ParanoidPrank

     “I want to show you something,” the twelve year-old girl said.
     Lizzie was smiling, but it was more of a smirk. There was no warmth behind it, only a mischievous undertone. She had a secret, and I was the benefactor. Lizzie’s grins always seemed half-frown to me, as if the disapproving lines were carved into her skin and she had to put all her effort into rearranging them. Her eyes betrayed her true feelings, always gleaming with some dark, primal deception.
     It hadn’t been a good day for me. I was starting to hear schizophrenic voices whispering on the periphery, demanding my attention. When I tried to listen, they either receded into the background or shouted something unintelligible. Most of the messages revolved around my co-workers talking behind my back. I knew this was nonsense, but when you hear a lie enough times, you start to believe it.
     Lizzie tugged at my hand. She had straight, honey-blonde hair that hung down to her shoulders. Her cheeks were ruddy, as if basted with fever. Her smile was stiff, insincere; wooden. A smile chiseled into a totem pole.
     “Come on,” she urged.
     “Where are you taking me?”
     “Into the bathroom.”
     I immediately grew suspicious. Kids could lure you into a private place, then claim that you had touched them inappropriately. “Why?”
     “There’s a bug in the shower. I want you to get it out.”
     “Tell Julie. She’ll help you.”
     “No! She’s afraid of bugs.”
     I didn’t feel like arguing. “Okay. But let’s make it quick. And I want you to stay by your bed.”
     She nodded, still grinning.
     Lizzie led me into her bathroom. I could feel my gut grow queasy when she pointed at a cockroach scuttling in the shower stall. The strange thing was, Lizzie showed no fear of the scavenger. She pointed at it with no change in expression. I wondered why she hadn’t stomped it already. She would probably take a perverse joy in crushing the filthy pest.
     I was about to approach the shower when the lights went out. I was surrounded by utter blackness. My chest constricted and my heart pounded. Lizzie had flicked off the light switch, playing a joke on me. She still held my hand, and I could feel her grip tightening. Slowly her fingers curled inward until her sharp nails gouged my palm. They felt like miniature talons.
     I had always been afraid of the dark. Now the bathroom was a fathomless abyss. Childhood fears clawed their way into my mind, hissing that there were monsters lurking in the shadows. Disembodied voices snarled that a demon stood beside me now, and would hurt me if I didn’t defend myself. Before I could even think, I tore myself loose of Lizzie’s grip. I rammed her away and groped across the wall. When I found the switch, I wrenched it up. Yellow light exploded in the bathroom, blinding me.
     Lizzie crouched in a corner, her smile gone. She was used to being the predator, but now she was the prey. She clutched her shoulder, which throbbed from the intensity of my attack. Her face was twisted with fear. This young girl, who terrorized the other kids on the unit and was unaffected by large doses of Haldol (a major tranquilizer), gazed at me as if I would dismember her with my hands.
     I moved forward slowly. The voices were still muttering, but I could push them away.
     For now.
     “Lizzie,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
     She edged away from me.
     “It was an accident. I don’t know what happened.”
     “You hurt me.”
     “Not on purpose.”
     “It doesn’t matter. My arm HURTS!”
     I held up my bleeding hand. “What about this? All fun and games?”
     Lizzie scowled. “You’re a psycho.”
     Something inside snapped. “You know what? It takes one to know one. And you can run out and tell every staff member that I pushed you, but no one will believe it because you're a chronic liar who cries wolf three times a day.”
     She bolted from the room. I could hear her yelling for Mrs. Comston, and I knew I would be reprimanded later. Not for shoving Lizzie, but for being in the bathroom alone with her. That story I could alter to suit my needs. All I cared about now was hushing the voices that were slowly turning me against myself.
     I wasn’t a violent person, but the relentless, accusatory voices were making me see dangerous, conspiring imps when I looked at the children.
     It wouldn’t be long before I injured one of them badly.