The first time I went to the therapist, I was scared. I was scared of all of the 'exorcists' as Grandma Mae used to say. She said that they'd destroy the demons. The demons were my friends. She said that they'd make me just like everyone else, normal. I didn't want to be normal. So I didn't tell the doctor anything. I just sat there, on the sofa, not even acknowledging her existence.
She kept trying to make me talk. Asking me questions about the demons. Questions about the things I see. About Grandma. She even asked me about my family history. I mean, I was eight. How was I meant to know if my Great Great Great Grandad had contact with Satan?
Eventually I gave in. I told her everything. I could tell that she was frightened. Frightened and confused. Every session after that, she always looked at me with fear. Pure fear. I loved it. My parents didn't know a thing. It was wonderful. The way that she covered up the fear in her eyes as soon as she saw them...she could've been the greatest actor I've ever seen.
Now, of course, I was young when this all happened. Some would say too young to see a therapist, but my parents strongly disagreed. I didn't like them disagreeing with me at all. The therapist would always agree with me. Always. Even when she knew I was blatantly lying. She would never look me in the eyes, even on our very last session. I was quite confused by that at the time. Now I know the truth, I can understand why.
I can't lie, thinking back now, she was pretty. Really pretty. Not pretty enough to be a model, but close. Dr.Evans was her name. She had long brown hair. Bright green eyes. A motherly smile. It was shame that they killed her.
YOU ARE READING
Death Has Wings
FantasiAnd no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light. - 2 Corinthians 11:14 Clark's life was perfect: loving parents, good home, unbroken family. That was until he killed his little sister, Lilith. After that, his father left, his...
