Now, let’s see if I can remember any of those ancient verses, the ones I used to put a circle of protection around myself, to keep Mama’s ghost out.

Bide larma…No, that doesn’t sound right.

Bide lirma oda kaitan…Was that it? No.

How about Bidi lirma oda kaitan…? I think that’s closer to it, but how does the rest of the verse go?

The fact that I don’t have the materials to make the circle–the chalk to draw it, the ruler to draw straight lines for the pentacle, and the candles to light up–isn’t exactly helping me here.

I’ll try again: Bidi lirma ota kaitan…

Wait a minute: was that even from the right verse?

No! That was from the verses meant to send Mama to Hell and lock her up there. I’ve already done that, and she’s brought me here with her, too. By saying that verse, if I’m even saying it right, I’m only reinforcing my problem!

I need to remember the verse I used to say to create a zone of protection that she can’t enter. What I said when I went to the store to buy the amulet and sachet. What was it? She’s making me forget, that’s for sure.

Still, I have to try to remember it. It’s my only hope.

Oh, God, it’s so dark here. Endlessly black, all around me.

I can still hear the thumping of the elephants’ feet. Aunt Jane, that man, and the staff from the mental hospital are still trying to find me in this stinky rectum of a hiding place. It’s only a matter of time before they find me and take me back to the nut house.

Oh, what are those words I have to chant?

Wana…bagga…waiko? Is that how it begins?

Wana bagga waiko, Inan suchi zdago…I think.

Kala bodi gana, Sibako wuli…zulu? No, at least one or two of the words are wrong, because I don’t feel any safer. I’m still in the smelly black pit. But which words am I saying wrong?

I can’t give up. I’ve got to keep trying–not just for myself, but for the sake of the world, which I have to save from Mama’s magic! Now, what were those words?

Maybe if I try different combinations of vowels and consonants, I’ll eventually luck out and say the right combination, like monkeys typing forever and ever until they finally compose a novel. It’s a ridiculous thing to do, but I’m so desperate here, I can’t think of any other way to get the words right. Here goes:

Wana baka waigo,
Inan kushi zdega,
Kala bodi gana.
Sibako woli zulu.

No, still no circle of protection. I’m still trapped in infinite black. But I think I’m coming closer to saying the right words. As I do this, altering the words little by little, I think I’m beginning to remember them better.

But maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m wrong.

Still, I’ve got to keep trying.

Wana baka waigo,
Imam kuchi zdega
Kalu bodi gana.
Sibako woli zulu.

Still not right! Every word has to be perfect, or else I get nothing! Oh, how am I going to get this right? Still, I have to try:

Wana baka waigo,
Iman kuchi zdega
Kalu bodi gana.
Sibako woli…zulu.

Still wrong! I have a feeling that this time, I almost got it right. Still, it cannot be even the slightest bit wrong, or else this effort is all in vain. I’ll bet Mama’s ghost is tampering with my memory, making me forget a verse I had committed to memory not so long ago.

Oh, which part am I getting wrong?

This black void enveloping me, with that shitty garbage stink, is driving me crazy!

I’ve got to keep trying, though…every possible combination must be considered!

I’ve got to get protection from Mama…and fast!

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!…

WabawakabaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanwakabaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WanabakawaigoInankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WakabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WadabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WafabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WagabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WajabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WalaBakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WamabakawaigoInankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKanubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WapawakabaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WarabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodigala Sibakowolizulu…
WasabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WatabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WavabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WawabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WayabakowaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WazabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuzu…
WanababawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanabakawaigoImankuchizdegoKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WanabalawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanabamawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…

Oh, my God, I’m never going to get this right!

Surely, Mama’s ghost is making me mispronounce at least one word at a time, to drive me crazy!

My face is soaked in my tears. I’m shaking and sobbing so loudly, surely those elephants will hear me over their thumping feet!

What can I do to save myself from her?

Could I try finding Jesus? No, I tried that years ago. Didn’t work. There’s no Heaven to save me from this Hell.

If only I could kill myself…but that would just plunge my soul–if I even have one–straight into Hell all the more, where she could really torment me…forever.

What if I attempted…a dissolving of my ego? A transcending of my ego…ego death! The merging of my Atman, as it were, with Brahman? What if I adopted selflessness, in the Buddhist sense of the word? She cannot harm me if there’s no me to harm.

Through intense meditation, I can achieve ego death, nirvana. It’s worth a try, at least.

