Mr Ooopsy.

As I look at my notes I turn on my voice recorder, at the top of the folder in a small recently updated picture of a sixteen year old girl stroking her doll. “So Samantha. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

The memory is still fresh in my mind and I can envision Samantha stroking her doll’s red hair. I still think the idea of a clown doll is peculiar, when I was her age I was almost allergic to the things. “I’ve told everyone all ready. Aren’t you tired of hearing the same story over and over?”

I had sighed in frustration. First week here and I was already interviewing the hospital’s celebrity. “Well Sam. I can call you Sam can’t I?” I asked. It’s always good to get trust going. It’s the most basic rules in therapy. Sam smiled while nodding and I still feel an ounce of sympathy for her. The child should have been emailing friends, talking about boys, but in the end she was here being prodded like a subject like a lab rat. “Sam. Let’s talk about your daddy. Would you say he was a good man, or a bad man?”

“Bad man.” She said, nodding her head without a second thought. “He hit mommy and me a lot.” Child and woman bashing, is common among these cases.

“What about your mommy? What kind of woman was she?”

I see her think about it. “Sad. I never saw her smile, but a lot of people liked her.”

The Mother suffered from depression. Of course this is only going on the word of a troubled girl, so it won’t hold up much. From what I understand, Sam’s mother was the town’s harlot. The DNA test even proved that Sam was not her father’s daughter. I can only guess what those fights were about at home.

Now let’s get on with the hard part. “Can you take me back there? What happened that night?”

I saw Sam’s movements and gestures, this troubled her. It was troubling to read, let alone witness. “Mr Ooopsy told me to make mummy and daddy happy.”

“Ah the doll.”

“He’s not a doll. He’s real.” She held the ragged thing like it was her very life. The famous Mr Ooopsy.

I shake my head. “Sam. When are you going to realize that you’re the only one your doll talks to? It doesn’t talk, it doesn’t move.” I am very sorry for this girl. “Now tell me. What made you, a nine year old girl, do that to your own parents?”

“He is real. He is, he is.” She repeated like a mantra, like it would somehow make it true. She didn’t even listen to my question. I would love nothing more than to take the retched thing and burn it, but it was documented during the court case, that she would display acts of aggression on anyone separating the two. I see her frown. “Mr Ooopsy doesn’t like you much.” A threat! Of course the doll is just a cover to the real demons in her head.

Let’s try something. “I’m sorry. It’s just I’m a little old for dolls. My daughter however just can’t get enough of them.” I take out a plastic Suzy doll I got from the store. Let’s go down another road.

“So can you tell me what Mister Ooopsy thinks of her?”

“Whore.” She spurts. “She’s a tramp. Look at the way she dresses. Mister Ooopsy would like to shave her head, and make her pay for looking like that.” Mimicking her father! It looks like we’re getting somewhere.

I bring out another. This time a girl clown doll.

As I bring out the stuffed doll, I can already sense that this may not be a good idea, but after seven years without getting anywhere I think it’s time for a little push. “What dose Mister Ooopsy think of her?”

Sam puts puts Mr Ooopsy her ear. “Mister Ooopsy feels sorry for her.”

“Sorry? Why?”

She gives me a look. “Because she doesn’t look happy.” I look at the doll and I see the smile.

“She looks happy to me.”

Sam begins to mumble to herself, but I can’t hear. I do however hear a loud bang of thunder from outside. Sam goes into the fetal position. From the files I understand there was a storm that night as well. I think this is enough for one night. I call the guard and I tell him to take poor Sam to her room. I put my girl clown doll in my brief case and Sam goes berserk. “No don’t put her in the dark. No don’t” The guard takes her away before I can know more.

In my office I look at the news clipping. The dreaded Ooopsy killings. Sam’s parents were found with their mouths slashed, with the father’s straight razor as the weapon. They had been dead for two days before the police found them. Of course this was after Sam pulled a boy from her class aside and stabbed him repeatedly, the act was mad more disturbing when she used a sharp pair of scissors to sever the skin surrounding his mouth to make it look like a bloody smile. When confronted, she said the boy was feeling sad about a pet dying. Sam promised to make him happy. She even went to the effort of using the finger paints to make herself look like her clown doll Mister Ooopsy, who she repeatedly blamed for the murders.

Sam’s body was found to be abused over a long time; her father was a reported angry drunk. His times of sobriety were limited. The closet indicated that Sam’s mother put her in there to keep her away from her husband and her gentlemen callers. For the past nine years she has been here. Locked away like a wounded animal. I feel for this girl. I really do. It’s just I don’t see her getting out of here too soon, if at all.

A thunder clash echoed through the hospital. I could hear screams from down the halls. The patients were just too easily excited.

“Doctor Buffalo.” A familiar voice came into my ear and caused me to look up. My heart stopped.

Opening the door was Sam, only she was far from the very shy girl who I just met. On her pale face was a bloody hand print, like somebody with red paint on their hands had slapped her. Her lips looked like she got into the receptionist’s purse and chose the darkest, meanest shade of red lipstick she could find. From her garments, I could tell she had gotten in a fight, her clothes were ragged and I am unsure, but I think there were little red dotted blood stains on her clothes. She looked like a demented clown. In one hand she had what remained of her doll Mr Ooopsy. Knowing the guards, it’s possible somebody had accidentally ripped it from her. In her other hand was a sharp letter opener.

I continuously pushed the button to call security, but nothing came. I felt my blood chill as Sam put the knife to her lips to hush me. “Ooopsy. I think somebody has a frown.” She gave a big mischievous smile, “Let’s turn that frown. Upside down.” she said and locked the door behind her.

One thought on “Mr Ooopsy.

  1. Pingback: Archive | Troy Neenan

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