My Daylight Monsters (4 page)

Group therapy. It must be one of the most depressing, frustrating, pointless, soul-
destroyingly awful things I’ve ever done in my entire life. We sit in a circle, on uncomfortable chairs, jigging legs and pulling holes in jumpers. A social worker gives us a topic to discuss:
What to do if your spouse physically abuses you; Coping with addiction; Dealing with suicidal thoughts.
I don’t know anything about these subjects, and when I try to offer any kind of opinion, it’s so matter-of-fact and abrupt that I wonder about my tact and social skills.

“Maybe she should go to the police if someone is hitting her,” I suggest. We’ve come up with a hypothetical situation
, where a husband is beating his wife. She has children and lives in a cramped flat, where he drinks and has no job. “Or leave him. With her kids.”

“Where would she go? If she has
no relatives, money or friends?”

“Well
, that’s a bit odd,” I find myself saying. Mo flashes me an amused grin. “Everyone has someone.”

“Not if you’ve been cut off by a controlling spouse,” the social worker adds. She’s a mouse of a woman, skinny and long-faced.

“I guess you’d go to one of those shelters for battered women, then. They actually exist, right?” I say.

“They exist with a budget.” The social worker turns stern eyes on me. “They have limited spacing, finances, facilities…”

“But the police…” I start.

“You clearly don’t know the police round ‘ere,” says a tough looking girl with a scar on her chin.

My mouth flaps open. I can’t accept that there’s nothing anyone can do. “Why doesn’t she fight back?”

The social worker waggles her pen at me. “Good point. Does anyone else have an opinion on this?”

“Adding violence to violence only increases the violence.” Mo shrugs. “Is it worth it? Plus, how is she going to learn self-defence? He’s had years of fighting practice. She’s had none. He’s probably physically stronger, so even if she gets a knife he could disarm her.”

Mo seems to know what he’s on about and it shames me. I’ve led such a sheltered life.
I know nothing about what it’s like to truly struggle.

My mind drifts off as the social worker continues the doomed life of this woman being battered by her husband.
She goes through the options at a battery shelter, the guidelines and police regulations; it’s as though she’s resigned to thinking that we will have to deal with this one day, that we’re victims already.

Johnny walks in. It’s weird
; I don’t hear or see the door opening but suddenly he’s there, sitting on the empty chair next to me, slouched right back, with his hands pushed into pockets and feet sticking out into the room.

“Having fun?” he asks in a low voice.

“No, not really.” I’m still reeling from the fact that no one can help our hypothetical woman. That’s not the world I grew up believing in. That’s not what my parents led me to believe, that there is always good.

“You can’t handle it here, can you?” Johnny says. His green eyes flash towards me, the light picking up the amber flecks
. A slow smile creeps across his face, like a predatory cat. It infuriates me.

“Yes
, I can.”

“You don’t belong here. It’s so obvious.” His gaze challenges me like no one has before. It’s defiant and sarcastic and a little bit mean.

“You know nothing about me,” I say firmly. “Nothing.”

He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Temper, temper. I know you’re not tough enough for this place. Not tough enough to know what’s really going
on.”

“Mary
, what do you think?” the social worker says.

I turn back to her
, in the middle of the room, and she nods at me eagerly. A sheen of cold sweat builds on the back of my neck. It’s like being back at school when you’ve not been listening to the teacher and you’re scared of getting a bollocking. Maybe Johnny is right. Maybe I’m not tough enough.

“Um, what were we talking about? I’m really sorry, I…”

“That’s okay,” the lady says. “I know it’s hard to concentrate in here, sometimes.”

It hit
s me then that she must be used to dealing with people spacing out. My lapse in concentration is nothing
,
compared to someone in psychosis or in the midst of a
bad depression. Maybe I’m the ‘best’ student she’s had for a long time.

Tactfully she moves on to talking about another discussion topic and I turn back to Johnny
, to find out what he was hinting at. The seat is empty.

*

“Have you taken your medication?” Mum asks before she even says hello. “I’ve been worrying about it all night.”

“Why would you worry, M
um? I’m in the hospital—of course I’m going to take my medication.”