I’ll start by focusing on my breathing…slow, deep breaths…in…and out…I don’t need to close my eyes, because there’s nothing to see but absolute black everywhere.

Oh!…That awful smell! The shit of the asshole I’m trapped in!

No, I don’t want to inhale that so intensely. Bad idea.

I’ll have to try concentrating on something else.

The present moment, and my oneness with my surroundings.

Yes,…I must think about every second that passes by, and think about there being no distinction between myself and everything out there that isn’t me.

Oh, my mind keeps wandering. Roger, concentrate!

Mama, like Mara the tempter, is trying to thwart this Buddha.

I’m at one with everything…I’m aware of every passing second…

My body feels as if it’s beginning to dissolve, to merge with my surroundings…good…

Wait…am I dissolving, or am I…being pulled apart, in all directions?

I still can’t see anything in this black, smelly void, but it feels as though my arms are being pulled to their far left and far right, and it’s like I’m rising from the ground. All of me feels…pulled outwards, everywhere.

Is this a merging, or is it a…melting?

Maybe this is how becoming at one with everything is supposed to feel. I don’t know.

What’s that up ahead? A tiny dot of white light, gradually getting bigger. I feel as though I’m floating towards it. The light at the end of the tunnel? My salvation?

Wait a minute: instead of a growing ball of white light, I’m seeing the city I was riding that motorcycle through the streets of. I’m at the tight sphincter now, coming out like a turd squeezing through…POP!

I’m back out in the city now. Oh, thank God I don’t smell that fecal stink anymore. It’s as surreal out here as it was before: giant mushrooms for buildings, tall celery stalks for lampposts, boats on the roads instead of cars, a glowing basketball for a sun shining in a brown sky, and pedestrians with animals’ heads.

Yes, the magic of Mama’s ghost is as strong as ever.

Hey, wait! What am I riding on? This isn’t that motorbike I stole: I’m riding on a blue elephant! Other blue elephants are walking beside, in front of, and behind mine. I know what they represent: Aunt Jane, the staff of the mental hospital, and…that man.

They’re taking me back to the nut house…that prison!

I have to stop this from happening, but how?

I’ll try jumping off of this elephant…what? There’s some kind of invisible wall, or a force field of some kind, keeping me on the elephant! I can’t get away! Mama’s magic is keeping me here!

“Let me go!” I scream. “I don’t wanna go back to that horrible hospital!”

“Sorry, Roger,” I can hear Aunt Jane’s voice saying from farther off. “But we trusted you the last time, and you violated that trust. Now, I’m afraid we have no choice but to take you back there and keep you there for as long as it takes. Judging by the way you’ve been acting, I’d say you’ll probably have to stay locked up there for the rest of your life. I hate to say it, but it’s true.”

“NOOOO!!!”

“And don’t try that act of sanity again, Roger,” one of the hospital staff says. “We’re wise to your tricks now.”

Mama has won.

She has me locked away forever.

And she’ll be able to destroy the world without me able to stop her.

It was better in that giant asshole. At least I could meditate there, have a hope of dissolving my ego, and end my suffering…of course, I could meditate in the padded cell they’ll most likely incarcerate me in, wearing that straitjacket again. It will be uncomfortable, but I should be able to do it.

No, I can’t! Not with all those people there! I have to be alone. How can I dissolve my ego through meditation if I’m constantly being disturbed by shrinks and nurses determined to make me believe that that man is my father?

I really am in an eternal Hell of other people.

There is no exit for me.

What a bizarre cityscape I’m seeing all around me!

As I race down the road on this motorcycle I stole, I’m seeing boats moving on the road instead of cars. The buildings are still giant, polka-dotted mushrooms. Instead of street lamps, I’m seeing giant celery sticks of the same height!

Whoa! I just looked up at the sky, which is a light brown instead of blue. And instead of seeing a bright ball of fiery light for the sun, I’m seeing a glowing…basketball.

The pedestrians all have animals’ heads: dogs, cats, elephants, horses, etc., but all in proportionate size to their human bodies. As I wait at this traffic light, the colours of which are pink (go), orange (slow), and brown (go), I can hear the pedestrians’ conversations as they walk by me: barking, meowing, roaring, neighing, etc. A man with a dog’s head is passing in front of me right now, walking his dog, which is actually speaking: “Who’s this ugly guy on the motorbike?”

Thanks a lot, dog.

