"Trouble Me"

O'Hare Session One:

"Earliest Memories"

"So, at what age did you realize that you were different than the other kids your age, Mr. O'Hare?" Dr. Pennington asks. He and the businessman had been sitting in that room, in silence, for quite a while.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sir, I mean no offence...but...your dwarfism. When did you first notice that you were different?"

"Well, growing up, I wasn't around other kids much. I had heard the term "midget" by the time I was 3, and understood it, but I tried to let it not bother me." He shifts. "I went to the doctor a lot, as a kid. They had to run tests and assessments on me a lot. I thought it was normal-something that everyone did. I was too little to know any different. I didn't notice until Kindergarten. I never went to pre-school. Mom taught me at home. It's why I was fluent in Japanese by the time I was seven. She would teach me English right along with Japanese: "This is a dog, Aloysius. Dog. Inu. This is a cat. Cat. Neko." Like that-as early as I could remember."

"Tell me a bit about your earliest memories, sir."

"It was peaceful as hell. You know in your file; I was born in 1997. Great time to be alive. Mom listened to a lot of Japanese music, but dad also really liked Stone Temple Pilots, so I remember songs like "Lady Picture Show" and "And So I Know" playing a lot. Soundgarden, too. Mom used to translate them into Japanese and sing them, play them on her guitar. Uncle Al would come over sometimes with my cousins-Aunt Nanette never liked to visit. She never really got that you can't wear shoes on a tatami floor. A lot of the time, we'd just go to Uncle Al's. I'd play with Genevive, even though she was 8 years older than me. I didn't even mind going to the doctor to be checked out-it was normal. I remember how excited I was to tell dad how brave I was at the doctor's when they took my blood when he would come home, showing him the bandage. Hell, I was four. I already had glasses, then. I got 'em when I was two years old."

"Tell me a bit about your parents, Mr. O'Hare."

"Dad's name is Murray. He used to work at this video game company-designing monsters for this really famous horror title. His hair was orange, feathered, and shoulder-length. He wore glasses and this dagger ear ring. Always that dagger ear ring. I remember the post-the part that connects to the ear, was this garnet. In the design for the ear ring, it was the pommel of the dagger, with the hilt being black, the cross-guard being gold, and the blade being silver. Dad loved the fuck out of that ear ring. Never took it out. He was a bit of a smart-ass and had a slight temper, but he was normally pretty cheerful."

"And your mother?"

"Ah, I was waiting for that-staged that. You shrinks love to ask about mothers-why I talked about dad first." He settles back. "Mom's name is Yukiko. She is Japanese, comes from Nagano. She was particular about the house being clean, so she'd have me help her clean the floors. She'd get this cloth damp and have me scoot around on the floor, pushing it with my hands. Sometimes, she'd get down there with me and do it too, have a "Cleaning race". She has a really thick Japanese accent, too. "Kuriningu Raisu!" she would say it-the cleaning race. She really didn't like scary movies, I remember...or scary stories...or spooky pictures. She'd freak out. Dad loved 'em, and loved telling scary stories on Halloween. We'd celebrate it "normal", then have a traditional, Irish Samhain celebration at home. Lambswool, Souling, all that. Dad would tell the best scary stories. Scared the fuck out of me as a kid. He'd have me leave a plate from the meal we'd have out-stick a penny in it. He told me it would keep the bad spirits away." he takes off his shoes and loosens his tie. "Mom was also a musician, as I said earlier. When we were done with the cleaning race, she'd get out this sea-green guitar of hers and play and sing on the back porch until dad came home. We'd usually have dinner then, I'd get my bath, and sit up for a while, watching TV or having mom tell Japanese stories. Despite her fear of 'spooky stuff' she still liked to talk about some of the more...unsettling Japanese folklore and urban legends. I remember being afraid of Aka Manto and Hanako-san for a long-ass time."

"What are Aka Manto and Hanako-san?"

