sj mcmahon writes

Burn Baby Burn

Bourbon, and lots of it. It had been a tough day. I keenly watched the smooth slide of liquid over the ice in my glass. I was going to savour this one. I always did with the first drink of the evening. Yes, it may be the first of many, but in my profession, you sometimes needed to block out the stories of the day.
The glass had almost reached my lips when the phone rang.
Damn it. I could just leave it to ring, but then it was usually the clinic ringing with some crisis or other that, apparently, only I could resolve.
I slowly picked up the receiver.
“Hello this is Barbara King,”
“Barb, thank the lord you’re there.”
It was Hannah Banks and I had that familiar sinking feeling.
“Hello Hannah, you realise you’ve rung me at home, don’t you? We have our session booked for Thursday I think. Sorry I don’t have the clinic diary with me here, but is this something that can wait until then?”
The voice on the other end of the phone took on needy tone.
“No Barb I need to see you as soon as possible. Its Baby, she’s done it again, I don’t know what to do with her. The child is possessed.”
Hannah was one of my patients. She was seeing me for anxiety and delusional fantasies, most of which involved her step-daughter Baby Banks.
“Slow down Hannah please. Take a breath. What has Baby done?”   
Hannah sounded angry now.
“It’s that darn fixation she has with fire. She’s burnt out the kitchen this time. I just can’t cope with this. I’m an old woman, I should be taking it easy now, not having to deal with all this madness.”
I sighed. It was true that there had been a couple of instances of small fire at the Banks’ home in recent months. Just low level stuff, a waste paper bin in Baby’s bedroom and then a mound of old newspapers that had been stacked out on the porch. My instinct therefore was that Hannah was letting her anxiety get the better of her.
I couldn’t really blame her. After all she was, as she had said, an older woman. She was also grossly overweight and infirmed by it. She barely left her armchair these days, let alone stepped outside the house. Baby had been the product of her deceased husband’s first marriage. He was long gone, as was the first wife and it had fallen to Hannah to care for Baby over the years. Baby was the same age as me, yet our lives could not be more different. Here I was a successful Psychologist with a thriving clinic and there was Baby. A child forever, caught in the trap of having Hannah as her carer and the debilitating creep of an inherited Huntington’s Disease. It was what had taken her father Jack Banks and one day it would take her too.  
The melting ice in my glass clinked
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten about you my lovely.”
“What?” Hannah squawked down the phone. I knew Hannah was angling for me to go round there but what could I do? As long as the fire was under control then surely anything else could wait. My bourbon could not.
“Nothing Hannah. Listen, I need to you calm down. Remember that mindfulness technique I taught you?”
She made an affirming noise in between the sobbing gasps she had now lapsed in to.
“Okay then, do that now for me please. Focus on slowing your breathing, think about where you are, where your feet are placed, what’s in the room around you.”
I could hear Hannah shuffling the phone around in her hand, but the ragged breathiness was reducing and she sounded to be taking on a calmer state.
“Okay now. The fire is under control isn’t it?”
“Yeah Barb, my neighbour Edna came round and helped me put it out and Sheriff Davey has just left.”
“And Baby, where is she?”
“In her room, lying down.”
“Good, in that case I think the best thing is for you to get some rest yourself and I will call round tomorrow morning.”
“But I have the nurse calling in then to bath me.”
“That’s okay Hannah I can work round that. I’ll see you tomorrow okay.”
“Okay Barb. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight Hannah”
I quietly replaced the phone in its cradle and finally took that long awaited swig of amber. Man, I had needed that. I reached for the bottle and refilled my glass.

The harsh rasp of my vibrating mobile phone’s alarm stirred me. The bourbon had done its job pretty well and had knocked me out for a good few hours. Feeling a tad fuzzy and maybe still a little drunk I got up, showered and dressed and made my way out to the car. I stopped on the way to grab breakfast at the diner before making my way to the Banks’ place.
At the house District Nurse Sally Carter was standing at the open door of her car, shaking out a white plastic apron.
“Morning Sally, do you have one of those for me?
“Oh, hi Barbara. You going into Hannah’s too?”
I nodded.
“Well yeah you’re sure gonna need one. It’s worse than usual in there with the new fire an all. Here you go.”
Sally handed me the apron she had shaken out, as well as a pair of gloves and some plastic overshoes.
“Can’t be too careful.” She said attiring herself in a similar fashion.
“Morning ladies.”
Sheriff Chester Davey had pulled up alongside us.
“Morning Chester.” I said
“Hi.” Sally added.
The screen door of the adjacent house swung open and its occupant Edna Searle shuffled out.
“When are you lot going to do something about those two next-door? They are a liability. It’s not safe for any of us them being in that house.”
“Morning Mrs Searle and thank you for your help with the fire last night but you can leave this matter to us know.” Said Sheriff Davey.
“Really? I’ve seen precious little action from the authorities so far.”
“Well, Mrs Searle maybe I should come in to your place for a chat. We could talk about your horticultural pursuits.”
Edna was well known in the town for growing what she termed medicinal cannabis. The kids said it still made you high, despite or possibly because of its healing abilities. She started flapping her gums at the Sheriff’s suggestion.
“I don’t know what you mean Sheriff. I just grow herbs is all.”
“Yeah right. Well I suggest you go back in and tend to those herbs then.”
She scowled but backed off letting the screen door slam behind her.