The pedestrians have all crossed the street, and the light has turned brown. I can resume my getaway from Aunt Jane, my ‘father,’ and the staff of the mental hospital, who are presumably pursuing me. Off I go!

Anyone else knowing what I’m seeing and hearing would naturally assume that it’s all just a series of hallucinations that I’m having. But I know better. All of these surreal images and sounds are just the magical art of Mama’s ghost. She’d have me believe that I’m delusional.

The real delusion, however, so cleverly set up to look as though it’s normal, was my ‘recovery’ in that hospital, imagining that man to be my father. The peacefulness of that whole situation was staged by Mama, set up to distract me from her real plan, which is to escalate the world’s problems, exacerbating the bad economy and the ecological crisis, and of course, to bring to a head the political tensions between the US and NATO on one side, and Russia and China on the other, to bring about a nuclear World War III and annihilate all life here on the Earth!

Such is the scheming of Mama’s mischievous mind.

This is why I must do what I must do, to save the Earth! I can see now that it’s my destiny to be a hero, and a hero cannot be the son of a mediocre man like that one I left with Aunt Jane. I must be someone better than that, the son of a great man murdered by Mama’s treachery!

She’d have me doubt my senses, memory, and perception. That’s why she’s putting all these bizarre images in front of me and all around me. It’s all an attempt to control me! If I’m under her control, she’ll be free to do whatever she wants to do, to destroy the world. I must stop her!

All my life, from when I was a little kid, right up to her death–her manipulating me into killing her with the voodoo doll–she was making me believe that I never perceived anything correctly, that I was always seeing and hearing things. I now know why. She always knew–secretly, of course!–that I have special, magical gifts, inherited from her. (These gifts of mine were clearly seen when I so quickly learned how to block her magical powers.) She had to trick me into having no confidence in my own abilities, so I wouldn’t be able to stop her in her grand plan to become an all-powerful, disembodied spirit, and destroy the world!

I’ve got to stop her…but how can I do that?

I have to stay away from Aunt Jane and that man, because apart from how repellent I already find both of them, they’ll have the hospital staff drag me back into the nut house, to be imprisoned there indefinitely. Staying away from the two of them means staying away from my apartment, my laptop, and my protective circle and witch bottle.

That means I’m homeless.

I can’t make any more money because Aunt Jane is running the Pet Valu store.

I’m unemployed.

I can see towering columns of flame all around me, in the background, behind the surreal cityscape of giant mushrooms, celery stick street lamps, boats on the road, and animal-headed pedestrians. Everyone is going about his or her business, as if the fiery background wasn’t even there, as if there was nothing strange about boats for cars, mushrooms for apartment buildings, and animal heads instead of human ones.

I, however, continuing my racing about on this stolen motorcycle, know that I cannot find any reference books on magic if the library is now either a mushroom or is on fire. I cannot gain access to my mother’s inheritance money if the local bank is either a mushroom or burned to the ground.

I have no home, no job, no money, and no access to sources that can protect me from Mama’s magic.

What the hell am I going to do?

Aunt Jane, that man, and the hospital staff must be pursuing me…I’ll look behind and see if…oh, no!

A herd of stampeding elephants is right behind me!

Instead of elephants’ roars, I’m hearing the voice of that man: “Roger, come back! We only want to help you!”

I’m giving the bike some more gas.

Mama is really giving it everything she’s got to make me lose my mind and defeat me. I can’t let her do that!

I must keep my head. If I succumb to her surreal tricks, if she succeeds in disorienting me, or in having me caught or killed, there will be no one to stop her from destroying the world!

I can’t believe how well I’ve been able to dodge this traffic of boats, the celery street lamps, the giant mushrooms, and the animal-headed pedestrians so far. I’m flying down the street like a professional motorcycle racer…and I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before in my life…and normally, I’m totally spastic, totally without the most basic coordination.

Could my racing away like this really be happening, or is this one of Mama’s tricks, to give me a false sense of confidence, before she springs her inevitable trap on me? Probably. We’ll see.

What’s that up ahead? I’m seeing eyes and fanged teeth forming on the celery stick street lamps! They’re looking at me with threatening faces, like in a bizarre cartoon. Arms are growing out of their sides, arms that are grabbing at me!

The gripping green hands are missing me, so far. I’ve been able to dodge them. Where did my cycling skill come from so suddenly?

Bumps in the road are popping up like bubbles. I’m managing to dodge them, too…so far.

Those bumps are coming up in the most surprising place…oops!

