Tick. The clock sounded as it hit 3am. I sprang awake, gasping for breath, sweat cascading down my face. My plain blue nightgown absorbed the sweat, turning the collar black. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. I controlled my breathing, but my heart still felt like it was playing the drums in my chest. Good luck going back to sleep now, Joanne, I thought to myself. Just then, the hallway lit up with a streak of orange light that came from under a door and painted itself across the wooden floor. My eyebrows furrowed. Why was Anne awake at this time? I took a handful of the pink princess quilt that covered me and threw it off, sliding out of bed and into my way-too-small morning slippers that sat at its foot. My sweaty heels touched the floor as I walked to my daughter's bedroom.

     “Anne, are you okay?” I asked. No response, just the sound of Bride of Frankenstein playing over the TV. My knuckles made contact with the 1992 Dracula movie poster that was plastered on the door. A screech sounded as it opened slowly from my force. A queen bed sat in the middle of a simple room; faces from 20th century horror movies stared at me from the posters on the walls- The Shining, Unsane, Ballistic. The light began to flicker, and the voices over the TV were drowned out by static.
     “Anne? Sweetheart?” I crossed the room slowly until I felt her wheelchair. I exhaled. That thing was a toe breaker.

     The light stopped flickering and turned off. I reached out into the dark to feel for the lamp on the bed side table, brushing against the wood and knocking over the pill bottles that sat beside the lamp. Dim light flashed before me as my hand touched the lamp switch. I gently pulled back the black quilt that covered my eight-year-old girl, only to make eye contact with the pillow.
     “Anne?” I blinked at the spot where her head of brown hair was meant to lie. How did Anne get out of bed? The sound of the bedroom door slamming into its frame made me spin around, tripping on the foot of the wheelchair. I hit the floorboards. I gasped like I had just been thrown in a frozen lake as a cold hand grasped my ankle. I saw a pair of red eyes under the bed, the snarling yellow fangs and the sharp fingernails that dug into my ankle, tearing flesh. In that moment, my survival instinct outweighed my motherly love. I pulled my foot back from the captor then sprang it forward, kicking my daughter’s face.

     Anne snarled, her thick yellow saliva flying into the air like a mad dog. I climbed to my feet and ran for the door. Anne sprang forward just as fast, crawling on her hands and feet, her back arched. Her face skin, already wrinkled like an old corpse, pulled back to reveal her teeth which bared down on my arm. I yelped, watching her glazed red eyes stare me down, her teeth pulling back in an attempt to rip the meat off my arm. With my free hand, I reached over to the bedside table and snatched the lamp out of the socket, smashing it over the back of her head. Anne flew sideways from the force, but the sound of her nails feverishly scratching the floorboard told me she was crawling back in my direction. Without looking back to confirm, I opened the bedroom door and slammed and locked it behind me, collapsing in the hallway in a fit of shivers. The sound of Anne’s shoulder bashing the door from the inside made me jump, but it kept going. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Anne finally stopped banging at the door, stumbling to the ground with a thud.

     “Mummy?” The high-pitched voice of my daughter called. “Mummy, I think I fell out of bed.”

…

     “She seems fine to me,” Doctor Richardson stated flatly. My hands that were balled in fists relaxed as I exhaled.
     You can’t hit the doctor, Joanne.
“I understand it sounds bizarre, doctor, but surely you can run some tests.”
Doctor Richardson blinked slowly as he looked into my eyes, a slight crease between his brows. I chewed on my bottom lip and said nothing, hoping he would agree. It was nearly impossible to get a doctor to visit Anne at our home, but I wasn’t ready to be alone with her in the car. Doctor Richardson sighed.
     “Can I speak to your husband?”
I released my bottom lip and shrivelled my nose in disgust.
     “Why? I’m the one that called.”
Surely, I didn’t chance upon a sexist doctor. Just my luck.
     “Joanne, can I ask where your husband is?” My nose wrinkles intensified.
     “He’s upstairs. But do you have a problem speaking with me?”
His hands that rested on my dining table, and the indent he made in my husband's chair suddenly made me feel like my blood was put over a hot stove.
     “Of course not, I just hoped I could get his perspective on what happened.”
My fists balled again. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
     “Listen Richardson, either give me a possible diagnosis or leave my house”
I said through gritted teeth.
     “It is possible… This could be the work of schizophrenia or dissociative
identity disorder.”
     I stood up so fast my chair fell on the dining room floor with a thud. I opened
my fisted hands and slammed them onto the table between me and Doctor Richardson, making him jump.
     “Are you seriously suggesting that’s a suitable explanation?! You’re going to
place these labels on my daughter? Like she’s crazy?” I knew I was acting rash, but this was unacceptable.
     “If you video the interaction next time, I can better diagno-”
     “Get out! Out!” I waved my hand in the direction of the front door.

     After he had left, I picked up my fallen chair and sat on it with a sigh. I
placed my face in my hands, hoping Anne didn’t overhear.
     You should’ve known he’d be no help, Joanne. I looked at Anne’s bite marks on my arm. The area had begun to swell as Doctor Richardson had refused to treat it. He insisted it would go away on its own, and it wasn’t that serious.
     I’ll show that sexist, skimpy, so-called doctor. If Anne turns again, I’ll have
video evidence.

…

     My phone flew across the room, landing by the foot of the queen bed. I
sprinted past Anne, diving on the floor to grab it. I turned my phone in her direction, the flash revealing her peeling face. She hissed, yellow saliva flying from her mouth onto the camera lense.
     “No, no, no!” I scurried to my feet as Anne launched at me, colliding with the
wall. I wiped the sticky saliva off my phone with my top sleeve. Pressing the video button, I faced the lense directly at Anne’s face. She was crawling back to her hands and feet. Through my camera screen, however, I was videoing an empty room.
No way. Joanne, you’re screwed!

