Cat Dubois' Odyssey to Enchantment

by BoJenn

  Catherine tried the tapping method—to help with stopping unmanageable ruminating thoughts; it was temporary. She tried new positive thoughts and speaking only words of goodness aloud. She endeavored a new walking regimen; she bought new makeup; tried every possible position of yoga; called upon Zen meditation, and so forth. All of it had a place, but none of it had ever actually stopped the voices or tapes of self-destruction. “Nothing had worked so far, so why should Eleanor’s plan work for her now?”, the devils thought, roaring in laughter, between themselves.

  All the while the devils mused over what they though would be their certain victory, Catherine was still stuck in the lies they put in her mind. Truly, by this point, there was little else there in her mind. Ruminating more than ever, she thought, “It all seems like such a big fairy tale—too juvenile to put it mildly—that I would ever find any sense of contentment or happiness in my life. It’s utterly ridiculous. That I ever had faith in a God who would take away this pain and suffering is a stupid joke. Such things can only be found in fairy tales and never in real life.”

  Cat had chosen to live in the valley of sorrow and loneliness, although she was unaware that living there was her choice. After all, she didn't know to ask for anything other than where she ended up. She didn't know there was such a thing as deliverance.

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Excuse me. I’ll be back,” Cat said as she got up and dismissed herself, momentarily. She had, however, planned to return after she washed her face and took some deep breaths.

  “Go with her Lovey,” Tadhg commanded him.

  On the way to the bath, Catherine surmised, “I don't trust Eleanor or Lovey, even though it is ironic that he seems oddly familiar. A rag-dog lost at sea, now at my home—and alive, what a stupid thought, and impossible too!” She stood leaning over the sink, looking at herself in the mirror, as the devils turned her self-loathing tapes back on. They wanted to hit her again with those, while she was alone.

  “Suicide”, the newer, seldom-employed voice of the devils took command. It entered the bathroom and hung all over Cat. She had not heard this voice’s clear and compelling commands until earlier that morning at the ridge, although it had whispered in the past—little hints that it would, one day, grow louder. Today was that day. The voice of “Suicide” sounded more honest than all the others; and the other voices stopped when “Suicide” spoke. This being held authority, serving directly under the “Grim Reaper”. The other voices stopped, so its victim wouldn’t confuse the direct message, when it seriously wanted the human to act and choose death, right then, and there. All other voices always quiet to make way for “Suicide” and “Death”.

  “Die, Elizabeth! Die! There are pills in the medicine cabinet. Just take a hundred pills of this potassium. It will stop your heart from beating—it will be so quick, no blood, and very little pain. You want that, don’t you Elizabeth? Go ahead; do it. Then, it will all be over—all the pain, sorrow, loneliness and isolation—all gone for eternity. Take them. Before tonight! Why not do it now? No time like the present,” “Suicide”, now joined with “Death”, whispered in Cat’s ear, over and over, again. “Do it. You can. We’re with you. We’re your friends, and have been for a very long time. Come on now. Take them. There they are.”

  Cat looked at the potassium in the medicine closet—a full bottle. Her hand went for the bottle. She held it tightly. Thinking…thinking…thinking, “I can drink with them. I’ll pass out into … I don’t know.” She broke down again. Emotional raw meat, her mind had been beaten to a state of insanity, and suicide presented itself as the only way to relieve the pain.

  Cat looked, again, into the bathroom mirror at her distorted face. Her face, which was once so beautiful, now seemed as dark and bleak as her soul. “Why? How could this be? What is happening? I must be losing my mind,” Cat thought, dull and diminished to nothing, to a no one.

  The tapes of “Self-Loathing” monotonously drone, repetitively, again. Catherine allowed the defeating thoughts, telling herself, “I deserve this.”

  The tormenting spirits were eternally relentless, as always. They accuse whomever they can, whenever they can. Talking in dreams; talking through others; talking rationally, like a good subconscious-self; they never sleep. Being inhuman requires no sleep. For that matter, neither does being inhumane. Both are merciless, cruel, lacking any compassion or kindness; and such devils as these work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; and they love their job.

  The place where Cat’s soul was, right then, in that state of mind, so very close to death, was exactly what they had worked for day and night for years. She was to be the feather in their cap, their Oscar award, their golden opportunity that would bring great rewards from “The Devil”, himself. To take a soul by suicide is the greatest accomplishment a demon or devil could ever hope to achieve, except…for one other…to grab a child’s mind and turn it into a voracious predator of any kind—a serial killer or a child molester. Either of those ranks higher than suicide.

  In Cat’s case, suicide would be just fine. They rejoiced and danced wildly, already declaring their victory around the flames of hellfire and brimstone. “Oh yes,” they hollered like cannibals, “‘The Devil’ himself will pat us on the back for this one.”

  In the meantime, Lovey scooted quickly downstairs and gave an precise report of what the devils were telling Catherine. “You gotta come! Now!”, he barked fervently.

  “Catherine, my dear, hush your thoughts. Don’t listen to those voices. Be quiet. Quiet yourself. Center your soul on truth. The truth is so simple—God wants you to win, my dear. He wants you to live…forever. Do not listen. Do not do what they are saying. They are liars,” the female voice surrounded her as she stood clinging to the sink.