I just hit a big, bubbling bump, and I’m flying off the bike and into the air. In front of me is a huge, giant, brown, swirling vortex with a black hole in the middle. It looks like a giant…asshole?

…and I’m flying right into it.

…screaming as I go in at top speed.

Inside now, I’ve landed with a painful thud that’s hurt my right elbow and hip. Instead of smelling shit, I smell…garbage, everywhere.

It’s pitch black in this smelly place. I can’t see a thing.

I can hear the elephants trampling their way in here.

The voice of ‘my father’ is saying, “He fell off the bike and landed somewhere in this garbage dump. He can’t have gone far.”

“He found a good hiding place,” my aunt just said, as I’m feeling their thunderous elephant thuds shaking the ground. “This place is like a labyrinth. We’ll never find him.”

That’s encouraging to hear. I can stay where I am, at least for the moment, rub my injuries, which aren’t that bad, and think about all of these crazy things that I’ve seen.

What I’ve been seeing must be much more than mere hallucinations. While it’s true that I’ve seen and heard things my whole life, they’ve never reached a level of surreal intensity anywhere near this! Oh, all these nonsensical images and sounds are Mama’s doing, I’m sure of it. This is all her magic, far more powerful than the magic she’d used when physically alive, since now she’s freed of the limitations of the body and the senses.

As bizarre as the sights and sounds have been, they are explicable, in terms of deliberate choices Mama’s ghost has made, her knowing I’d find them disturbing.

The brown sky is the colour of shit, reminding me of a time when, in PE class in high school, I was playing basketball in the outside basketball court. The ball went out on the grass at one point, and it fell on a lump of dog turds. One of the school bullies found the ball, picked it up, and threw it at my head, calling out my name as it flew in the air so I’d get hit in the face with the shit-smeared part. Everyone laughed at me, of course.

I went home crying about it. I told Mama what happened: she laughed, too, saying I should have worked harder at improving my basketball playing. She obviously had me see a brown sky and a basketball sun to remind me about that day. Her cruelty knows no bounds.

I hate eating celery, and as a kid, I was made by her to eat celery sticks one afternoon. I choked on one because of her continued pressure to finish them: I was six, and I thought I was going to choke to death. Again, street lamps made to look like giant celery sticks, with malevolent faces, was another attempt by Mama to re-traumatize me.

When I was ten, on a summer camping trip, I was in a small boat on a huge lake, deep in the middle of the water. A bully pushed me off, and I, not a good swimmer, almost drowned. Back home, I told Mama about it. She laughed again, blaming me for not working hard enough to improve my swimming. This explains the boats I saw on the road.

I’ve generally been afraid of animals, having been bitten by dogs and scratched by cats as a kid. They seem little different to me from people, who all seem like bullies to me. Hence, pedestrians with animal heads and talking dogs and elephants.

Oh, don’t get me started on elephants!

As a kid, I used to have nightmares about being trampled on by stampeding herds of elephants or horses. I’d feel crushed by the idea of…that man…being my father, hence her associating him with elephants.

…and what about that giant asshole vortex I just flew into?

Well, I don’t want to go into too much detail about this, the reasons of which should become obvious soon enough, but when I was about twelve and in summer camp again, one of the counsellors took an interest in me, and he…

I’ve already said too much.

Again, when I tearfully told Mama about it on my return home, she laughed at me and called me gay.

Are you starting to understand why I wanted her dead?

This darkness everywhere is really enveloping me. I feel like I’m floating in endless, starless space.

This is the hell Mama’s ghost is trapping me in.

Without the library’s or any other magical resources, I’ll have to rely on my faulty memory to think of any of the other magical ideas I researched before. I hope I can use it to put up a decent fight against her.

The odds are not in my favour.

Several weeks have gone by with me in this…mental hospital, and I have been cooperating with Dr. Sweeney, Aunt Jane, and…my…father, in the hopes that they’ll let me out of here soon enough. Even in my private thoughts, I’m trying to approximate the perception of reality they’re all imposing on me, all of them working for a certain…spirit, in the hopes that she, too, will be fooled. Then I can be freed of all of them.

My subterfuge seems to be working. Sweeney and the staff are pleased with my cooperation and lack of belligerence. I haven’t worn the straitjacket since it had been taken off me; I’m not even in the padded cell anymore. I’m in quite a pleasant-looking, well-furnished room.

They’re letting me take walks outside, where there are trees, there’s grass, and even a pond with ducks I can feed, as long as my…father…accompanies me and I chat with him. I’m going along with all of it; I’m being patient about it. I even smile and call him…Dad…without wincing. I actually entertain the thought of him being my dad in my thoughts, not only to fool that…spirit, but also to test the waters, as it were–to see if I like it.