      I ran across and out of the room, closing and locking the door behind me.
I paused in the hallway outside the door, waiting to hear my daughter's sweet voice again.
     “Mummy? Are you there?”
     “Yes sweetheart, mummy’s here. Did you fall out of bed again?” I sighed,
trying to keep my voice even. I unlocked the door and began opening it. I saw a glimpse of glazed red eyes and a toothy smile. A sharp nailed hand sprung in my direction, almost taking hold of my clothes. I closed and locked the door just in time to escape being pulled into the dark room. Anne cackled from inside, making me clasp my mouth, last night's dinner threatening to come gushing out.
     “Mummy! Mummy!” Anne mocked. Her voice sounded like she had been
chain smoking since she first escaped the womb. “Mummy, I fell out of bed.” Her nails scraped down the wooden door. “Come help me, mummy.”

…

     “Mummy, help me”.
I spun around like a wide-eyed ballerina, almost knocking over my plate of eggs. Anne was trying to reach the bread from the counter. I was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, behind the island. I stared at her green eyes, waiting for them to turn yellow. It didn’t comfort me that they didn’t.
     “Just use a fork,” I replied.
     “But mummy…the bread's right there”. Her voice may be sweet now, but it could start hissing at any moment.
     “I’m not going to walk all the way over there, Anne. Use a spoon.”
Anne’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
     “But mummy…” she began pushing her wheels, moving herself in my
direction.
     “No!” I yelled, making her freeze. “If you really wanted the bread, you would get out of that chair and get it yourself!”
The kitchen fell silent. Anne blinked quickly, trying to get rid of the tears that were welling up in her eyes. “I-I’m sorry. Mummy is just tired.” This done nothing to lessen Anne’s tears. I crossed the kitchen quickly and placed the bread onto her lap, never taking my eyes off her. “Why don’t we watch that new Abigail movie?” I asked quickly.
     “I don’t like horror… can’t we watch Snow White again?”
     “Yes, yes. Mummy will be upstairs.”

…

     “Mummy?”
I flinched at Anne’s voice. The dark circles around my eyes were expanding, and I was getting tired of flinching at my daughter’s voice. Should I get an exorcist? I’m over the anticipation. I’m over the fear. I want answers.
     “Mummy, what are you cleaning?”
I was vigorously scrubbing the walls of the guest room.
     “Just trying to freshen this place up, Anne… Mummy has been very tired lately…”  I scrunched my nose at the foul odour of the neglected guest room.
“Why don’t you go watch a movie?”
     “You know, mummy, you can’t keep using movies to get rid of me, right?”
Anne’s smooth voice rasped slightly. I turned my head from the wall to face her. Yellow began bleeding into her green eyes.
     “You’re right, Anne… mummy will prepare us a yummy dinner…” I spoke
slowly, but moved quickly, fast walking to the nearest room I could lock.
     “Wait for me, mummy.” Anne croaked from behind, her wheelchair
squeaking as she stood up.

     I quickened my pace, but so did she. The sound of her nails on the wooden floor was becoming dreadfully familiar. I began running at full speed.
     “Mummy, help!” Anne’s gentle voice yelped. I spun around, pushing aside the instinct that screamed at me to keep running. I looked into Anne’s gleaming yellow eyes as she cackled loudly. Her thin legs and peeling arms were spread wide as she crawled towards me. Her head spun sideways, and her spine arched into a point, visible through her clothes.

     “Help mummy! Help!” She mocked through her cackles.
I spun back around on my heel, but not fast enough as Anne’s clawed fingers slashed at them. I ignored the burning in my heel and heart and kept going. I reached a bedroom and jumped into it. Anne grabbed my leg, her nails sinking under my kneecap as I pushed the door against her arm. We both screamed in pain as I pressed against the door with my body. The door made a loud bang as it met its frame. Anne’s severed arm hung limp from my knee. Tears mixed with sweat on my face as I pulled the arm out of my meat.
     What have you done, Joanne!
Anne’s screams mixed with laughter from the other side of the door.

     “Mother of the year you are!” I crawled further away from the door,
dragging my bloodied leg behind me. “Are you proud of yourself, mummy?!” Anne mocked. I dragged myself under the queen bed, in a pathetic attempt to hide. “Neglectful! Can’t even get me a piece of bread!” My hand bumped a piece of metal. “Rude! Can’t even spend a moment of your time with me!” Anne was choking on her screams and cackles. “Delusional! Trying to convince the doctor I’m the crazy one!” The metal handle on the floor looked familiar. “Scared! Can’t bear to come close to me!” Anne’s screams and laughter mixed with sobs. “Abusive! Cut off! Your own daughter’s arm!” Anne spat her words viciously. “Mummy…” I opened the trap door under the queen bed, revealing only darkness. “Mummy…I’m going to kill you.” I used my phone’s flashlight to illuminate a tiny room. “I’m going to kill you, mummy…” Anne began bashing the door violently, making it shake in its frame. “I’m going to kill you! Crucify you! Tear you to shreds!” The room below me was so small, all it fit was the single girl that sat in it, knees pushed against her chest.

     The noise outside the door suddenly fell silent. I made eye contact with
the green eyes of the girl trapped below me.
     “Anne?” I called down. “Anne, how did you get there?”
     “You put me here, mummy… just like you put daddy in the guest room wall.”

April Bluebird
Paralysis
8/Jun/2024