“Who’s therapist?” I spat through the mouth of the child. “You think this poor girl needs to talk about her feelings? This isn’t a psychotic break because of some repressed trauma, although I’m almost sure there is some in here somewhere. That mother of hers is way too crazy to have never taken a belt to her or something.”
“No,” said the young woman. “I’m not here for her.”
I decided to go for a round of the classics to put the woman off balance. I leapt onto the ceiling and clung on, with my head rotated round to maintain eye contact. She narrowed her eyes. I launched a spray of projectile bile towards her shiny black patent leather shoes. She merely stepped back away from the splash zone. A fleck or two hit the mid-budget looking black pantsuit she was wearing.
“Why do you think that you find yourself acting out for attention?” she asks, brushing the ricocheted vomit from her sleeve.
“AAHRRGGHHHH HAHAHA… wait, what?”
“When you possess these girls. Why do you feel the need to act so outlandishly? If the objective was to get them suspected of witchcraft or complete some debauched act, it would be a lot more effective if you were less…. obvious.”
I dropped back down to the floor, feeling a bit deflated. “You are planning to give me therapy? A demon?”
“That was the idea, yes. It’s a new approach, but one that I have managed to demonstrate can be very effective in the right circumstances. The Holy See is very interested in the results I have been able to generate.”
I didn’t know what to say. Normally in this situation, I’d have gone for a head spin or something to buy time, but she’d really taken the wind out of that particular sail.
“So, as I was saying, why do you feel the need to act in this way?”
“It’s standard procedure”, I muttered, looking down at the small pale feet of the girl I was inside.
“Interesting,” said the woman. “Do you mind if I sit?”
I shrugged. “Shouldn’t I get a couch or something?”
“Do you feel that you want a couch?”
“Why do you make everything a question?”
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” she said with a smile.
I pouted in response. Not a very demonic move, but it felt right for the small girl I was inhabiting, and I prided myself on a flexible and ‘humanish’ performance when I was in character. It really helped you sell it.
“Why is it interesting?” I said finally.
“It's interesting that you say that it’s standard procedure when I know for a fact that it is not. You see if have worked with enough demons now in my practice that I have built up a very solid understanding of the playbook for a possession, and you are not even close to following it. You seem, if you don’t mind me saying, like a demon crying for help. Would you like help?”
I shook my head hesitantly.
“Fine,” she said. “Why don’t you take a seat for now, and let’s start with introductions, shall we? My name is Dr Hardwick, but you may call me Diana, if you wish.”
I looked at the seat she was gesturing towards and considered my options. I felt like an errant child. If I now refused for no reason, I’d be re-enforcing the impression that I was acting out. If I accepted I was giving her control. In the end, I decided to err on the side of comfort. I think I pulled a calf muscle in the fragile little human when I launched myself upwards a few seconds ago.
“Fine. My name is unpronounceable by humans. It means the destroyer of minds, the corrupter of souls, the very essence of pain and desperation,” I said, working up a head of steam.
“Oh. Is it not..”, she consulted her notes, “Bethelbub?”
“How the fu… No, not that’s not my name.”
“Only I tracked a few possessions with this MO, this tendency for the dramatic, and the name Bethelbub comes up an awful lot.”
“I… don’t know.”
“You don’t know if that’s your name? Is making up a persona part of avoiding the issue that drives you to act in this way, Bethelbub?”
I stared at her for what felt like an eternity. She kept her gaze soft, but fixed.
“Oh, for Satan’s sake”, I said finally. “I think it all started with my mother…”
Dr Diana Hardwick allowed herself a small smile as she started the tape recorder.
“Please, do carry on. I’m listening.”
