When I was a little boy, I used to love fairy tales. Tam Lin was my absolute favorite. I used to beg my parents to tell me the story over and over again, until eventually they tired of it. After they refused to entertain me with the story, I met my own fairy.

I was eight years old the first time I met her. Her name was Deidre. She was one of the only friends I ever had. She and I used to sit in my room and talk. We would joke, and she would show me small magic. When she would leave, I would still hear her voice whispering in my ear. I was amazed. Never had I seen anything like her before. Deidre and I became inseparable. When I told my parents about her, they smiled kindly, but wouldn’t even talk to her. I couldn’t understand why.

When I would talk to the people at school about Deidre, they would treat me like some sort of outcast. I didn’t care; I knew that Deidre would be waiting in my room when I got home. Hanging out with her didn’t leave me much time to study or do homework. My decent grades started plummeting fast. I didn’t care. As long as I had Deidre, school didn’t bother me. My parents were concerned about me, but I told them that they had nothing to worry about. They didn’t see it the same way. They told me that Deidre would have to leave.

“They’re trying to separate us,” she told me. “You can’t let that happen, Conan,” she told me. “You’ve got to stop them.” I decided to just that. I ignored my parents’ orders and continued to hang out with Deidre. I even began to skip school just to be with her.

One day, when Deidre and I came home, I found my parents sitting in the living room, waiting.

“Conan, where have you been?” My dad demanded.

“At school,” I replied.

“Don’t lie to me!” my mother snapped. “The school called and wondered why you haven’t been there for the past week. I’d like to know the answer to that too.”

“I’ve been hanging out with Deidre,” I told them.

“I told you not to see her anymore!” my father said.

“Go to your room,” said my mom, clearly finished with the argument. I did, and Deidre followed. They said nothing. Didn’t they notice?

When I got to my room and shut the door, Deidre told me something I never thought I would hear.

“You’ve got to kill them,” she told me. I first thought she was joking, but her expression read nothing but seriousness. She was the only person that really cared about me; I didn’t want to lose her. But to kill my parents?

“Okay, Deidre,” I said after much thought.

That night, I waited until they were asleep. Then, Deidre and I walked into their room and crept up to the side of the bed. I watched them sleep for a moment, then I gently nudged my mother awake.

“I’m sorry, Mom, but Deidre says I have to kill you,” I whispered. Her sleepy expression told me that she hadn’t fully understood what I told her, but her eyes went wide as I put my hands around her neck and began to choke the life from her. Squealing like a dying pig, she woke my father. My father screamed and leapt from the bed. He raced around the bed and hit me hard on the back of the head. Then, everything went black.

I woke up in some strange room, lying on a couch or something like that. A woman sat nearby me, watching as I woke.

“Conan, it’s good to see that you’re alright,” the woman said.

“Where’s Deidre?” I asked, uninterested in this woman.

“Tell me about her,” the woman said. “Maybe I can help you find her.” I was apprehensive; no one had ever been interested in Deidre before.

“She’s my friend, and she’s a fairy,” I told this woman. She went on to ask me some other questions, questions that had nothing to do with anything. I answered them, lost and confused as to what the questions might be for. Eventually, she let me out of the room. She told me that we were done, and that I could leave. I only vaguely remembered what had happened, and my mother refused to make eye contact with me the entire way home.

I went back to see that strange woman five times more before she finally asked the question I had been dreading.

“Conan, why did you try to kill your mother?”

“Deidre told me to.” I didn’t want this woman to take Deidre away from me.

As they went into the strange room to talk to that strange woman, they made the mistake of leaving the door open, just a crack. As they talked, I heard nearly every word.

“I’m sorry to say, but my diagnosis is schizophrenia,” I heard that woman say. I was too young to understand. Still, as the woman explained to my parents to give me Aripiprazole, I knew that something was wrong. My mother began to cry, and, in spite of myself, I did too.

Later, we returned home. The entire car ride home was in complete silence; no one wanted to talk. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway, I rushed to my room. Deidre was there, crying.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her. I was aware of my parents behind me, listening to every word I said. I heard my mother sobbing again. I was so confused. Why was everyone in tears? Then, my father sat on my bed and sighed, taking his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong with everybody?” I demanded. My mother sat next to my father, not saying a word. In her hands was a bottle of medicine.

“Come with me,” she said, walking me into the kitchen. She got me a glass of water, then shook out a single pill from the bottle. “Take it,” she demanded, her voice shaking. Scared, I took it. I’ve been taking one each night ever since.

Deidre hasn’t come back.