Demon Child

psychiatrist.
        “If it's a psychological problem, love will handle it. I know it will, Jenny. That's what neither of the twins ever had before they came here. Lena was-well, not much of a mother for them.”
        Jenny just nodded agreement. She sensed that Cora did not expect her to reply yet. She only wanted a sympathetic ear to which she could talk for a while. It might seem odd, to some people, that an older and more sophisticated woman would wish to confide to a sympathetic, unexperienced girl. But, darn it, they were both women. And there were certain times, certain feelings that a woman could only explain to another woman, regardless of their respective ages.
        “They were shunted around like furniture,” Cora went on. “They weren't given affection except, maybe, by passing governesses who changed as fast as Lena got angry with them. And Lena is always getting angry with someone.”
        “You give them plenty of love,” Jenny said. “They'll be far happier here. From what I understand, there's little chance of Lena wanting to take them back full time.”
        “Very little,” Cora agreed. She stared out the one uncurtained window at the darkness beyond. After a few minutes of silence, she said, “Do you think Freya should see a psychiatrist?”
        “I could hardly say,” Jenny said. “I haven't been around long enough to tell.”
        “She's such a fragile child. She cried every night in that hospital. I don't think it would be best to have a stranger probing at her, trying to tear down her defenses.”
        “She's very quiet, sort of shy,” Jenny said, remembering that Frank had done most of the talking that afternoon while the little girl had watched and listened like an outsider.
        “Exactly,” Cora said. “She opens up with me. But it has taken nearly a year to get her to. If I can have a few more months to love her and make her feel wanted, I think the fainting spells will pass. I think this is what she needs-love.”
        Jenny smiled and took one of the older woman's hands. “Then it really isn't a curse?” she asked, trying to inject a bit of humor into this, to lift some of the gloom.
        But the question had exactly the opposite effect. Cora paled and shivered all over. “I've long been interested in the occult,” Cora said. “I would never refute any possibility. Even a curse. It's possible. And if you could have seen the dead rabbit that was found on the front porch-and the blood on the window where the thing must have stood, looking in…”
        “Just because there was a wolf lose on the grounds doesn't mean it was anything supernatural. There must be lots of wolves in woods like these when-”
        “That's just it,” Cora interrupted. “There haven't been wolves in this part of Pennsylvania for almost twenty years. They've been killed off by bounty hunters, just like most of the mountain lions.”
         Run, run, run, Jenny.,.
        Cora shook herself, squeezed her niece's hand and let go of it. “Never mind me. I just wanted to let you know that I do care about Freya. And I wanted to tell you not to hold Richard's ways against him. He has only been so surly because he, too, is concerned. He loves the twins. He wants the best for them. We just disagree on what is best, that's all. He's a fine boy.”
        She stood. “Even if it is a curse,” she said, “my plan should work best. I've read a great deal on the subject. Before- Before this happened to Freya, and since. And I know that many curses can be broken by love, by a great deal of love.” Then she smiled vacantly and left the room.
        Jenny had trouble sleeping that night, thinking of poor Freya in her coma, fighting off real or imagined demons. Twice, on the verge of sleep, with restful blackness closing around her, she was awakened by what sounded like the distant, mournful howling of a lone wolf. But she could not be sure…
        When she finally did sleep, she had bad dreams. She was in the cemetery again, before the tombstones. Again, her dead parents and Grandmother Brighton warned her to run, to escape. Again she heard footsteps on the flagstone walk. The only difference was that she could see her pursuer this time. It was a great, black wolf with red eyes like hot coals, a slavering tongue that flicked across the sharpest, whitest teeth she had ever seen…
        She woke from that dream, muttering deep in her throat. Even when the dream had left her,