The HUM: The complete novel

by Michael Christopher Carter

  She was driven to distraction by the little bleeder, but she couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him. And what about hurting Marco, or herself? She knew she was more than capable of doing that.

  The CPN came on Tuesday and made some notes. She murmured about getting Carys an emergency appointment with the psychiatrist to review her meds. ‘Was she breast-feeding?’ she had asked, ‘It might affect what he can give you,’ she had been told.

  “If you feel worse in the meantime, call the Crisis Team, or 999. A and E will get you a psychiatrist quickly.” Carys felt moderately reassured by this information. Maybe she would be okay.

  Marco was worried. Having witnessed her fall from sanity once, he was wary. What concerned him most at the moment was her reluctance to go with him to church. Narberth Christian Fellowship had prayed every week for her good health. Her disinclination was excused by not wanting to bring Ebe with his certain propensity to wail when not pinned to her chest.

  Although a genuine reason, she was using it to disguise her indifference, rapidly becoming dislike, for going.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Marco encouraged. His upbeat insistence really starting to piss her off.

  “You go,” she said. “But I’m not getting up early to try to make this…” she gestured up and down her body, as though the disfigurement of pregnancy had left her a grotesque mess, “look anything presentable, and then sit and jostle Ebe on my knee in an attempt to quieten him, whilst you sing to your adoring public on stage, like normal!”

  Marco was getting nowhere, but tried to reassure Carys of her genuine beauty. “You look lovely, my sweet,” he asserted, but the sourness of his wife’s countenance detracted from her usual splendour as she glared contemptuously at him.

  “I’ve seen a mirror,” she spat. “You go and have a brilliant time,” she sneered.

  “I’ll stay home with you then? If you want me to?” Glaring at him, she left him floundering what to do for the best. Part of him wanted to be stern; to say, “Don’t talk to me like that.” But the last time he’d done similar, she’d ended up having a meltdown. And he knew it wasn’t really her. She had always been sorry when she regained her equilibrium. He decided to stay.

  After a couple of weeks giving her his full support and missing church himself, which was quite an inconvenience to the church band, he decided to fulfil his obligation to them, leave his wife and child at home, and go.

  Carys showed no sign of caring either way if he was there or not, and he found his mood degenerated when he didn’t go. He needed Jesus, God, and the love and support of his church in his life. Maybe they could think of something to help his wife.

  He felt guilty the while, but relaxed enough to enjoy himself. His angst, obvious to all, received freely forthcoming advice. Between them, they hatched a plan they were convinced would be the answer. Marco felt excited to implement it as soon as possible.

  When he got back home after church, he was buoyant with anticipation of their plan. He called up the stairs to find Carys and suggest they go out for a well-earned meal whilst his parents’ baby sat for them. They could go tonight if she wanted.

  When there was no response to his call, he raced eagerly upstairs, expecting to find her asleep. Bursting through the bedroom door, citing the invitation again, he stopped mid-sentence when he saw what had been going on in his absence.

  The look of rancour on Carys’s face was replaced with one of fear and regret as she sat on the bed, blood seeping from her arms where she’d cut them. Marco glanced around for what weapon she’d used this time.

  He soon saw the broken photo frame which had held a picture of the two of them on their wedding day. She’d used the broken glass from the front to carve gruesome wounds into both her arms.

  “It’s okay. I’m here now,” he soothed, rushing to cuddle her. “Everything will be okay.” Where was Ebe? Why couldn’t he hear him crying?

  “It’s okay,” Carys whispered, sensing the tension in his embrace. “He actually settled to sleep.”

  She didn’t object when Marco checked anyway, but sure enough, little Ebe was sleeping peacefully, chest rising easily up and down.

  “I don’t feel like going out for a meal, but I would like to get out of the house,” suggested Carys in response to the invitation Marco had assumed went unheard.

  “That’s fine, babe,” Marco said. “We’ll drop our little man off with Mum and Dad, and we can decide from there.” Marco was pleased with how it had gone. The meal was only the bait to initiate his plan.

  Ebe carried on sleeping for a while. Marco promised to look after him, even if he cried, allowing Carys to have a much craved shower. She enjoyed getting ready. Not making a massive effort, assuming they’d end up having a simple bar meal, or some chips on the beach. Just getting out of the house, and Marco being so thoughtful, was something to be pleased about.

  Repentance at cutting herself ebbed in the flow of the shower, the pain as the hot water scolded the wounds exhilarated her again.

  She had tried to resist for days, but a new voice joined the Amish and the Rebecca telling her to do it. The Amish man and the Rebecca were present, but in the background and silent. The new voice appeared to be her own, but from outside her head, whispering in her ear.

  It told her how Marco didn’t love her; that he and Ebe would be better off without her, and that cutting herself would show everyone how she felt. Everything would be better if she just let it happen, let herself do what she yearned for, the voice had implored; and it had become so.

  The voice disappeared as soon as she obeyed its whims, as did the other two hallucinations. And now, in addition to the immediate reward, she was being taken out with the help of baby sitters. It seemed the voice was right, and even Carys could see this was a dangerous direction for her thoughts.