Not really.

Dad is so lame.

I want a heroic father, not this loser.

Still, I must keep up appearances, even in my thoughts.

After all, it’s quite possible that I’m succeeding in keeping…her…at bay. I haven’t seen anything blatantly surreal over these past few weeks, and I see flames only in the distant horizon when I go outside with…Dad. The…ghost…isn’t fucking with my head as a reward, I surmise, for cooperating with the others.

Still, something’s going to happen, some fresh trap to be sprung on me while I’m here, so I have to be careful and hope I get discharged as soon as possible.

Then I can find my chance to break free and run from them all.

Oh, here he comes–Dr. Sweeney. Time to act like a good little patient. Cue my fake smile.

“Good morning, Roger,” he says with a fake smile of his own.

“Good morning,” I say.

“How are you feeling today?” he asks.

“Oh, fine,” I say. “I had a really good sleep last night.”

“Good. I trust you’re still enjoying your walks with your father, then? You’ve fully accepted that he is your father, haven’t you?”

“Fully.” My acting is so good, I’d fool myself.

“I’m happy to hear that, Roger. In fact, I have some good news for you.”

“Oh?” I’m trying hard to suppress my anticipation of what he’s about to say. If I overreact to what I think he’ll say, I might be exposed as faking my recovery.

“I think you’re well enough to be released from here.”

“Really? Are you sure I’m well enough? This could be premature. I might have a relapse.”

“Well, if so, you know where you’ll return,” he says while writing something down on his notepad. “In any case, I’m confident that you’ve made sufficient progress, to the point where you can be put under the care of your aunt and father. They’ll report back to me on your continuing progress, or any problems you have, and we’ll react accordingly here.”

“Oh, very well, then, Doctor,” I’m still restraining my enthusiasm. “When will I be released?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, OK.”

****************

Now, it’s the early afternoon of the next day, just after lunch, and I’m getting ready to be taken out of here. I’m bracing myself, taking deep breaths, and trying to stay calm. I’m thinking over how I can find an opportunity to break free of my aunt and…father, how to know when it will be safe to do so.

I don’t want to wait until I get home, whether that home is mine, my aunt’s, or…his. Firstly, will either of them be watching me, or having someone watch me, 24/7, so I can’t get away any better than here in this nut house? Secondly, I’m so eager to get away from them that I simply can’t wait any longer. It’s a foolish risk I’ll be taking, but I’ve run out of patience.

Ah, there’s my door being opened!

There they are, the shrink, my aunt, and…him.

“OK, Roger,” Sweeney says. “You’re all set to go.”

“Come on home, Son,” says my…dad, smiling.

“All the paperwork’s been signed, so we can just go,” Aunt Jane says, also smiling.

“OK,” I say, getting up with a sincere smile of my own, and I leave the room with them.

As we’re walking through the front doors, and I can see the streets and buildings out there (as well as the blazing fires all along the city’s horizon), Dr. Sweeney stops me for a moment.

“Now, remember, Roger,” he says in a kind, avuncular attitude. “Your father may not be the great hero you’d always fantasized of him as being, but he’s a good man, and that’s enough. You, too, are good enough, and that’s all you and he need to be, OK?”

“OK,” I say. “And thank you, Doctor, for all your help.”

We all say goodbye to him and walk out of the hospital and on the sidewalk surrounding it, my aunt to my left, and my ‘dad’ to my right. There’s a nearby parking lot, on the other side of the street, that we’re approaching.

My mind is racing, and my eyes are darting all over the place, looking for an opportunity to escape.

I find just such an opportunity.

I see a man parking and getting off of his motorcycle. His keys are still in it, and he’s a short run from where I am. My aunt and…he…are looking away, distracted. Lucky for me.

I suddenly break into a sprint for that bike.

“Roger!” Aunt Jane shouts.

“What are you doing?” he shouts.

I reach the bike, shove the rider to the pavement, and get on it. The keys are still in the ignition switch. I kickstart the bike.

“Hey!” he shouts. “What the fuck you doin’?”

“What does it look like?” I say, then ride off.

“Asshole!” he shouts. “Stop! Thief!”

“Roger!” my aunt and ‘dad’ shout several times.

