Knock Three Times

4. Need to Feed

                'WHAT IN GOD'S NAME am I supposed to do with you?' fumed Meredith Rhoads, hot under the collar as she sat at the dining room table eating an early meal with her daughter. James was still out and about with his friends, the usual Thursday afternoon, after school ritual. Her son and his best friend Hamish reserved this particular day of the week to hang about the local mall, which had become a weekly practice since his transfer to Centennial Secondary School. And so, an untouched plate sat before an empty dining room chair, just in case he returned home with an empty stomach. Meredith's demeanor was deeply concerning, that of worry more than anger, yet not expressed in word but tone.

    The image of Ashley's wrinkled crow's feet and unfocused eyes—a child seemingly possessed—plagued every silent moment of reflection. Something was terribly wrong with her daughter, and the now single mother had no clue as to how to handle this uncharted territory. There was no manual or tutorial to consult in such strange matters—no advisor who could possibly understand or guide her approach accordingly. More than anything she wished her husband still around, not just because Jason admittedly dealt with difficult situations rather gracefully in comparison—ever the voice of reason and well trained in abnormal psychology—but because Meredith felt utterly alone and generally abandoned in parenthood. If only he'd answer his phone from time-to-time, moments like this would feel much less overwhelming, she thought.

    'What did I do wrong?' asked the young lady, genuinely confused.

    'You honestly don't remember what you've been drawing in class the last couple of days?'

    Shaking her head, bright emerald and innocent eyes began to glisten, unintentionally eating away at her mother's guilt, as she hadn't quite noticed her overly aggressive tone—genuine concern hiding beneath an audible indignation. If her daughter honestly couldn't remember creating the disturbing artwork in question, then she couldn't exactly punish her. Meredith was till conflicted if truth be told, unable to wrap her mind around how such a young girl could complete such masterful artwork, a feat supernatural in nature if she allowed herself to believe in such things.

    The more she thought about it, the more concern reared its ugly head that Ashley may have been of two minds while she scribbled away in the video she had watched. The troubled maternal was slowly coming to grips with the prospect of psychological therapy, fearing the worst possible conditions, but hoping it wouldn't come to that. The very last thing she wanted was to have her daughter prodded at and analyzed like a lab rat; a strange concept as she seemed perfectly normal.

    Principle Meyer did not seem the religious or spiritual type, and so she thought it odd that he suggested the strange occurrences may have been supernatural in nature. Likewise, she wasn't really the type to assume as much. In her mind, this assumption was preferred, however, as the alternative seemed much more frightening in the moment. Her fear of a devastating lifetime diagnosis kept beating her down internally, unsure if her only daughter may be clinically schizophrenic, suffering from some multiple personality disorder she had yet to witness with her own eyes. In her quietest and most concealed of thoughts Meredith reasoned than an exorcism—or the like—somehow seemed less detrimental to Ashley's development than permanently living with voices in her head. A lifelong struggle or a one-time religious ceremony, there was no contest between which was preferred, though the latter seemed equally terrifying, but acute nonetheless.

    'Well, something doesn't quite add up, young lady. Now we're going to have to see a therapist,' she threw her hands up. 'Which is okay, let me be clear . . . if that's what it takes to get to the bottom of this—'

    'I just don't understand what I did wrong. Why can't anyone get that?'

    The distraught and heart-heavy mother let out a great sigh, frustrated and apprehensive with what was happening to her daughter, and the long and winding road that inevitably lay ahead.