“That’s what I try to tell her,” Dad says. He rolls his eyes for dramatic emphasis.

“How are they making you feel, sweetheart? Are you on the right dose?”

I shrug. “It’s ok
ay. I’m a bit spacey sometimes. A little numb here and there.”

“Is it too much? Maybe it’s too much. Perhaps you should make an appointment with
Dr. Harrison. He’ll be able to sort it out for you—”

“Mum, I’m fine. It’s just one of those things.
Let’s sit down?”

They’re barely three feet in from the glass doors. To tell the truth
, I want to be away from the corridor, knowing what I do about the unit across the hall. Whenever I see the palliative care doors I imagine the patients wasting away in their beds.

As we move through to the communal lounge
, Dad eyes me with an apprehensive sideways glance. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason. You seem a little scared, that’s all.” He pulls me into a shoulder hug for a brief moment.

Mum sits on the grey sofa, placing her bag between her knees
, as though she thinks someone will nick it when she’s not paying attention. I sit opposite them. Dad fetches tea from the vending machines.

“So
, the drugs are all right then?” Mum continues.

“Yes, they’re fine. Stop going on about them.” I sigh.

Mum’s chin wobbles. “I’m not allowed to worry about you now, then? Is that it?”

“No.” I find a corner of the table to
pick at with my thumbnail.

“And your roommate? What’s she like?” Mum looks away and blinks a lot. I guess she wants me to do something, to ask her if she’s all right, but I’m not going to.

“She’s nice. She’s a bit kooky.”

“My ears burning, eh?” Lacey bundles around the corner, all blond hair and eye-liner. “These your folks? Lucky Mary!”

Dad sets the tea down. “You must be Mary’s roommate. Would you like tea, too?”

“Sure thing,
Mr. Hades! Make us a strong one, I like to live dangerously.” She winks at him and I put my head in my hands with embarrassment.

Dad seems to think he’s now a cool dad
, who relates to the kids, because he struts off to the vending machine with his beer belly poking forwards and his chin up to the ceiling. When he gets back we all sit down.

“This is Lacey,” I explain. “We share a room.”

“Your daughter snores and her socks smell,” Lacey says.

“We’ve only been sharing for a day,” I object. “My socks do not smell.”

“That’s what you think.” Lacey points from me to her and back again. “This kind of back and forth… this is our thing. We’re renowned for it.”

I shake my head and laugh. There’s no point arguing with Lacey. She’s like a hurricane of personality. It slaps you in the face
, like a bucket of cold water, and you have no choice but to deal with it.

“Well, as long as you’re
taking care of our Mary,” Mum says without a trace of humour in her voice.

“Mum, she’s not my babysitter.
”

“I know, I know. It’d
be nice if you two girls look after each other, that’s all.”

“So, kiddo, what’s it like in the loony bin? What have you been getting up to? Nurse
Ratched been sending you for ECT yet?” Dad says. Mum shoots him a hard stare that could kill the happiest unicorn in the world stone dead with pure fear.

“No, Dad, it’s nothing like that. We get on with things. We have a routine here. It’s all right, really.”
Apart from the creepy deaths across the hall and the crying in the corridor. There had been another one, this afternoon.

“You get free drugs, weak tea and can watch Frankie scream at cha
irs all day. What more could yer want?”

Right on cue
, Frankie began to screech at his visitors. I assume they are his parents. They both wear suits and grimace every time he screams. My heart falls for Frankie.

“Does he do that a lot?” Mum asks.

“Kinda,” I admit. “You get used to it.”

“Still it must be a bit
… disconcerting,” Mum can’t stop staring and I really want her to stop.

“It’s a psychiatric hospital, Mum. When you agreed to me coming here, what did you expect?” I snap.

Her chin wobbles again and I really regret my words this time. She persuaded me to come here, but it really isn’t fair to blame her for it. Imagine having to make that decision for your daughter? Imagine having that responsibility? I can’t. Dad glares at me as he puts a hand on hers.

“We should go,” Mum says. She reaches down and clasps her bag.

“But you just got here,” I protest.