  Fully rested after her break from Ebe by early afternoon, she fed him sitting comfortably on the sofa with a smile on her face. Noticing her fidgeting, Marco suggested they make a move before they missed all the sunshine on this clear spring day.

  Ebe was buckled safely into his car seat and they were ready for the short drive to Dan Paulo’s large house on the edge of town. Carys was surprised as they pulled up into the driveway that they were not the only ones there. Two other cars not belonging to the Paulo’s were already in the drive.

  “Are you sure your mum and dad are expecting to babysit?”

  “Yeah. We’re a bit early, I suppose,” Marco explained. He unclipped the car seat, which handily turned into a rocker, and took Ebe and his bag of everything to the front door. Carys rang the doorbell as Marco no longer had any digits free.

  “Hello,” Marco’s mum, Natalia, greeted as she answered the door. You can tell she had been a statuesque Italian lady in her youth, now, as seemed so often the case with older woman from Italy, she was becoming much stouter, and beginning to grow hair in places which had previously been smooth. Carys found the bushy eyebrows and beginnings of a moustache hard to look away from.

  Ebe was removed to the lounge and plonked with one of the people whose cars were present in the driveway who Carys recognised from church. Carys looked around for Dan to thank him and Natalia for their help babysitting for them this evening.

  “Where’s your dad? We should thank him.”

  “Er, just in his study, I think. Hold on and I’ll come with you,” Marco answered strangely. Something was going on, Carys suspected. But then she shrugged. She was a paranoid schizophrenic, after all. But then the voice in her ear grew louder “Don’t go in there. You won’t like it!” it hissed in her own, disparate voice. As she tried to halt, she felt Marco’s hand push her gently in her back.

  “G… go on in,” he stuttered.

  What was going on? Carys wondered as she tried to turn and leave, but Marco was flanked by his mother. Another couple from church brought up the rear, and more people were coming from other rooms to join them.

  She’d been ambushed. Her heart rocketed from 60 to 230 in
a second and she tried to wriggle away. “What are you doing?” Carys demanded. “What is going on? What are you doing to me?”

  She was bustled and cajoled into the study where a chair, looking like it absconded from the dining room, stood central to the darkened room. It took Carys’s eyes a little time to adjust to the curtained window light, and before she could object, she was sat on the chair facing Dan Paulo in full robe holding a crucifix in her face.

  She wanted to protest. The voice hissing in her ear certainly objected to the proceedings.

  “In the name of Jesus Christ, Our Lord, I command you to leave Carys’s body and leave this house!” He thrust the crucifix further into her face, making her flinch.

  Part of her was angry they would simplify her complicated, genetic, mental health condition to a ridiculous demonic possession. But these were people she trusted and loved. It couldn’t do any harm, could it?

  Still aware of the voice in her ear hissing away indecipherably, from the corner of her eye she was also aware of the other two, the Amish man and the Rebecca doing nothing, standing just outside the group who had just joined in the chanting

  “In the name of Jesus, we command you to leave the body of Carys Ellis in peace, now!” over and over again. “May the name of Jesus compel you!”

  The well-meaning chanting was having an effect. Gradually, she relaxed, and soon felt comfortable enough to let out the rage that dwelled within her. It amused her that the primal screams she was releasing would be seen as the demon fighting back.

  As she screamed, “AAaaarrrgghh!!” for as long as her lungs could sustain before gulping more breath to maintain the yell, the chanting continued. The crucifix thrust purposefully and constantly towards her whilst splashes of holy water rained on her head and body.

  From nowhere, Amish man made a grab for the crucifix whilst Rebecca lunged his hands to Dan Paulo’s throat. They made no effect, and as they failed in their attempt to sabotage the exorcism, they disappeared.

  Overcome with relief, she let out uncontrollable laughter and couldn’t stop. She laughed until her sides ached and she was gasping for breath. As she laughed, the exorcists relaxed. The chanting continued for a short while before Dan changed it to a blessing that would protect her from the demons returning.

  They all hugged her, and she began to cry.

  “We’ll have to get you baptised, and soon. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d been baptised,” her father-in-law admonished. “We’ll get little Ebe dedicated as well.” Carys nodded.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she spluttered through the sobs. She turned to Marco to thank him personally. “Thank you for what you organised here. I wouldn’t have come if I’d had any inkling of what was to come, but I feel so much better.” And she did.

  But deep, deep inside a resentment of the dishonesty and trickery used to get her here was being logged. Unexpressed it could grow and fester for months, or even years, before surfacing, all the uglier for its repression.

  For now, although a tiny awareness of the demon of festering bitterness manifested in the bowels of Carys’s mind, she continued with the plan to walk on the beach, a little later, but a lot happier than she had anticipated.

  “Maybe we could eat out properly, if your mum and dad wouldn’t mind, and you think I look okay?” Marco was thrilled. Of course she looked okay. She was the most beautiful girl in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Babysitting

  Eleri, the CPN, still called round regularly, several times a week. The emergency appointment from the consultant psychiatrist had been and gone. Medication was adjusted because she’d decided, reluctantly, to stop breast feeding Ebe.