  Cat looked around to see. “Mother? Mother, is that you?” Cat looked back into the mirror and thought she saw her mother…for a split second. She knew she had heard her—even it was just a single moment of the sound of her voice. “Mother, please help me!”, she begged, even as the thought of her lovely voice, as familiar as yesterday, dissipated into nothingness.

  The demonic vipers had recognized the battle for their home was Catherine; but, had not expected a war. In their haste to rejoice victory, they had not been playing tricks with Catherine’s mind; they had also heard her mother’s plea.

  “Catherine, fight!” Her mother’s voice disappeared as quickly as it was heard, and the steam from the hot water in the sink, meant to wash her face, also cleared. There in the mirror was her mother. She smiled and said, “Get up child; you must fight for your life.” With that instruction, she vanished.

  “Mama?” Cat rubbed the mirror with the forearm of her robe. “Mama?”

  The devils fled the bathroom; they were intimidated by Cat’s mother. They had not expected that to have happened.

  The demons and devils chose to wait; and, while they waited, between themselves, they made fun of Thomas and Lovey. They decided they would intimidate them, later.

  On the other hand, Eleanor knew that God opened doors to do His greatest works when one was at the door to the valley of despair, isolation, loneliness and death. She was not shaken by the devils’ threats. “Those stupids”, as Eleanor referred to the brood of serpents, were still carrying on throughout the house, following Cat around and unmercifully yelling, “Go ahead. Kill yourself. You are a crazy woman. And, who in their right mind listens to dogs? If you listen to a dog, then you’re crazy! Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

  “The Accuser of the Brethren” loved the jabs. He thought them well delivered, and was quite pleased with himself. “Fear”, having followed Cat from childhood, really knew the ins and outs of her personality. He took pride in knowing her “the best”; so, therefore, he figured he should be the first one asked, if any information should be needed. His chest puffed out. He was slimy and brown, but pictured himself dark, black and quite debonair.

  “Fear” said, “You oughta be frightened. There are so many voices in your
head, and in your house; you will NEVER be free. You’re foolish to think any other way. Come on; be real. Be truthful with yourself. There is no hope or freedom for you. My companions won't leave without a fight. They never do. After all, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois, YOU are our home. But, now, we must pick up our weapons. That is why we’re all here.”

  Eleanor turned to Lovey, “Prepare for the war, “His Glove”.

  Eleanor directed them into the dance room. She drew a pyramid in the center of the room, using a sparkling powder retrieved from her tote bag. It contained gold and platinum dust. She placed The Bible at the Father’s place at the top of the pyramid. “You stand here, Lovey; and you will assist the Father.” She, then, placed white feathers for the Spirit of God at the right, and told Lovey, “…and, at the base, where the Son would be, the locket of Thomas will be. With the Son, and Thomas, you stand there.” She pointed to the apex on the symbol.

  I shall stand at the left with Box Three, assisting the ghost of our Father. Catherine will be in the center; and, Tadhg, you will stand with her for protection. Everyone take your places as we join in prayer. Tadhg, you lead the call to prayer.”

  “Eleanor, I pray in Gaelic,” Tadhg reminded her.

  “Perfect! The devils won’t know Gaelic—well, perhaps they won’t,” Eleanor moaned. “Come on; everyone to your places.” Eleanor shut the curtains. She lit sage to purify the room. She began chanting in a strange language; and Tadhg sang Gaelic hymns, beautifully.

  “Be Thou my Vision, O’ Lord of my heart;

  Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.

  Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,

  Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

  Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;

  I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;

  Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;

  Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

  Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight;

  Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;

  Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:

  Raise Thou me heavenward, O’ Power of my power.

  Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,

  Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:

  Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,

  High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

  High King of Heaven, my victory won,

  May I reach Heaven’s joys,

  O’ bright Heaven’s Sun!

  Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

  Still be my Vision, O’ Ruler of all.

  Tadhg’s singing became louder with crescendos of great, bellowing joy. They, the demonic forces, laughed to hear his deep, baritone voice.

  Thomas said, “I remember that song. We sang it in church long ago.”

  “Everyone stay on the places I showed you,” she said, pointing and directing how each should be and react. “If for some reason, you must move, then quickly go back to that spot. She then circled their spots in gold and platinum powder, too. “There, Thomas; stand behind the elements.”

  The devils listened to the music; and their laughter grew raucous and crazed. They were confused.

  “They shouldn’t be singing and laughing. They don’t understand who they are battling,” Eleanor said emphatically.

  The growl from their throats and the putrid odor of sulphur permeated the room.

  “They’re coming…” Eleanor said, “…I smell them.”

  Catherine had retreated to her own territory, her room, away from those she had finally come to believe were her real tormentors—Eleanor, Lovey, and Tadhg. After all, she told herself, she had not known or even seen them before their recent arrival. What seemed much more true, was that her old friends “Fear”, “Loneliness” and “Isolation” were, at least, more familiar than the likes of those troublesome three—Eleanor, Tadhg, and that dog she’d just met. She was totally unsure of who the enemy really was, but she figured those three tormentors had brought the enemy with them. The demon, “Confusion” had made certain that Cat was utterly confused; and had done a yeoman’s job, indeed.