“No, we should definitely go. I’m glad you’re doing well, Mary. It’s lovely to meet you, Lacey.” She flicks out her black hair and refuses to meet my eyes. Before long she’s on her feet and heading towards the door. I stand and watch her, open mouthed.

“Your mother is a little emotional because she misses you a lot,” Dad says. “Don’t take it personally. She’s going to really regret the way she left, today.” He sighs and stares after his wife. After a moment or two, he breaks the spell and pulls me into a bear hug. “Keep safe.” Then he turns to Lacey and shakes her hand. “Take care of my little girl for me.”

Lacey salutes. “Yes
sir, that is the aim of this week’s mission. I won’t let yer down, sir, leave it to me.”

Dad chuckles on
the way to the door. When he reaches Mum, she leans forward and whispers something into his ear before letting her shoulders sag. She glances back to me and they leave the ward. Dr. Gethen shows them out. His shoulders hunch over and he walks so slowly Dad almost walks straight into his back.

“M
other issues or what, man?” Lacey says. “I guess even you posh lot have your problems.”

Johnny’s words drift back to me.
I’m not tough enough
. He’s probably right. I’m not tough at all, but I definitely belong here.

Frankie’s screams are worse that night. I thought my body would be too tired to let me stay awake for
another night, but I was wrong. I toss and turn through my second night, thinking of life and how it ends, or begins, or ends again. It’s still bad weather outside; the news report warned of floods. The nurses chatter about it in the lounge outside. How will they get home if it floods? One of them lives ten miles out of the city. There’s no buses or trains running at night. She’ll have to sleep at the hospital and arrange childcare for her four year old.

There’s something about 2am that drops a veil between reality and fantasy. I hear people talk about veils between worlds, but I think there are veils in the mind. When you’re stressed, tired or ill
, those veils flutter away and for a moment you forget what’s real and what isn’t. It happens to me at 2am, because for a while I think that Johnny is talking to me at the end of my bed.

“Still think I’m not tough enough?” I ask.

“Pretty much, yeah. You’re afraid. Afraid of the darkness.”

“I’ve never been afraid of the dark,” I boast. “It’s stupid to be afraid of the dark. The most awful things
that could ever happen to you are just as likely to happen in the daylight.”

He laughs. “Trust me, you’re afraid of the dark
ness and, before I tell you, you have to stop being so afraid.”

“What is it? What are you going to tell me? I need to know!”

“I can’t.” He starts to fade away. “I can’t until you’re not afraid anymore.”

“But—”

“No buts.” His voice is an echo. Where did he go?

The dark takes me into sleep.

Lacey wakes me brutishly with a poke in the ribs. “8am, bitch, get up.”

“All right.” I groan and roll over. “Five more minutes.”

“Nope. Now. You’ll thank me when you get hot water.”

I know she’s right, but my body tells me otherwise. It tells me that sleep would be super amazing right now.

Breakfast passes with a blur. Marcus bangs on about his bets and getting Helen’s crisps. “You’ll thank me at weigh in. Hand them over, yeah.”

Tom seems a bit withdrawn. Maybe he had a bad night, too. Franki
e almost falls asleep in his cereal. The care worker has to nudge him to keep him awake. Natalie has gone, checked out before breakfast. Yasmeen and Anka push the food around their plate and stare at the rain out of the window. Lacey sings pop songs and wiggles in her chair.

Mo leans closer. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, why?”

“You’ve got a certain look in your eye. It’s one I recognise.” His gaze is kind and
even. I like his composure, always so still and together. I can’t ever imagine him out of control, but that’s exactly what put him here in the first place. “Trust me when I say I recognise that look.”

“I’m okay, really. I had a bad night’s sleep, that’s all.”

“If you need anything… shout up, okay? I’ve been in and out of this place too long. If I could go back and get the help I needed at the right time, well, I think I would have had it a bit easier. If I can do that for you, I will. Or I’ll try, anyway.”

