The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A week went by and Janet skipped her appointments just like the voices in her mind told her to. Dr. Angel’s secretary was relieved to hear it, but not her. The conversation with “Myriad” had only strengthened her resolve, and understanding what was really troubling the young receptionist became a top priority.

She started by delving deep into every piece of literature she could find about “possession syndrome” and its ties to schizophrenia, exploring every case where the symptomatology wasn’t as clear as expected. There was a surprisingly low number of studies on the subject following the late 50s, no doubt because of the advances in modern medicine and people’s ever-growing disconnection from anything that revolved around possible supernatural ties. Nowadays world had far too many real horrors lurking in every corner without the need to add layers upon layers of unseen ones to the mix.

After reaching what appeared to be a dead-end, Dr. Angel delved into actual books on demonology, looking for references to Myriad, no matter how small, with the same disheartening results, leaving her only with one option. If she wanted to dig deeper into the woman’s psyche without her being present in the room, she would have to talk to her family.

“I understand what you’re trying to do, but it won’t do you any good in this case,” her friend Hannah said over the phone.

“Why not?”

“Because I tried to reach them too, and they all refused to see me. Both mother and father prefer to pretend they never had a daughter and her brother is even worse.”

“Worse how? Your notes mention nothing almost nothing about him.”

“That’s because I discarded him out of the equation almost immediately. What I can tell you is that he hates his sister so much it’s a miracle they’re both still alive.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

“And why are you sure that’s not relevant to her dissociative state? If she felt neglected and shunned by the ones she was supposed to trust the most, that could have been the catalyst for the creation of Myriad in her psyche.”

“For all intents, her fractured mind came before their strained relationship. It was one cause and not the consequence. Didn’t you read the transcripts of the last session I had with her before you took over?”

“Of course I did, but it seems I’m still missing out on a lot of important info.”

“Yeah, well... I admit it wasn’t my most thorough job, but you’re already aware of why by now.”

“Why does it sound like you’re still afraid of her?”

“Because I am. You can’t possibly tell me you didn’t notice something is seriously fucked up with her.”

“Oh, I know it is, but I don’t believe it to be anything that doesn’t have a rational explanation if you look hard enough. I’m already invested in her, so I’ll do anything in my power to help her get through this.”

“You’re a good person, dear. I knew I made the right choice transferring her to you, but promise me you’ll be on your guard at all times.”

“Why does everybody keep saying me that? You have nothing to worry about, Hannah. I know what I’m doing.”

Did she? As a skilled professional with more successful resolutions than failures under her belt, it was certainly what she had internalized, for only a strong mind could deal with the constant pressure of the job and live to tell the tale. If she didn’t trust in herself, then how could she expect the ones in her care to do the same and trust her with the innermost recesses of their minds? She hung up the phone and checked Janet’s file once more, looking for her parent’s last known address. It was time for a house call.

The house where Janet grew up was like any other house in the suburbs, a functional colored square with a porch, half a dozen windows, and a roof that had seen better days. It was at least half an hour away from her office and one from her apartment, quite the detour to make, especially around rush hour. The lawn outside smelled nice, but needed a good trimming. Hidden behind a bush to the right of the main path, were leftovers of a “For Sale” sign.

Dr. Angel parked her car, a metallic blue Toyota Camry, one block away from the house, and took on the sights as she walked to the front door. Everywhere around were signs of cheerfulness, vibrant colors on the trees and leaves, yet all ended there, as if the foundations of the place were sucking up the vitality of its surroundings. She rang the doorbell and waited for a response other than a screeching echo, but none came.

“Hello?” she peeked through the main window, eyes seeing nothing but darkness and cobwebs crawling up the walls. The halls were deserted, ominous shadows spreading across the tiled floor.

“Hi. Are you looking for the Hawthornes?” a somber voice said behind her back.

Dr. Angel turned around and saw a petite chubby woman in her late fifties, wearing a khaki overall and a feathered straw hat of the same color. Her left eye was slightly smaller than the right, a birth deformity that, while not life-threatening, was extremely distracting. A pair of pruning shears could be seen inside the solitary front pocket of her outfit.

“Yes, but it seems like no one has lived here for a long time.”

“That’s correct. It’s been at least a year and a half since they moved out. I’m Flora. I live two houses across.”

“Nice to meet you, Flora. I’m Dr. Eloise Angel.”

“Oh... a real doctor or one of those cuckoo ones?”

“I’m a psychiatrist, specialized in rehabilitation and long-term social disorders. I was hoping to catch a word with the Hawthornes about a case I’m working on.”

“Does it involve Janet, by any chance?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss names, I’m sorry.”

“In a way, you just did. If you’re trying to help that poor girl, you’re doing a great thing. She really needs it. She always has.”

“What do you mean, Flora? Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“Perhaps, but not here. This house has always given me the creeps. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee or perhaps a glass of lemonade?”

“That would be nice, thank you,”

“You’re welcome. Follow me, please.”

Dr. Angel accompanied her, hands in the pockets of her long brown coat, and asked,

“Why do you say this house has always given you the creeps?”

