By A.C. Perri

Brodie brushed his teeth over one-hundred times, his mouth, red-raw; blood pooling about his gums. His face was a hot-mess, he had washed it repeatedly until the intruder in his head told him to stop. 

“Please leave me alone,” his words, softly spoken, meant only for his good side. “You are stronger now, not like before…  I’m tired of this game.”

It’s not a game! The intruder spoke forcibly, somewhere from within Brodie’s head.

“Please, Mr. Intruder, leave ME alone!”

You invited ME in… remember…?

Brodie’s brow furrowed, his thin lips now bleeding, the toothbrush bristles crimson in colour. He stormed out of the bathroom. Whenever Brodie got enraged, he felt more courageous than usual; his temper boiled to the point that made the unwelcome stranger go quiet — for a while.

The teenage boy ran to his bedroom, tucked himself under the covers without having to go through the usual three-hours’ worth of bed rituals and odd customs that somehow made the unwelcome visitor giddy with power. Most nights when he felt overwhelmed with exhaustion, the dictator in his head made him repeat all bed-time rituals until the sun peeked over the horizon. Brodie’s school work suffered, so too his friendships — the instigator responsible. What made Brodie angry was that he couldn’t do a thing about it.

Brodie thought that perhaps he was missing some vital ingredient; maybe, just maybe, all he needed was more sleep. The boy wasn’t too sure how one allowed such a takeover. Perhaps it was while he slept. In all other aspects of his life, he was fine, yet, he still wondered why now? Why on the cusp of turning thirteen has this come about? Tonight, was no different than all the others, excepting that he had to perform his oral hygiene, again and again using his less dominant hand, for the trespasser had threatened him with the one thing Brodie was most afraid of — that the intruder would hurt his mother. Then what? He would be locked up…forever.

Brodie’s life was once filled with joy and annual family outings; until his father and younger siblings were killed while water-skiing on Lake Deadlands; a favourite haunt for tourists, during summer. Brodie’s family, like the families of the rainbow bee-eaters, flocked together, flew north for the hot-season. In Brodie’s mind the whole sordid incident was recorded without his permission, it played over and over, on repeat, also without Brodie’s consent. His condition got worse, especially during the holidays, when families gathered together, all having fun, except his.

Being a thirteen-year-old-boy, Brodie thought life was supposed to get better, yet, his life had worsened, became miserable and full-up with threats and demands, repetitive rituals, counting to safe-numbers; begging for the intruder camped in his head to leave him alone. It never did; sometimes, it went quiet, receded back to the dark place where all Brodie’s dark secrets were kept, locked away, deep inside, until such time they grew strong enough, overriding his rational side. 

In church, Brodie learned about the dark side, how it plagues those who are weak, sick-in-the-mind, even possessed; Brodie knew his predicament was unique, didn’t tell a soul, not even his mother. She had enough to deal with. Besides, Brodie didn’t believe what they taught in church. All that preaching made him question the Big Dude in the sky. So many things didn’t make sense, not one iota.

You are one for intelligence then! The intruder, again. How about we have some fun? 

“Please, not tonight, not now, I am tucked up in bed, about to sleep.” Brodie’s tone was one of pleading, one that told the unwelcome guest that he was truly, and utterly exhausted.

That’s when it suits me the best, dear Brodie, dear soul-mate, deeeary!

“Please. I promise, tomorrow… what… ever… you ask of me, please let me sleep.”  Brodie’s voice trailed off, so too his mind, until sleep took over. 

Brodie, help! Help! Help us, please Brodie. 

The not yet experienced boy watched father and both siblings desperately splash about the waters of Lake Deadlands. At his father’s insistence, he had been appointed the helmsman, steering the wheel. Brodie was made to drive the speed boat in the darker, deeper waters; the lake was populated with tourists, father wanted to avoid all the mayhem, and said it was far safer than being in the thick of things. 

Then it happened. The ropes got tangled, the propeller had cut one of them — sending it around father’s neck like a rubber-band. The two siblings fell off their water skis straight into the water, too young and tired, their life jackets failing. The waves, with minds of their own, took them all down within seconds. All three disappeared under the water’s surface. Brodie waited and waited. Not one of the three came back up. 

After an hour or two went by, the water police showed up. Brodie had turned blue with cold, his mind frozen with the images of father and his two younger siblings splashing about. The water authorities found him lying in a foetal position, his face stained with tears and mucous. Brodie thought the tragic event was all his fault, blamed himself for the loss of his family. Mother was put away, for a time, until she found her mind again. Still, she blames Brodie, looks at him as though he is a monster in a boy’s body. 

It WAS your fault Brodie, remember…? You promised me a sacrificial lamb, gave me three; quite an accomplishment for a boy. Go back to your birthday, that one wish… to have mother adore you, and YOU only?!

Brodie woke up in a cold sweat. He cried out for mother. She never came. In her place, a shadowy figure appeared. Brodie saw it come from somewhere deep, from inside his mind. The mirror never lies. 

“Time for more fun Brodie, you promised.”  

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