"Aka Manto is this Japanese urban legend about this dude in a red cloak who waits for people to go to the bathroom. Then, he asks you what colour toilet paper you prefer. If you say red, he slits your throat, so that the blood soaks the front of your clothes-red. If you say blue, he chokes you to death. If you say white, or "I don't use toilet paper", then the worst shit-these goddamned hands come out of the fucking toilet and drag you to hell. No way to win with him. Hanako-san, I really shouldn't have been afraid of. You had to "summon" her. You would do it by going into a girls' bathroom, go to the back stall, knock three times on the door and say "Hanako-san! Are you there?" Then, one of three things happens. First, you're really unlucky and she is there and takes you to hell...through the fucking toilet again. Second, you see her but escape. She'll be waiting for you in the bathroom for the rest of your life to take you to hell...through the toilet. Third, not a damned thing happens. Damn it Japan, making going to the bathroom scary."

"When did you stop being frightened of them?"

"At around six." He laughs. "Kids raised in an all-white home are afraid of the boogey man. I was scared of fucking Aka Manto and Kuchisake Onna-she cuts your head off if you tell her she's not pretty...and if you tell her she's pretty, she mangles your face like hers. The only way around her was to tell her she looked normal and run for it while she was confused-her face was all cut around the mouth. It went back to the jaw itself. Mom also talked about the yokai, the obake, the yurei. There were so many. Beto-beto-san freaks me out still."

"What is-"

"It is this spirit that follows people around at night, mimicking their footsteps."

"Ah. Thanks. Tell me about when you started school; when you noticed that you were different."

"I noticed right off. Everyone was taller than me, and I was the only Asian kid in class. Most of the other kids just sort of left me alone; ignored me. I was an oddity. A curiosity at first with them looking over at me when they thought I wasn't looking. Eventually, they all decided that I was too weird and left me alone...except one kid. This fuck-face, ass-hole, cockmongling shit-bag."

"That is a lot of expletives to describe one person, Mr. O'Hare."

"His name was Charles Wiggins and he used to bully me. I'm not talking normal "gimmie yer lunch money" shit, either. He used to beat me to a bloody pulp every chance he got. I never knew what the fuck his problem was. I never said one word to him."

"When was the first time he beat you?"

"Kindergarten. By then, the "oh look! We have a half-oriental midget in our class" thing had worn off and I was alone most of the time. I was sitting over in a corner of the classroom, reading something. I don't remember what. I just always liked finding somewhere quiet where I wouldn't get in anyone's way. Charles comes up to me-not directly, at first, and takes out this hot wheels track-those fucking things. God damn. He starts beating me with it. He says jack-shit, just starts beating me with it. Knocks my glasses off, cuts my face and throws the track aside and starts beating me with his bare-fists. I was screaming, but no one came to help me."

"Why not? That seems like a severe lapse in the school's security. Your teacher should have been paying attention."

"He was outside with a group of other students-kick-a-ball. The other kids inside either didn't give a shit or were too afraid or freaked out to do anything. I mean, what six year old expects to see that shit?" He shudders. "The worst part is, when he's done with me, he just stands there above me, looking down at me with this sneer on his face-admiring his work, I guess...he...he fucking licks the blood off my cheek." He shudders again. "Still sicks me out."

"He drank your blood?"

"Licked it off my cheek."

"Did Charles ever have psychiatric treatment; court-ordered or otherwise?"

"He's in the loony bin now. Has been for nearly two decades."

"I would like to cooperate with the mental hospital-try to do a little research on him. That sounds like some sort of psychosis."

"He stuffed me in the toy-box when he was done."

"What?"

"He stuffed me in the toy-box when he was done. It was Friday. I think he hoped no one would find me-no one would notice that I wasn't around. I think he intended for me to bleed to death in there."

"How were you found?"

"The teacher came back in and found my glasses, broken on the floor and saw blood...he could hear me whimpering inside the toy-box."

"What did the school do about that?"

"Jack shit." he says, in a huff. "My dad was madder than hell, threatening to sue. Mom just kept crying, wanting to pull me out of school and put me in the Japanese school."

"Did your mother transfer you, Mr. O'Hare?"

"No. I don't know entirely what happened, but all I know is Charles was back in first grade." The young therapist looks up at the clock.

"We've reached our hour, sir." O'Hare looks up.

"Ah." he fixes his tie and puts his shoes back on. "I suppose I'll see you next week then, Dr. Pennington."