  The midwife assured that because she had done for more than a month, she’d passed on plenty of precious antibodies to her son, and that stopping wasn’t as drastic as she feared.

  She’d wondered if upping her medication wasn’t necessary after her exorcism. Apparitions and voices hadn’t troubled her since, but she was feeling jittery. Her main concern now was not herself, but Ebe. He really did have an alarmingly large head. The midwife had mentioned something about Hunters Syndrome, but it was too early to tell.

  Usually, it was diagnosed as facial features changed between two and four years old. Whilst a large head was part of the visible signs, it didn’t fit perfectly with Ebe’s condition, and his head was larger than expected for that ailment anyway.

  Appointments were made with paediatric specialists, and tests would be arranged. The health visitor, a very nice lady who wore nothing but purple whenever Carys had seen her (even her car was purple), now called round in place of the midwife. She wasn’t so concerned about Ebe. As he seemed perfectly healthy in all other respects, she thought a large head might just be a hereditary condition.

  ‘You don’t know how bloody right you are!’ Carys thought.

  The health checks had baby Ebe well above the upper percentile for weight in his red hospital records book. This was, of course, attributed to his head. All other tests revealed a healthy baby.

  The usual assessments continued at three and six-month intervals and concern emerged that Ebe’s facial expressions didn’t seem to change. He never smiled or gurgled as other babies. He seemed to recognise familiar people, but didn’t look at them with pleasure. Family jokes about him being ‘The Mekon’ (a comic book villain from the 1950’s, nemesis of Dan Dare) were all too accurate.

  The large head and disparaging appearance were almost identical. Sitting in his rocker or baby walker he looked like every picture of the creature from Venus in his flying chair. The family joked that all he needed was green skin to be a double.

  Carys wondered if his appearance would lead him to be super intelligent. She hoped the expression he perpetually wore didn’t demonstrate the contempt it appeared to.

  His hand-eye coordination at his six-month visit had impressed the health visitor. He demonstrated knowledge and ability expected from a one-year-old. He had grown into his head somewhat. That, and the growth of some hair, made him far more appealing. If he were to smile, perhaps he’d look less like an evil villain, and more like the cute baby he actually was.

  He delight in technology, and despite never smiling, his eyes would burn with a passion if ever he was looking at anything technical. He loved wires, and would follow their course along the skirting board, or from pylon to pylon when travelling in the car.

  By his one year check, he alarmed the health visitor when she asked him to stack little wooden blocks. He counted them, then proceeded to build a pyramid, and then further, more complicated concentric shapes. She shook her head and wore a huge grin. “He’s going to be an architect, I think.”

  And because of this near genius ability, she wasn’t overly concerned that Ebe was yet to utter a single word. “Einstein didn’t speak until he was four years old,” she imparted. “They thought he was a dunce at school.”

  And whilst concern had grown to apprehension by the eighteen month check, excuses were still made.

  “Brains develop differently in different children, I suppose,” the health visitor advised. “His brain is definitely developing other areas of skill first,” she surmised. “Get him to toddler groups. Book him a place at nursery. Seeing other children talk will soon get him going,” she reassured. “I’ve seen plenty of children develop speech late and go on to speak perfectly normally, if not better than those who started earlier.”

  Carys took her advice. It happened to concur with the advice of her CPN as well.

  “Mix with other people. See how Ebe compares to other little ones. You’ll soon see that there are all different times of development and be reassured. Chat with the other mums and make friends with similar interests.”

  It all sounded like good advice. The idea of meeting new people had recently become a fear of Carys’s, and she felt a determination to conquer it: to not add agoraphobia to her list of neurosis.

  The main thing she ended up gaining from her visits
to toddler group however, were nudges and scathing stares from the clique of other, apparently childhood-friend mums. It reminded her of the horrible outsider feeling she had always endured living in the fens of Cambridgeshire.

  Determined to carry on going; determined to do the best for Ebe, the other children ignoring him saddened her. On reflection, she thought, the only thing she enjoyed about toddler group was sticking it to the other mums with Ebe’s superior intellect.

  Whilst the other children argued over driving the tractor and trailer, wearing the police helmet, or having their turn in the Ty Bach Twt (Wendy House), Ebe would fix the broken toys or construct things. He was becoming popular in a strange way as they all enjoyed the fruits of his labour.

  It wasn’t long before he progressed to nursery school, run by the same lady and held in the same building. Although mums weren’t encouraged to stay with their child, for Ebe they made an exception. He seemed so different and needy. After attempting tried-and-tested measures for weaning children away from their parents, all had failed. But as long as he could see his mum, he was content.

  Whilst the other mums enjoyed the break from the care of their little ones, Carys was secretly gratified at how Ebe needed her. She felt incredibly loved and useful.

  One day, after he had been going for about a year, and was more than three years old, he did something astonishing. Selecting some empty toilet rolls and kitchen rolls that were being saved for recycling, he constructed a chair.

  It was held together simply with sticky tape, but it could hold the weight of a grown adult! The other mums (some of whom after a year occasionally spoke to Carys) were stunned. The playgroup leaders were so impressed they called the Western Telegraph who sent their photographer to do a piece on Ebe and the nursery.