There are a few occasions in my seventeen years that I’ve been bowled over by certain event
s. Once, when I was seven, Mum and Dad bought me a puppy for Christmas. I’d wanted one for years and they’d always said no. Then, on Christmas day, there he was, with a bright red bow on his collar. After the incident at school, when everyone hated me, I found my locker covered in graffiti and my best friend trying to wash it away before I saw it. Sure, I hated the fact someone wanted to hurt me, but it meant so much more that my best friend tried to save me those hurt feelings. That’s how it felt. Who’d have thought I could find kindness in a mental hospital?

As I
spend too long trying to find the right words to thank him, Lacey starts wolf-whistling. “Mary and Mo, sitting in a tree—”

“Oh, come on, Lace. Don’t be that guy,” Mo says. “We’re nearly adults.”

“Aw, but you make such a cute couple.” She pouts.

“Guys, check it.” Marcus points towards the door. Outside, there’s another family in tears, shaking the hand of a doctor in a long white coat. “Another one bites the dust.”

“Come on, man. Don’t talk about people like that. A human being has passed. Show some respect,” Mo says.

Marcus’ eyes glint with anger. “
You disrespecting me, bruv?”

“No,” Mo says with a sigh. “I’m r
eally not. Wind your neck in, eh.”

“Don’t tell me to wind my neck in. You
mind your own fucking business, yeah.” Marcus’ eyes bulge from his skull.

Mo shakes his head. “Just calm down, mate.”

Yasmeen places a hand on Marcus’ arm
. “Come on, love.”

Nurse Granger is upo
n us, as quick as a lion on its prey. “What’s going on here?” Her usual soothing tone is gone and replaced with a cold, abrupt air. “Do I need to get Roger and George?”

“Who’s that?” I whisper to Lacey.

“The porters. They’ll carry you away if you mess around. Then you usually end up in the white room.”

“Is it padded?” I ask, suddenly morbidly curious.

She nods. “Yep.” But there’s no spark of curiosity or humour in her voice. For the first time since I’ve arrived, Lacey is quiet and withdrawn. I wonder what it’s like in the white room.

“No, Nurse Granger,” Mo replies. “Everything’s cool. We’re just
messin’. Right, Marcus?”

Marcus grumbles a reply and Nurse Granger
leaves after shooting us a glare that suggests: ‘I’m watching you. All of you.’

Marcus chucks his spoon into the cereal bowl and stalks off, leaving a quiet Yasmeen behind.

“That kinda came out of nowhere,” I say. The others don’t seem as surprised as me.

“Not if you know Marcus,” Mo says
, with raised eyebrows.

“Hey, leave him alone. You know it’s hard with the withdr
awals,” Yasmeen says. “He’s only trying to get by and you come out and treat him like shit.”

“How was I treating him like shit?” Mo replies. “You need to stop defending him when he’s wrong, Yasmeen. He’s got help. You’re the one enabling his habit and his moods.”

Yasmeen stands up and scrapes her chair against the hard floor. “You do
not
run this place, Mo. The sooner you realise that the better. Where d’you get off, judging people like that? Who are you to say these things?”

“All right,
Yas—”

“Don’t
‘all right Yas,’ me.” She pauses and lowers her voice to prevent another visit from Nurse Granger. “Why don’t you do us all a favour and concentrate on you? We’ll take care of ourselves, right?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

As Yasmeen walks
away, I pretend there’s something fascinating in my cereal bowl. Mo sighs, clears away his breakfast things, and leaves. Tom and Anka have already left, leaving Lacey and I sat here.

“That was some intense shit,” Lacey says.

“Oh good, you’re shocked too, I thought it must happen all the time or something,” I say.

“Well, yeah, Marcus has a temper
, but I’ve never seen Mo and Yasmeen go at it. They used to go out, you know. I think something bad happened between them when Mo went psychotic. He was obsessed with her for a while.”

“But they’re in the same ward? Surely they wouldn’t put two people with a history in
the same ward? They have to see each other every day!” I say.

“Where else are they going to go? You reckon Mo’s parents can afford to send him to
a private hospital? They have to get on with it. He’s been under twenty-four hour observation for a long time. They stopped it a few weeks ago.”

