Demon Child

pressures which lead to various neuroses.”
        He was explaining again, rationalizing again. She felt safe and oddly complete, just listening to him.
        “But when someone goes to a psychiatrist, it doesn't mean that they are insane or bordering on insanity, you know. Generally speaking, it means they are saner than most-because they have seen they need help and are willing to go obtain it.”
        “I guess so,” she said.
        “But I'm not actually going to analyze Cora,” Walter said. “That would take a great deal of time, and it should really only be embarked upon later, when she is feeling less pressed to the wall.”
        “Then I don't understand what you can do for her.”
        “Hypnosis,” Walt said, making big eyes and waving fingers before her eyes. “I can delve at least a little into her confusion and use some post-hypnotic suggestions to help her cope with things.” He let go her hand and sat back in his chair. “If I suggest to her that there are easily explained natural causes for all this and that nothing supernaturally evil will happen to her, she can get over some of this fear.”
        Could you help me get over mine? Jenny wondered. And are you really sure that all of this business with the wolf is truly not supernatural? If it were not supernatural, wouldn't your hypnosis work better on Freya than it has?
        But she did not vocalize any of her doubts. She did not want him to be unsure, pessimistic. She wanted him to maintain his cool, logical approach to life. If he had to ignore some of the questions which had arisen from these strange events, if that was the only way he could maintain his iron grip on the world, then she preferred to let him ignore them.
        He must never grow indecisive.
        He was a post.
        He was a rock.
        He was all the things that she, so often, was not, and he was at least one point in existence where the unknown and the unexpected could exert no influence.
        He was her haven.
        The next day, Friday, Cora had her first session with Hobarth, and Freya's treatment continued. Cora did not seem much better after her hour with the doctor, but Walter assured Jenny it would take a day or two.
        Richard was seldom in evidence around the house, rushing here and there on errands of his own concern. When he was about, he sulked and watched Jenny silently. He knew better than to try to corner her again. She had made it quite clear that she wanted no part of him. There had been a nasty scene Wednesday morning which had established a brick wall between them.
        Saturday, both Freya and Cora were treated again. And Sunday. But after Freya's turn on the couch in the library, Dr. Hobarth made it plain that he had reached some conclusions which he would like to discuss at supper that evening.
        By the time dessert had been taken and second cups of coffee were begun, there was an air of expectancy about the table.
        “Well, Walter,” Cora said, “what have you got to tell us?” She seemed tense, prepared for the worst. Despite the treatment Hobarth had given her, she was drawn tight.
        Hobarth leaned back, away from the table, got his pipe and tobacco pouch out of a jacket pocket. “She's a very confused child,” he said. “And from what I've learned of her past, her life with her mother, I'd say it's a wonder she isn't worse. Perhaps you're to be congratulated for taking on these children when you did, Cora.”
        She nodded.
        “Then you've discounted any idea of the supernatural,” Richard said, smiling. It was the first smile, Jenny thought, that he had allowed himself in several days.
        “Absolutely,” Walter said.
        “But-” Cora began.
        “Now, Cora,” Walter said, “you know that I'm right. It's all perfectly logical, all these recent events. The presence of a real wolf, at this time, is a very unfortunate circumstance, nothing more. Certainly, nothing supernatural.”
        This time, Cora did not argue, though it was obvious that she required an effort to restrain herself.
        “But the curse still enters into our problem,” Walter said. He tamped tobacco into the bowl of the pipe, folded the aluminum-foil pouch and returned it to his pocket. He fished for matches, found them. “Freya believes in the curse, implicitly, and uses it to maintain a fantasy against the world.”
        He lighted his pipe, drawing quick breaths through