  “Even if ‘Fear’ and ‘Isolation’ harp on my inadequacies, at least they’re honest about it, and don’t try to disrupt things as they have been for so long…” she muttered under her breath. Preparing her own war against the intruders who she believed were in the wrong, she just hadn’t figured out a plan to get rid of all of them.

  Then, Cat realized how helpless she was with all these supernatural beings in her home, “I must be crazy.” Her tearful floodgates opened wide. Saltwater-lithium tears fell in a constant stream flowing down her cheeks. And, now, because of all the painful soul-tilling, “love could take root…”, like Eleanor said, “…if I simply let love inside, of course.” Catherine mimicked Eleanor. She was sarcastic, indeed.

  Cat flew out of that room into the den. She curled up on the green couch and closed her eyes, hoping all these people, or whatever they are, would soon leave.

  The last few nights had made up for all the years spent in isolation, she thought, aggravated that she had let it go on this long. “All this has been utter chaos and added more anxiety,” she added to her own thoughts. She wanted them gone.

  “The Tormentors”—”The Accuser of the Brethren”, “Blame”, “Guilt”, and “Suicide”—drew their swords to make their way into the dance room. They surveyed the room. Cat wasn’t in there, but the other spirits, Eleanor, the man Tadhg, the ghost, and the black dog were up to something.

  Eleanor had prepared herself through meditation and prayer. She had made ready for the intruders. She wasn’t physically on her knees, as she currently stood at the piano pretending to clean; but, once in awhile, she went outside and looked into the heavens, sending out a message in the wind, “Help! I need reinforcements, now.”

  The demons were baffled and perplexed at the situation. They put their heads together to try to figure it out: “The old woman goes outside on occasion and looks up. The ghost, the man, and the dog stay in the dance room. And, the prey, Catherine, is alone.” It made no sense to them. “The intruders should be protecting Cat, but instead, they do idiotic nonchalant things around the house, like singing and dancing and celebrating.”

  Eleanor had been outside for one more quick plea to the heavens, and had just re-entered the dance room where she knew the devils were gathering, as well. Box Three was there at the left of the pyramid, ready and waiting; it looked like a simple birthday present, wrapped beautifully, so inviting. Eleanor knew it would offer the gift of forgiveness for Catherine to use according to her needs, and her needs were more than plentiful.

  The gift promised: a good remainder of her life, along with true love, and joy, unspeakable, if she fully participated. All that was needed was for her to ask for and receive the third box—she must want it, truly want its treasures, from the center of her soul. The gifts, if she asked for them and allowed them the place in her heart, would grow to riches beyond her wildest dreams. But, Box Three would remain there, fruitless, unless opened to complete the journey, helping her to fight the war against her own demons—the authentic “Tormentors”. So, Eleanor said a final prayer that Catherine would want to open the third box by her own will, and give all she had for healing.

  Catherine deserved healing, but neither Eleanor, nor any other entity, human or spiritual, could make her open it. Those were the rules; and Eleanor would abide within the dictates set long before the beginning of humanity.

  Lovey prayed for Eleanor, as well as Catherine. He would not let them down. After all, dogs were loyal until the end. Eleanor was thankful for him and his devoted help. Though Lovey’s love, in the little package of his earthly body, seemed small, it could wedge open a door closed tight from decades of sadness and tears. “Perhaps you will lead her, Lovey. I hope so,” Eleanor praised the pup as she rubbed his head. “You’re a brave dog.” Eleanor prayed that Lovey would succeed in cracking down the door of “The Torme
ntors’” infliction of pain and sorrow, by filling Catherine with love.

  The devils would be armed, undoubtedly, with accusations, spit and vomit. Just which demons’ spit and vomit would manifest couldn’t be seen or known for certain, but Eleanor knew it would come riddled with it sickening pungence, colored putrid green.

  Eleanor moved around in the dance hall. “Everyone, to your places, please,” she spoke, as if they were going to dance.

  The demon and devil forces thought these acts were stupid. They stood watching with their arms crossed and bored.

  Lovey moved to his spot at the top by the Father. Tadhg moved into the center; and Thomas stood next to the Son at the bottom. Eleanor held the third box on the left of the pyramid.

  Demon “Mocking” said, “Well, someone turn the music on, shall we dance? All the demons heard; and, strangely, they all laughed at the awkward sarcasm.

  “Will Catherine keep the door open? Or is it possible she will close the door of her past and live a living hell on Earth?”, Lovey asked. He only wanted the right answer.

  “That’s an unknown. The choice is entirely Catherine’s,” Tadhg replied, as he spoke back in dog language to try to settle him a little better.

  Catherine burst into the room, right up to where Eleanor was standing at her place on the pyramid. “Why are you here? Why did all of you come?”, she asked in utter despair, anger and through her tears of mourning her life and the lost memories. Then, Catherine yelled, “I was better before you came. This plan is a failure! And, Lovey! Why is he here? He’s a cute little con job!”