I can’t believe it.
When Mo talks about his illness, he makes it sound as though he’s in control. The way he checks in and out of Magdelena makes it appear almost trivial, something to laugh about; a unique tale to tell. But the reality is much different. It sounds funny when someone tells you they used to think TV programmes are real, or that they ate a lot of crisps, but when you really think about what they’ve been through, what those stories mean, and how it’s affected those around him… it really hits home. I wonder if Mo is someone I can genuinely be friends with, or whether he’ll always be a guy I knew in a mental institute, like a colourful anecdote. The same with Lacey—can I imagine inviting her to my eighteenth birthday party? Can I imagine her chatting with my school friends, telling everyone about my non-existent bad habits and exaggerating every mundane event into a five minute story?

Is this how my friends see me?

Am I the person they talk about when they’re all together? The girl they aren’t sure should come to the pub, because it might be ‘awkward’? It dawns on me so quickly and so intensely that Lacey snaps her fingers in front of my eyes.

“Earth to Mary! Drug time!”

*

Over the next few days
, I pull away. It’s something I’m both conscious and unconscious of. I’ll find myself sitting in a corner, alone, reading a book. I’ll not know why at first. Then I realise I’m spending more time in my room, less time talking in group therapy, and Lacey gives up teasing me about being quiet. She leaves me be. It’s only then that I realise I’ve distanced myself from everyone in Magdelena. I’m like Natalie.

Every morning I sit facing the glass doors and watch the people going in and out. Marcus says they take the bodies out on the other side of the ward. I’ll never see a body bag or a trolley
covered with a lumpy sheet. I’ll only ever see the families, leaving in mourning. I can’t stop watching. There’s a fascination driving me to sit, transfixed, staring into the corridor, almost willing people to come out in tears.

And every morning I guzzle down blue pills. Why are pills so large and uncomfortable?
I’m actually glad Nurse Granger watches me take them, because then at least I know if I choke, someone is there to administer the Heimlich manoeuvre.

Half an hour after the pills I get this sensation of a veil falling over my eyes. It’s the exact opposite of the other night
, where I dreamt of Johnny. It’s like a fog. Sometimes it’s almost tangible, like I could put my hands out in front of me and touch the thick cotton wool of the pills as they wrap around me, again and again.

I’ve not seen Johnny for days, not even in group
therapy, so I guess he’s gone: checked out. I don’t blame him. I envy him.

When my parents visit
, we talk about the weather.

Sometimes Mo looks at me funny in our therapy sessions. His eyebrows furrow and he frowns. He has
the expression of someone who wants to say something, but doesn’t believe it’s his place to do so. It’s the same expression Mum gets when we’re visiting her friends and they talk about their children, or their ex-husbands, or their gambling brothers.

During my mid-week consultation with
Dr. Harrison, he examines me with a lowered chin and I get a good view of his bulging eye-bags. “Everything okay, Mary?”

“Yes,” I answer, aware that he probably has a reason to ask me that.

“Only Miss Burton doesn’t think you’re engaging in group therapy, anymore. Is that correct?” he talks as though he’s addressing a child with a temper.

“I
don’t have anything to say. The discussion topics aren’t relevant to me.”

“They aren’t supposed to be,” he reminds me. “At least not right now. But they are relevant to some people in the room, and they might be relevant to you in the future. The point is to equip you with as much knowledge as you need to live well
after you leave
Magdelena, and to also talk about your issues. They are useful for getting you to engage with others which, in itself, is a treatment.”

I shrug. It’s all I have energy for.
Why is he having a go at me?
For some reason I imagine Johnny laughing at me in the corner of my mind.

You’re afraid of the darkness.

A chilling sensation spreads over my skin and the room goes in and out of view. I blink, trying to focus on Dr. Harrison. With a jolt I realise one of my Thing visions has come back. The skull face appears at the window with a manic smile. Its finger squeaks along the glass, writing in the condensation its breath leaves there.

Take.

Take.

Take.

I will

Take.

Take.

Take.

“Mary? Mary?”

The words and the skull man disappear.
Dr. Harrison is leaning across his desk.

“You were hallucinating, weren’t you?” he asks.

It’s typical. Why did the Thing appear to me here and now? Why couldn’t it have been when I was alone, so that I could copy down the message, figure out how to interpret it, and not be bothered by psychiatrists?