As I’m distancing myself from them, surprising myself at how well I’m riding the motorcycle without any crashes or much of any obstacles on the road slowing me down, I see the flames quickly return all around me, burning every building in sight. I’m also seeing those giant, brightly-coloured, polka-dotted mushrooms again.

Yes, Mama’s back to her old tricks. But that’s no matter: I’m now free to go back to trying to stop her from destroying the world. My chance to be a hero has returned.

I feel myself coming out of a daze, a waking-up from what has felt like a dark sleep, the darkness slowly beginning a glow into brighter and brighter light. I’m looking around, my eyes focusing.

What is this place I’ve been taken to? I’m still surrounded in fire, but the fire has become so bright, it’s almost white. I’m still not burning, though it’s very warm all around me. I see walls of near-white fire surrounding me…imprisoning me.

Because I was resisting my persecutors–that man and my aunt, who’s still possessed by Mama’s ghost, no doubt–resisting them with all of my strength, they found me so violent that I can see they’ve put me in a straitjacket. What I don’t have on my person anymore are my amulet and sachet!

My resistance was at its most violent when they were taking those things from me. The last thing I remember was someone sticking a needle in my arm as I saw them take away my amulet and sachet, and I was screaming…then everything slowly faded to black as my struggles grew weaker and weaker.

No longer at home with my magic circle or witch bottle to protect me, I feel completely naked, as it were, totally exposed to Mama’s magic! What am I going to do without any protection?

What were those magical formulas that I used to chant, to ward off her evil spells and apparitions? I’ve gone and forgotten them; in my stress and disorientation from the drug they put in my arm, I find myself unable to utter even one syllable of the ancient, mystical languages. Mama can do anything she wants to me, and I can’t stop her! She schemed to put me in this position, and now she has me right where she wants me. I’m as good as dead.

After I die, after she kills me, I’ll be in hell with her (I already am in hell here, but I’ll be even closer to her when I’m dead in body), and then she can really torture me…forever!

Let’s face it: I’ve already passed the entrance where the sign says, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

What’s this? Somebody’s coming into the room…if that’s what this fiery-walled, white room can be called, this prison cell of mine.

Oh, God! It’s that man, the one who calls himself my father, in the long white coat of a doctor. He thinks he’s going to treat me?

“Good afternoon, Roger,” he says to me with a phony smile. “How are you feeling now?”

“How do you think, Father?” I growl sarcastically at him.

“You think I’m your father?” he asks with an incredulous look.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been claiming you are?” I ask. “I assure you–you aren’t my father, and never will be.”

“I know that, Roger,” he says. “I’m your therapist. Your father and aunt are outside. They are hoping I can help you. You’ve been under sedation for several hours now. Now that the drugs are wearing off, they could be still affecting your hallucinations. I guess that’s why you’re seeing your father’s face instead of mine.”

I blink a few times and look at his face again. No, he isn’t that man. He looks quite similar, but he isn’t him.

“My name is Doctor Sweeney,” he says. “Feel free to talk to me about anything you like. Don’t censor yourself.”

“I’d rather not talk to you at all,” I say, still frowning at him.

“Why is that, Roger?”

I look around at the fiery, white walls, which look rather soft now–cushiony, even. This ‘doctor’ is no doubt part of Mama’s plan to get inside my head.

“Let’s just say that I don’t trust shrinks.”

“You’ve been mistreated by psychiatrists before?”

“I know who my aunt and that man are working for.”

He’s writing something down on a notepad. “And who is that, I’m curious to know?” he asks with a self-satisfied smirk.

“You know who,” I say with a scowl.

“Um, no, I’m afraid I don’t,” he says, still writing.

“Oh, yes, you do. You’re working for her, too, obviously.”

“For her?“

“Don’t play dumb with me, shrink.”

“I’m sorry, Roger, but I guess I am dumb. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t you just tell me, then we can bring it out into the open and fully explore what’s troubling you?”

“Oh, right. Then you can call me crazy, lock me up in this inferno of a prison, and then Mama will get what she wants!”

“Mama? Is she who we’re working for?” he asks, still writing.

“Of course it’s her! Don’t you condescend me!”

“Didn’t your mother die a little while back?” he asks, writing really fast now. “Your aunt and father said she died…”

“HE’S NOT MY FATHER!!!”

“If you insist, though I do see a facial resemblance between you two.”

“You’re working for my mother, that’s why you say I look like him.”

“She is dead, though, isn’t she?” He’s still writing away.

“Of course she’d dead…in body, anyway.”

“So is she still alive in spirit? Is she a ghost?”