The Banks’ house was a mess, but that was normal for Hannah and Baby. They lived in filth, never cleaned or tidied and hoarded rubbish. The fire had only added a further dimension to the grossness of the place.
In the hallway we were greeted by a dancing ring of flies, merrily buzzing over a full commode. The carpet under foot grabbed at our feet stickily and there was a black smear of unknown origin running up the wall of the stairs.
The open plan living/kitchen room was no better with scorch marked wallpaper and the toxic tinge of melted paint. The kitchen area was the worst, its blackened worksurfaces and cupboard doors warped and shiny from the heat. It was as if a blackhole had formed in the room and the only point of light was a white snow globe that has been placed on one of the parched worktops.
Hannah was in her chair. A great mouldering ancient seat with small tables to each side. These were piled high with medication, stacks of books, dirty cups and plates and defunct TV remote controls.
 “My goodness Hannah what a mess!” I said.
She tutted and shook her head.
“That darn girl. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it now, she is possessed by some kind of demon.”
Sally and I exchanged glances before I replied.
“Now Hannah what have we talked about in respect of you giving in to your delusions, particularly those about Baby?”
“I know Barbara, I know, but look at this place.” She raised a hand towards the sooted kitchen. “This is the work of the devil and no mistake. There’s just no talking to the girl. She won’t admit it. Just stares at me from under mop of hair of hers.”
Sally spoke up.
“Well we all know Baby has a medical condition that makes it hard for her to communicate. Where is she anyway?”
“Upstairs. Hiding away like the evil child that she is. I know you think its my madness but I truly think something bad has gotten in to her and made its home there. Why else would she try to kill me with this fire huh?”
I sighed. We had had this sort of conversation so many times over.
“Look Hannah, Sally and I have already told you that it’s because Baby has Huntington’s Disease. It makes it hard for her to focus in on things or can make her focus too much on just one thing. That can make her appear obsessive. It also affects her cognitive abilities in respect of reasoning and speech so she has difficulty communicating, particularly when a person is angry or upset with her. She probably didn’t even know she’s started the fire as it can also make a person less self-awareness and have poor impulse control. None of which suggests that she is any way possessed by some sort of evil spirit.”
Hannah huffed and crossed her arms.
“But what about that thing?” She jutted her chin towards the snow globe. Its brilliance shone a stark contrast against the burnt darkness. “It’s like it has some kind of hold over her. She’s rarely apart from the blasted thing.”
Sally said “Well I guess she just finds it pretty Hannah. Barbara is right you know. It’s a cruel disease that can steal who a person is right away from them.”
“Look” I said “I’ll go and have a word with her if you like?”
Hannah looked sternly at me but nodded, so I made my way upstairs. Baby’s room was empty as was the rest of the upper floor so I returned to the living room and to raised voices.
Baby was standing in the kitchen. Hannah was shouting at her from her chair.
“Where in the hell have you been girl? Answer me right now and why have you done this, again? You have ruined our kitchen. How are we gonna eat now?”
Baby was standing silently staring at the white snow globe. Ignoring us all she moved jerkily across the room to quickly pick up the ornament. Then pushing past Sally and myself she made for the front door.
Baby, you come back here!” barked Hannah. It was too late. She was gone.
 “Damn that girl.” Hannah started to struggle to sit forward in her chair.
“Hold on there,” said Sally “let me and Barbara help and let’s get you bathed whilst we are at it, okay? You’ll feel better after that.”
“Okay, okay” Hannah relented and allowed us to assist her. As she rose, a stench rose with her and the pile of soiled newspapers on which she sat became visible, adding to the general pungency.  Sometimes this job was not quite what I had expected it to be.

