The Dead House

“Naida was stupid! Risking herself for you. For someone not of her blood, not of Fair Island!”


“You sent us off knowing something was up! We practically told you everything! You let us go!”

“An asking ritual, Naida said. A request. Guidance for her friend Carly. Nothing more.”

“She’s a saint! She helped me when no one else would. She told me what was going on. Explained things. She could have let me rot away in a psychiatric hospital and lived her life free and whole. But she came to me, she saved me—she risked everything! So if you’re going to trash her when she’s lying in a hospital bed, then you can just fuck off! I’ll do this alone.”

I started to walk away, I was almost crying. God, you can even hear it on the tape. Halfway between panting and sobbing.

“Wait,” he called, but I didn’t. “I said, wait!”

I stopped then, trying to swallow down the emotion, and turned as he walked towards me.

“You’re strong.” He paused, assessing me with those ocean eyes. “That’s useful.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“It seems I have no choice. You will do this alone if you have to, won’t you?”

I nodded.

He muttered something so quietly I didn’t catch it. Then he said, “Foolish child. Playing with fire. If you die, the fault is yours.”

His words didn’t scare me. “I’d die for Carly.”

“Good!” he snapped. “Because you probably will.”




Thursday, 27 January 2005, 1:00 am

Basement

What is wrong with me? I don’t understand. John just left, and… I feel like crap. He came to comfort me, put his arms around me like a protective cage, and kissed me on the top of my head. I should have felt safe.

But something weird happened. His arms suddenly felt too firm, too tight… I was trapped. He was containing me, and I didn’t like it. I felt a surge of panic, and when he released me, a smile on his face, I thought the panic would fade. But it didn’t.

It hasn’t.

Dee, I’m terrified of John. My John. And I have no idea why. Could it be that there is something I don’t remember? Something from Chester that I’ve forgotten? To do with him? Did something happen? Is that what those flashes mean… with the hand and the blood and his face?

Why am I so afraid of him? Why do I fear him coming again like I fear Haji’s upcoming ritual? It’s terror.

Mortal terror.





93


6 days until the incident


Naida Camera Footage

Thursday, 27 January 2005, 9:00 PM

Basement



Haji stands in the center of the room, arms folded. Brett and Ari file in from the stairs and stand off to the side, watching Kaitlyn and each other. John follows, spots Kaitlyn, and smiles.

“My name is Haji. I’m Naida’s brother. I don’t want to be here.” He looks at each face in turn. “But you’ve opened a door, and it needs closing. If I allow it to be left open, it will be Naida who pays for it. I ask you now—all of you—to reconsider your decision to be involved tonight.”

Scott enters last. His usual joviality has been replaced with something more solid and reserved.

“Scott,” Kaitlyn says, stepping forward, “is Naida—”

“She’s resting,” he says, his voice firm and hostile. “She wanted me to come here. I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

Kaitlyn swallows and introduces Haji.

Scott nods at him once, and the anger and resistance on his face seem to satisfy the Mala priest.

“I’m trying to convince you to leave. Don’t get any more involved in this. As you’ve seen, it is no game.”

“We’re not leaving,” Ari says, stepping close to Kaitlyn.

John shifts. “I think we’re all agreed that leaving isn’t an option. But, for my sake, would you mind telling me what exactly we intend to do?”

Haji regards them all. “You are all so stupid,” he mutters. “Very well. Kaitlyn and I will be performing the same ritual as was performed by Naida.”

“Are you joking?” Scott snaps. “Did you not hear what happened to Naida? You want a repeat of that?”

“There will be no repeating that fiasco. I will get us into Kaitlyn’s mind—this Dead House you described,” he adds, in Kaitlyn’s direction. “We will all go. We will search the rooms—all of them—for the door that leads beyond her. You will know it if you find it.” His eyes move around every face. “If you do—do not go through it. Call out, and keep calling until we all come to you.”

“Are we seriously doing this again?” John demands. “Kait?”

She nods. “I’m seeing this through until the end.”

“I wish you’d just leave it,” he mutters.

“No standing off to the side this time,” Haji says, looking at Kaitlyn. “You are the ritual. You need to take control.”

“I’m ready.”

“Good. Sit down.” Haji reaches into a pouch on his hip, withdraws what looks like flour, and pours it into a sigil on the floor, one mirrored in the charm around his neck.

John steps up to Kaitlyn. “Are you really going to do this after what happened? After Naida?”