and I can't stop him."

Dr. Mills knew she was dealing with a severe case of dissociative identity disorder, where Aaron had created an alternate personality—"the monster"—to cope with the overwhelming abuse he faced. This alternate identity had taken on a life of its own, surfacing whenever Aaron felt threatened, and lashing out violently.

The attacks on his classmates weren't random—they had been the ones bullying him. But it wasn't Aaron who had hurt them—it was the monster.

In their final session before Aaron's treatment plan would be adjusted, Dr. Mills brought a small, hand-held mirror into the room.

"Aaron," she said softly, "I want you to look into the mirror and tell me what you see."

Aaron hesitated, fear flashing across his face. But after a long moment, he took the mirror and slowly raised it to his face.

For a moment, he simply stared at his reflection. Then his expression changed—his eyes widened, and his breathing quickened.

"He's there," Aaron whispered, his voice trembling. "He's in there. I see him."

Dr. Mills leaned forward, speaking gently but firmly. "Aaron, I need you to listen to me. The monster isn't real. He's a part of you—he's the part that's been protecting you from all the pain, all the fear. But he's not in control. You are."

Aaron's hand shook as he held the mirror, his eyes glued to the reflection. "But... he's so strong."

"Yes," Dr. Mills said, her voice full of compassion, "but you're stronger. You don't need the monster anymore, Aaron. You don't need him to protect you. You're safe now. I'm here to help you, and we can work together to make sure the monster doesn't come out again."

Aaron stared at the mirror for a long time, his breathing ragged. Slowly, he lowered the mirror and looked at Dr. Mills.

"Can you really help me?" he asked, his voice small and vulnerable.

Dr. Mills smiled softly. "Yes, Aaron. I can."

And for the first time, Aaron allowed himself to believe her.