After I had helped Sally to sort Hannah out I made my way to the office. I was just opening up a patient file when the phone rang. It was Sheriff Davey saying Baby was at the old picture house and could I go down and try to talk her in to going home. I told him sure thing and headed out again.

Merryvale Cinema was one of the oldest buildings in our little town. It stood at the end of a run-down area, where it rose above the lower, more contemporary buildings like a mausoleum to art.
There had been much talk in the town about an odd film that been aired there. It was said to change a person irreversibly and had drawn in the curious and the brave.  A sense of hysteria had settled on the town since the first stories emerged of the film and at the clinic we had noted a coincidental rise in patient numbers.
Being a levelled headed type I liked to think that it was just some clever marketing ploy to get people into the old picture house. I certainly wouldn’t have put it past the cinema owner, Daphne Deville to try such a tactic.
Still, I did have an odd sense of trepidation as I stepped in to the cinema foyer.
It remained a beautiful building inside. Captured in time, the art deco lobby seemed to have been untouched since its heyday back in the 1930s. Maroon drapes still hung across the walls. If you looked too closely you could see where they were frayed and thinning, yet the overall effect was retained. The space was soft lit by a series of stained-glass wall mounted lights and central to it all was the ticket booth.  Painted in a soft cream with red lines highlighting its curved form, it housed the equally historically attired Mrs Deville.
Still a young woman, who had taken over the family business, she had adopted the garb of age. Her hair set in wave, she dressed in tweed, with a buttoned-up blouse. The ensembled gave her a most fitting image.
“Well Miss King, it’s not often we see you in here.”
Her voice had the tone of a creaking door and I could not help but shudder involuntarily.
“No, that is true enough. I’m here looking for Baby Banks. Have you seen her Mrs Deville?”
Daphne Deville regarded me with a beady stare.
“I just want to talk to her, that’s all.” I continued. “Is she here please?”
“Hm, she’s here alright. But she’s watching a film right now. By rights I should charge you to go into the theatre.”
“Yes, yes that’s fine. Here.”
I thrust a few notes at her, hoping it would cover the ticket cost and the inconvenience.
“Keep the change.”
She paused, her hand, claw like, hovered above the money. Then snatching up the notes she deftly pressed a lever, causing a single ticket to pop up from the metal slots in front of me.
“Take it,” she said, “but I would say that it is considered rude to interrupt a person when they are in the middle of a story.”
Her tone was stern, bordering on threatening, and I was glad to be able to depart her company.
“Duly noted Mrs Deville and thank you.”
I pushed opened the foyer doors and stepped in to the gloom of the cinema. The screen was showing a faded black and white romance from a bygone era.
As my eyes accommodated the low light I noted Baby was seated four rows back from the front. She was the only patron in the theatre and appeared to be watching the movie through the snow globe, tilting it up and down so that the glitter flowed endlessly.
 I walked steadily down to stand at the end of her aisle.
“Baby, Hi Baby can we talk please?”
Baby looked up at me. Her heavy dark hair falling across what was a blank stare. I could quite see why Hannah felt she was taken over by another entity. Baby seemed to take a moment to register my presence, as if coming back from some distant place.
“Baby your mother is very worried about you. Can I drive you home?”
“She ain’t my Ma.”
I needed to change tactic and moved to sit next to her.
“So, Baby you like the old movies then?”
Baby nodded. She had dropped the snow globe to her knees, her eyes once more on the screen.
“The romantic ones and the funnies.”
“I see and you come here a lot then?”
“Every day if I could. Hannah would get mad though.”
This gave me an inroad.
“You know she cares a lot about you Baby, don’t you? Some times when she gets mad its because she is worried about you and the things you sometimes do.”
Baby scowled and moved the snow globe from hand to hand.
“She just wants someone to blame is all.”
I turned in my seat to face her a little more.
“What do you mean? What sorts of things does she blame you for?”
Baby had started to jerk her legs around. Clearly this conversation was causing her some anxiety.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything. Hannah would only get angry if she knew I was talking about her, especially after the fire.”
“What about the fire Baby? Is there something you would like to tell me about it?”
She stood up suddenly and headed away from me, staggering a little as she ricocheted off the seats.
“I got to get home. She’ll be wondering where I am.”
I must admit I was a little exasperated. I had clearer found out something in our brief conversation. Quite what that was, I was unsure.  
I vacated my seat and followed her.    
As we exited the theatre we were greeted by raised voices in the lobby.
“…and I’ve told you, I won’t have that film shown in this picture house. Do you hear me?”
Daphne was having a heated exchange with her projectionist Norbert Pring
“Well I don’t see what your problem is. Surely you don’t buy in to all that suspicious rubbish about the movie? Its all just rumours and speculation.”
“Rumours or truth, it doesn’t matter much to me. I’m your employer Norbert and if you want to carry on working here then you will do as I say.”
Norbert slammed down a pile of programmes he had been holding and stormed out through a small door marked private.
It was true, there had been an awful lot of stories about that mysterious film. I remained of the view that they were probably all just tall tales. Probably. But then no one was always right about everything and I liked to keep an open mind.