“Obviously!”

“Has her ghost appeared to you, telling you her plots against you?”

“I’ve seen her ghost, though she tells me little.”

“And why do you think she’s trying to persecute you?”

“Revenge.”

“For what?”

“Because I k…!” Oops. I’m quite silent now.

“Do you believe you…killed her?”

I’m still silent, looking down at my shoes.

“Your aunt and…that man say she died of a heart attack. You aren’t guilty of her murder, Roger. This guilt complex must be the basis of your delusions.”

“If I’m so non-violent, then can you please remove this straitjacket?”

“I’m afraid you might hurt yourself, and me.”

“Then I am of a violent nature, aren’t I? Violent enough to have killed her.”

“You have the potential to be, but you never killed…”

“We all have the potential to be violent, Doctor.”

“Am I being violent to you?”

“You’re depriving me of my freedom of movement, caging me in walls of white fire, binding my…”

“Walls of white fire?” Oh, he’s writing really fast now!

“Of course! Look around you! Are you blind?”

“No, but I must be having delusions myself, for all I see around us is a padded cell.”

“A padded cell? How cute.” Condescending bastard!

“Did your mother’s ghost surround us in white fire?”

“Of course she did! She’s a witch!”

That pen of his is moving like…crazy…now.

“Is that why you killed her? Did you use magic yourself to give her a heart attack?”

No courtroom would believe I killed her with magic, so I felt safe nodding at the shrink’s question.

“And now that she’s a spirit, I suppose she’s much freer to use her magic in a much more malignant way?”

“The fact that you can predict her freer use of magic on me proves that you are working for her,” I hiss at him. “But I can promise you this, shrink: I’ll find a way out of this prison. You’ll see!”

“M-hmm,” the shrink says in his usual smug manner. “What do you think your mother’s ghost is going to do to you, and to the world in general?”

“She’s destroying the global economy, she’s worsening global warming, as you can see all around us,…”

“Oh, yes, the burning padded cell.” He’s writing this all down, of course.

“…and the worsening of tensions between the West and China and Russia, leading to World War Three and nuclear annihilation.”

“Your mother’s ghost is causing all that? She must be one powerful witch.”

“Is condescension your preferred form of therapy, shrink?”

“No, getting all your thoughts out in the open, analyzing them, and learning where you got them from is my preferred method.”

“And where do you think I got my ideas from, Doctor? My tinfoil hat?”

“We’ll figure that out in time, Roger. For now, though, I’d like to observe you talking with your aunt and your f…, excuse me, that man.”

“Oh, God, no! Not him!”

“If he isn’t your father, why does he upset you so?”

“Because you all want me to believe he is!”

“How will believing he’s your father harm you?”

“It’s a lie of Mama’s, intended to lead me into a world of illusions!”

“Your hallucinations and delusions have already done that, Roger. I think you’re far more afraid of realizing that he really is your father. There’s something about him really being your father that you’d find devastating. We must explore this possibility, nonetheless, to get to the root of what is troubling you. I’ll be right back with him and your aunt.”

The shrink is getting up and walking towards the fiery white walls. I’m trembling in this straitjacket, rocking back and forth, trying desperately to hang on.

Oh, God, they’re coming in, emerging from the white fire!

Maybe I can incinerate myself by ramming into one of the fiery walls. Unh! I feel no burns from it, only a cushion pushing me back into the middle of the area. Mama won’t let me kill myself! She wants to torture me by forcing me to face this man!

He’s standing in front of me, looking at me with a fake look of concern for me. That shrink says he resembles me…wait! His face is being reshaped…to look exactly like mine! This is another of Mama’s tricks, for sure!

“Roger, please accept that I’m your father,” the impostor says. “Here’s a photo of your mom and me when we were dating. I had all my hair back then, but you should be able to see that it’s my face. Look!”

I’m looking at it, then looking back at him. His face is changing again: I’m seeing five eyes on it, three noses, and two mouths. Definitely not the face in the photo. Granted, the monstrous face I see on him is not his real face–something Mama is making me see–but it doesn’t prove he’s the man who dated Mama and got her pregnant.

All I can do is laugh at him. “It’s not you, old man.”

“Yes, it is,” he insists. “Deny it all you want, I am your old man. I’ll prove it further.”

He’s fumbling in his pockets for something. I’m sighing in exasperation. “My father died years ago!“

“No, he didn’t. He’s standing right here in front of you, Roger.” He takes out some paper and presents it to my reluctant eyes. “Here’s a document from a paternity test I did. Look at it! See my photo, and your name, and your mother’s name.” He’s pointing everything out for me.