“It was always a strange place even before they moved in. My mother—God rest her soul!—used to say it had been born evil. While I’m not convinced such a thing is possible, I always felt... empty, whenever I walked by. I still do, but things are different. Everything changed for the worse shortly after they joined our little community.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Fifteen years, give or take. Janet was still a child, and what a beautiful girl she was! Always smiling, always curious... She really loved my lemonade. You will, too.”

Flora’s house was painted in bright yellow, its radiance so strong it could give unsuspecting people a bad case of migraines. Her garden was flawless, from the red rose patches to the proud lemon tree, and the inside wasn’t far behind. Everything in the kitchen was perfectly organized, plates and cups color-coded and similar shapes standing side by side. If the older woman didn’t suffer from some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorder, then her diploma was worth nothing.

“I grow the sweetest lemons this side of the Pacific,” she said, handing her a glass of citric delicacies. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

“You’re right,” Dr. Angel took a sip and smiled. “It’s great.”

“I have some lemon cookies in the oven too, but you’ll have to wait until they’re done.”

“I’m fine for now. What I am interested in is what else you can tell me about the Hawthornes.”

“Sure,” Flora took a seat by the kitchen counter and directed her companion to do the same. “They were quite the reserved couple when they showed up and it took a while before they warmed up to the neighbors and vice versa. I never got too familiar with Mr. Hawthorne because he was always traveling the country, but I came to know Alice well. She was a strong person through and through, and Janet was the spitting image of her. It almost looked like they were sisters instead of mother and daughter. She could be strict, but she was always fair, and I respected her a lot for everything she did to keep her children safe. Or at least, I did, until the accident.

“Accident?” Dr. Angel’s right index finger slid across the rim of the glass. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know? Janet climbed a tree about a year after they moved in and fell from the highest branch straight into the edge of the sidewalk. She hit her head so hard and there was so much blood everyone was sure she was a goner. I’m not sure if it was two or three months she stayed at the hospital, but when she came back home, she was not the same girl anymore.”

“Strange,” Dr. Angel mused. Janet’s medical records included no mention of a traumatic head injury, let alone one that required so much recovery time. It was yet another piece of the mysterious puzzle that could shed possible light on her afflictions. “Could you elaborate on that, please? Why was she different?”

“Well, for starters, she stopped smiling as much. Her eyes were always vacant, as if her soul was asleep or had gone somewhere else. She stopped playing with the other children too and sometimes, you could hear her mumble outside the house, taking in different voices. I’m aware it’s customary for kids to have imaginary friends, but if you saw her then, you would think they were real, that there were things next to her and inside her, telling her what to say and do.”

“And you’re sure this only started after the accident?”

“Positive. After she hit her head, she became a really strange kid and, little by little, the family began falling apart. When the whole family was together, not a day went by without a fight, and Janet was always in the center of the storm. I think they were afraid of her and they continued to be for a very long time.”

“And how do you know that?”

“It’s a small neighborhood. Everyone knows what everyone else is going through at some point. I admit I’m also a bit on the curious side about these things.”

“In other words, the local gossiper,” Dr. Angel thought, musing whether her account held any credence or not. Flora’s body language suggested the older woman indeed believed everything she was saying, but she had already been deceived by smiling patients more than once, and often the line dividing genuine interest from badmouthing was a thin one. What she couldn’t really forget was the idea of the accident, though. If that had taken place, why had no one brought it up earlier? Why hide something so significant?

Brain injuries didn’t always manifest in obvious ways, and there were even documented cases of delayed reactions that resulted in a complete personality change. However, that didn’t explain everything. The construct of “Myriad” had to have a deeper meaning to manifest the way it did.

“Do you believe there was something going on with Janet as she grew up?”

“Between you and me, yes, I do. I won’t say I’m the most religious person in the world—I’m definitely not!—but I would bet my life that when she fell and passed out on the street, something that shouldn’t be here, hitched a ride and latched on to her. When she woke up, it had already taken root and that thing still plagues her to this day, I’m sure.”

“I don’t believe in demons or possessions. I do believe that people sometimes are convinced they are real because of a chemical imbalance in their brain that makes their fantasies feel more vivid. Luckily, situations like that can be treated with the right tools.”

“And you think you have them, Dr. Angel? The right tools for this job?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. Nonetheless, I still have a ton of questions. Do you remember what hospital she was admitted to at the time? I’d love to track down the doctor who treated her.”

“It was St. Mary’s. Anything else, you’ll have to uncover on your own.”

“Thank you, Flora. Just one more question... You wouldn’t happen to know where the Hawthornes moved to, right?”

“Sorry, no.”

“That’s okay. Thank you for your time. You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.”

“That’s good to hear. I hope you’re able to find what you’re looking for, Dr. Angel, but if I may be so bold to make a suggestion...”

“Let me guess... You want me to tread lightly in case I find something I don’t like?”

“Something like that, yes. I guess I wasn’t the first, huh?”

“Nor the second...” Dr. Angel smiled just as the oven beeped, signaling the biscuits were ready.

“How about a few for the ride home?” Flora asked, clean mitts in hand.

Five minutes angel, Dr. Angel left the neighborhood with more questions than when she arrived, an encroaching feeling of confusion guiding her all the way back to the office. She didn’t see the red eyes staring at her from across the street when she left, but she would, and sooner than she thought.