After dropping Baby back at the Banks’ house, I returned home.  I finally felt I could relax for the day and switched on the TV before pouring myself a large drink. The phone rang again.
​Darn it.
“Hello Barbara King speaking.”
It was Sheriff Davey again.
“Hi Barb I’m really sorry to have to call you again but there’s been another incident at the Banks’ place, its Hannah. It’s bad.”
“What do you mean, what’s happened?”
“Just get yourself over here Barb please and prepare yourself for the worst. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Hannah is dead.”
“Oh my goodness. I’ll be right there.”
My mind raced with possibilities. Had Hannah had a fall or a heart attack? Or was it more sinister and did it involve Baby?

As I drove, I could see a plume of black smoke drifting over the roof tops. Another fire, damn it.
The scene that greeted me was hellish. Fire had ripped through the whole house this time, punching out windows and charring the shiplap timber exterior.
But the worst of it was Hannah. Lying on the porch she appeared to have been fleeing the house only to have been caught, held prisoner by the flames. My stomach lurched as I notice how the skin on her bare legs had bubbled and braised, her dress having burnt away in rags around her hips. Worse than that was the way her plastic shoes had melted, making her feet appear almost cloven.
Next to one outstretched hand was an open fuel can.
“We now think it was Hannah starting all the fires.”
Sheriff Davey had moved to stand behind me. I turned saying,
“Well I guess the fuel can is pretty damning. God what a mess. This is simply horrendous. She was such a troubled soul.  Poor Hannah. Poor Baby. Where is she by the way, did the fire take her too?”  
“I’m sorry that I had to drag you out to see this but I thought it important that you did.” The Sherriff had placed a comforting hand on my arm and I was glad of it. He continued, “We don’t know the whereabouts of Baby. There’s no evidence of her in the house or the yard.”
“I think I know where she’ll be.”

I headed back to the old cinema.
The film she was watching was a flickering series of random abstract images. All crazed patterning and clashing colours interspersed with photographs that looked like they had been taken in a morgue or were from police case files. It played on a loop, seemingly increasing in speed and intensity with each rotation.
Although I only watched it for a short while I felt my mind start to slide in focus. Reality was becoming a distant state.
Baby too was entranced. Held in its grip she was seemingly intensifying the film’s effect by viewing it through the flow of glittery particles in the snow globe.
I was desperate to resist the madness playing out in front of me. The thrall of the thrashing images was sucking at me and it took all my effort to grit my teeth and yell out.
“Norbert, make it stop!”
My eyes stretched to their limits, I could see his ragged head pop up briefly in the small projectionist’s window. 
He disappeared from view and the film seemed to step up another gear in its grasp on me.
“Norbert! Now!”
Then, the light went out and the room became still.
I found I was on my hands and knees, panting hard.
The cinema theatre’s aisle lights stuttered on, casting their warm glow up the sides of the red velvet seats as Sheriff Davey noisily burst through the lobby doors.
He paused, gun raised taking in the scene, before rushing forward to assist me to my feet.
“You okay Barb?”
“Sure, sure, but Baby…”
We both looked to see Baby still seated, pressing the snow globe hard up to her face, her mouth in constant motion with words to lowly whispered for us to hear.
Sherriff Davey had re-holstered his gun and moved towards her.
“Baby Banks you need to come with me please. I have some questions for you back at the station.”
Baby didn’t respond.
“Miss Banks can you hear me? I said I need you to come down the station with me, right now.”  
Baby very slowly turned her head as if only now acknowledging his presence. She had the strangest look on her face.  I have seen patients in all sorts of states of being, but it was like she was somehow connected to another plain, a different level. Mentally not with us anymore.
Despite this she did as the Sheriff bid and moved to rise awkwardly from her seat. As she did so something fell from her knee, scattering its contents at her feet. At first, I thought it to be a bundle of little white candy canes, but as I looked more closely the truth became clear.  Splayed out like tiny stakes to the heart were the small pale lines of the contents of a box of matches.   
 SJ McMahon 2018 ©