“Forgeries!” I shout.

I get groans of frustration from him, my aunt, and the shrink.

“Roger, why is it so awful to you to believe that I’m your father?” that man asks. “Can’t you see how hurtful it is to me to be rejected by my own son? I know I left you before you were born, and I remained uninvolved in your life, and I’m sorry about that, truly sorry! But I want to make it up to you now. I wanna take care of you. I wanna help you get well. I can see now that the lack of a father in your life is, to a great extent at least, the cause of your sickness. I left your mother because I could see that there was something wrong with her, some kind of narcissism or psychopathy in her. It was a cowardly move on my part to have left you, and I’m sorry. Can’t your father get a second chance?”

“No,” I say with an icy look.

“Why not?” he screams.

“My father can’t get a second chance because my mother killed him. You’re right about her probably being narcissistic or psychopathic; but you left out one thing.”

“What’s that?” my aunt and the shrink ask together.

“My mother was a witch.”

More groans from all three of them. I’m unmoved.

“Look, Dr. Sweeney, could you at least remove the straitjacket?” the man asks. “Let’s give him some dignity. He isn’t normally violent. I’m sure we’ll be safe.”

With a sigh, the shrink says, “All right. I have orderlies just outside, who’ll come in at the drop of a hat the very second he begins acting up.”

“I’m sure he’ll be OK,” my aunt says. “He only got combative when we took those two silly things off of him, that necklace and sachet.”

“My only means of protection from Mama’s magic,” I growl as the shrink is taking off the straitjacket.

“Ridiculous,” my aunt says.

My arms are free at last. I’m still calm.

“See?” I tell the shrink. “I’m in control.”

“Please, Roger,” the man says with teary eyes. “Stop pushing me away. Let me be your father.”

“His ‘proof’ is faked,” I grunt through clenched teeth.

“Oh, you’re a fine one to judge the falsity of anything,” she says. “Will you ever acknowledge the falsity of your own delusions and hallucinations? You can’t see what’s wrong with what your eyes see and your ears hear, yet you’re so sure his photos and documentation are faked? He’s a nice man. OK, he left you and your mom, but he wants to make amends. Why can’t you just forgive him?”

My head is bent down, looking at my shoes again. I’m fighting back sobs. Tears are forming in my eyes.

“Your own mother told you he left you and her,” my aunt says. “Where’d you get this weird idea that she killed your father with witchcraft?”

“She lied to me,” I’m sobbing. “That witch was a liar!“

“Your very thoughts are lying to you,” my aunt says. “As soon as you come to accept that, you’ll begin to heal.”

“I abandoned you, Roger,” that man says. “I left you with a sick, disordered woman. I should never have done that. I was weak, irresponsible, and cowardly for doing that to you, and for that I am deeply sorry. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”

Now, I am bawling like a baby.

“Roger,…” he begins to say.

“No,” my aunt says, taking his arm. “Let’s leave him. Let him explore his thoughts a while, search his feelings. Maybe he’ll come to his senses.”

The two of them leave the room with the doctor. I’m no longer seeing white flames surrounding me. I really do see a padded cell, all white cushions for walls and the floor.

I’m still bawling my eyes out. Could it be true? Could that man really be my father? Did he abandon me, and leave me to the mercy of that horrible woman? Could he, my father, have been so unloving, so selfish, and so cruel? Could my father really have been so weak, so cowardly, so irresponsible, so contemptible?

My face is drowning in tears. My sobbing must be audible all over this…mental hospital. How embarrassing.

The idea I’ve had in my mind, that my father was a great man, murdered by my treacherous mother…is it just me kidding myself? Am I really so worthless as to be the offspring of such a feckless coward and a scheming bitch? Oh, that’s even worse, much worse!

No! This whole thing is a lie! That man is not my father! Surely, I come from better stock than that! Mama’s ghost tried to trick me there, to provoke my tears, but that was just a temporary weakness in me! This was all part of her plan to deceive me further!

I see that the white flames have returned. Mama is using them to trick me into thinking I’m deceiving myself again.

Still, I’ll go along with her plan. I’ll pretend I’ve accepted that man, even in my private thoughts. Then my conspirators will relax their hold on me, and I can figure out a way to escape this fiery prison.

And then, maybe, I’ll learn some more magic to stop Mama, and to save the world from the fiery hell of war she wants to impose on it.