The Door to December

most of all, Melanie?'
     'Me,' the girl said.
     'No, no.'
     'Yes,' the girl said. 'Me. I hate me ... I hate me .'
     'Why, honey?'
     'Because ... because of what I do,' the girl sobbed.
     'What do you do?'
     'I go ... through the door.'
     'And what happens?'
     'I ... go ... through ... the door ...'
     'And what do you do on the other side, what do you see, what do you find over there?' Laura asked.
     The girl was silent.
     'Baby?'
     No response.
     'Talk to me, Melanie.'
     Nothing.
     Dan stooped to examine the child's face. Since she had been found wandering in the street, naked, two nights ago, her eyes had been unfocused and distant, but now they were far emptier and far more strange than ever before. They didn't even seem like eyes any more. Peering into them, Dan thought they were like two oval windows offering a view of an immense void that was as empty as the cold reaches of space at the center of the universe.
     Sitting on the floor of the motel room, clutching her daughter, Laura wept but made no sound. Her mouth softened and trembled. She rocked her girl, and tears spilled from her eyes, coursed down her cheeks. The perfect quietness of her grief indicated its intensity.
     Shaken by the look on her face, Dan wanted to take her in his arms and rock her the way she cradled her daughter. All he could do was put one hand upon her shoulder.
     When Laura's tears began to dry, Dan said, 'Melanie says she hates herself because of what she's done. What do you think she means by that? What has she done?'
     'Nothing,' Laura said.
     'She evidently thinks she has.'
     'It's a common syndrome in cases like this, in almost all child-abuse cases,' Laura said.
     Although Laura's voice was for the most part low and even, Dan could hear tension and fear just below the surface. Clearly, she was making a major effort to control the emotional turmoil that Melanie's deteriorating condition stirred in her.
     She said, 'There's so much shame involved. You can't imagine. Their sense of shame is overwhelming, not just in cases of sexual abuse, but in other kinds of abuse as well. Frequently, an abused child isn't only ashamed of having been abused, but she actually feels guilty about it, as if she were somehow responsible. See, these kids are confused, shattered by their experiences. They don't know what to feel, except that they know what happened to them was wrong, and by some tortuous logic they come to blame themselves rather than the adults who abused them. Well, after all, they're accustomed to the idea that adults are wiser and more knowledgeable than kids, that adults are always right. God, you'd be surprised how often they fail to realize they're victims, that they've nothing to be ashamed about. They lose all sense of self-worth. They hate themselves because they hold themselves responsible for things they didn't do and couldn't prevent. And if they hate themselves enough, they withdraw ... further and further ... and the therapist finds it increasingly difficult to bring them back.'
     Melanie seemed totally insensate now. She lolled limply, silently, almost lifelessly in her mother's arms.
     Dan said, 'So you think when she says she hates herself because she's done terrible things, she's really just blaming herself for what was done to her.'
     'No doubt about it,' Laura said emphatically. 'I can see now that her guilt and self-hatred are going to be even worse than in most cases. After all, she was mistreated — tortured — for nearly six years. And it was extremely intense and bizarre psychological abuse, even considerably more destructive than what the average child-victim endures.'
     Dan understood everything Laura had said, and he was sure there was much truth in it. But a minute ago, while listening to Melanie, a monstrous possibility had occurred to him, and now he could not dismiss it. A shocking and disturbing suspicion had planted itself with hooks and barbs. The suspicion didn't entirely make sense. The thing he suspected seemed impossible, ludicrous. And yet ...
     He thought he knew what It was.
     And it wasn't anything he had previously imagined. It was something far worse than all the nightmarish creatures he had thus far considered.
     He stared at the girl with a