The Dead House - Kurtagich Dawn (читать книги онлайн бесплатно регистрация TXT) 📗

There is another pause, and then Naida says, “We should find something for you to sleep on in that junk heap round there.” She points the camera at the floor. “There’s bound to be—”

[END OF CLIP]

Naida Camera Footage

Date and Time Index Missing

Basement

“You look like shit,” Naida says, facing a mattress that now lies in the corner of the room. She goes to sit beside Kaitlyn, handing over a bag of cookies. She takes one too. “Didn’t they feed you?”

“Don’t remember.”

“So tell me about this girl, the one you saw. Have you seen her before? Do you see her a lot?”

The slightest hesitation. “No.”

“What about other things? I need to know, Kait.”

Kaitlyn opens the bag of cookies. She removes one but doesn’t eat it. “I don’t want to go back to that place.”

“Then tell me.”

“Right.” Kaitlyn laughs. “Tell you about crazy stuff I see so that you don’t call my shrink.”

Naida glances at her pointedly. “I warned you, Kaitlyn Johnson. I warned you about all this. You called it crazy Mala shit, remember? Now you’re going to tell me everything so I can help you and Carly, okay?”

Kaitlyn smiles, regarding her. “Well, it is still crazy Mala shit, even if it’s true.”

“Come on, now. Spit it out.”

“I don’t know. I see… sometimes—” She sighs. “A… a dark shape. I’m not sure… It really wasn’t much more than a shadow. I heard breathing, smelled an ashy smell. And there was a snake… a green viper. I spoke to him.” Her voice fades away, into a murmur. “He asked me if I was a real girl…” She blinks, shakes her head. “But it was a dream.”

“You spoke to a nathair nimhe? A snake?”

“Yeah, but it’s just the drugs they were making Carly take. It does crap to the brain—”

“No. It’s not just that. There’s a spirit associated with animals, the snake in particular, but also dogs, wolves, foxes. It’s a dangerous spirit, Kaitlyn. An Olen. Olens can be very powerful—they are more than mere spirits. Normally Olens are revered, because when they come, they bring healing, strength, courage, and love. But they can be malevolent forces too; they can cause physical harm, injure the souls of the living, and they can enter animals to manipulate them—and animals that are filled with an Olen are collectively called Sivu.” Naida stands up. “Blessed Gorro, help us.”

Kaitlyn laughs, leaning back against the wall. “So, what? I was conversing with a god?”

“I don’t know. It almost feels like… a—a haunting. All I know is that someone’s working. Working you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Naida rubs her face, then pulls something from her pocket. “I found this under my bed. It’s a bind… for Marri-Korro. You see the feathers? The likeness of the shrieking crow? These symbols belong to her. She’s a demon Olen, Kaitlyn. Dangerous. And this bind—this is Grundi. Grundi and Mala are two very different things. Mala is faith, religion, and ritual. And Grundi… like I said in my note, Grundi is black magic. It’s not governed by morals or ethics. And if whoever’s working you is conjuring too, then we’re dealing with somebody—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “Someone who fears no consequences. And who knows what they’re doing. Mike and that damn spirit board at Halloween.”

“So you’re telling me that, because of the Ouija—the Olen board thing—at your party, someone is, what? Casting magic spells on me?” She snorts with laughter, but her face falls when Naida stares at her.

“What I’m telling you is that someone has noticed you. And that someone is a Shyan—that’s the name we give a Holi who practices black arts as well.”

“A what?”

“Holi. A Mala priest. Shyan is the name we give someone who has no morals and no ethics. Someone who delves into Grundi and who is dangerous to you and to Carly too.”

“And you think it’s Mike?”

“I don’t know. He seems too stupid to pull this off. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What about his mirror? Those cuts on his face?”

“Aye, that was weird. Goddamn it, Kaitie, I warned you.” She exhales. “This is beautiful. Just beautiful.” She pauses, then mutters, “When you said ‘the Voice’ was getting closer in that visiting room… I knew something was going on. I could feel it in my bones.”

“So… you believe this stuff. And you believe me?”

“Of course I do. I feel it myself, didn’t I say so? I warned you about that pointer, about keeping under the radar—”

Kaitlyn lies back on the mattress. “Blah, blah, I remember.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s Carly—” Naida’s voice breaks on Carly’s name, and she turns away, fiddles with the camera. “Well. Here we are, anyway.”

There is an awkward moment of silence.

“Look, I don’t know why the Shyan took Carly, if that’s even what happened. I think maybe it’s to do with creating a gap where she used to be. But a soul doesn’t just pass on. It takes time. Assuming Carly’s soul is behaving like the soul of someone who died, then her spirit won’t leave your body right away. It’ll linger. Which means something is hiding her away in there. I’d say we’ve got roughly a month to get her back. Maybe more, maybe less. Damn it, I don’t know.” Naida leans forward, resting her head on her hands. “I just don’t know. I don’t know why a Shyan wants her soul at all. But I’m going to find out.”

“Here we are,” Kaitlyn agrees, her entire face in shadow.

“Gorro help us.”

67 39 days until the incident

Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson

Saturday, 25 December 2004, 9:17 am

Basement

No pills.

No toilet.

No window.

A mattress.

Wet.

Cold.

A camera, always watching.

A new kind of prison.

Merry Christmas to me.

Oh, Dee. Have you been lonely without me? I know, I missed you too. So much. While you were gone, a lot happened, but I made sure to write it down—as much of it as I could anyway. Here, see? The pages are for you.

Dee? Are you here?

I really am a ghost now, aren’t I?

Later

I’m still getting used to sleeping. Naida tells me it’s been a month and ten days since they put me back in Claydon—a month and ten days of sleeping—and I still feel like I’m vanishing every single time.

The dreams. The nightmares. The possibility that, this time, I’ll enter the Dead House. I can’t control it. These things make it impossible to lie down. The dank air, the warped steps, and the molding wallpapers have crept into my bedcovers. With every step I take towards the mattress, I hear the creak of swollen, rotten floorboards, swelling and shrinking with moisture and the air I breathe is stale and musty and the sheet under my back is the mirrored wall and the thing I’m staring at when I close my eyes is her.

The dead girl, only not grinning this time, but broken and torn like she was when, I now realize, I saw her in the Dead House mirror wall. When, for the briefest moment, I thought she was my reflection. Or was that Carly? I don’t know.

And I hear those nails snapping as she drags her torso along, her blown pupil blaring at me like a foghorn, if such things are possible. If silence can be so loud.