《GAIL [a girl, a pony and an exorcism]》


 Day 32

    Magda Domina church in a setting of evergreen. Gail has been coming here since she was a child. The last row of ragged pews is her favourite place. The red eye of a single burning candle stares at her unblinking. By day, it is an abode of peace. At night it turns into a nightmare.....


    Hell has been going on for over a month now. Gail looks thoughtfully at the new carpet leading to the altar. Rhombuses and ornaments on a red background. And not a single dirty mark. Dawn erases everything that happened overnight. Including the memory...


    There''s the thud of hooves on the carpet. Gail looks up. A tall black pony is staring at her in sadness. Gail smiles and strokes his muzzle. Her hand passes through the vision as usual, feeling only coldness.


    ¡®It''s okay, Hyacinth,¡¯ she says in a quiet voice, ¡®it''s okay.¡¯


    The pony snorts without a sound.....


    As Gail leaves the church the clock chimes five. The Owl appears at ten. If only it were at least midnight, like in horror films. But that leaves only five hours. Five hours of normal life. Normal people.


    There''s still time to get to the library. But she''d better catch up on her sleep, or the night will seem too long. On her way home, she stops by the print shop and picks up her business cards.


    Gail Bogaart


    Horses exorcist


    The cards smell of paper and sadness. If she had known then what she knows now¡­ Those cards wouldn''t exist. Hyacinth would still be alive, and she''d be a normal girl. The kind who thinks about boyfriends and outfits at school. Confronts her parents and teachers. Has friends. And maybe she wouldn''t be among them anymore. Just like Ellen, Pete and Marline are gone. No one remembers them but her. And, therefore, no one is grieving. She does¡­


    Sleep is all she needs now. Warm food and sleep.


    She wakes up to the Owl''s screeching laughter, which only she alone in the whole town can hear. The monstrous bird is already towering over the town gates. Her unblinking gaze is aimed straight at her.


    Gail sometimes thinks the monster can see through the walls. After all, she sees spirits, too. All that squeaking, screaming, and shrieking horde of ghosts walking across the town bridge right now.


    Ghosts are disembodied. They can''t do anything on their own. But they can drive a man crazy. They can drive a whole town crazy. A whole town of possessed people for a long, long, long night.....


    From the street comes the clang of a broken shop window. Gail closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Time. It''s going to be all about time now. A high-pitched, hysterical squeal makes her wary. A coincidence? Or has the Owl found her house after all?


    Gail hurries to throw the hood of her grey unremarkable sweatshirt over her head and slips out of the room as a shadow. It''s a second before a grimacing, fidgety silhouette peeks inside through the window.


    The ghosts make a man capable of many tricks. If he stumbles or slips down a steep wall, no problem. There''s always a replacement. And in the morning, there won''t even be a memory of it. The fleshy slap of a body falling from a height confirms her thoughts. The ghosts don''t take care of their toys....


    Gail watches the brief agony without tears. The fingers of the young guy in front of her are ragged to the bone, but his face is still contorted with a cheerful grimace. He''s wearing a kids'' Mickey Mouse cap. He must have taken advantage of the broken window to loot the second-hand shop. She wouldn''t have been able to save that one.


    But she can still do something for him. Making sure no one can see her, Gail pulls a piece of chalk from her backpack. She quickly draws a circle around the still shuddering body. He won''t disappear now. They''ll find him in the morning. The relatives will be notified, decency will be taken care of. Probably by the same people who would have tried to kill him in the night.


    Some people, like this guy, give up right away. Others resist for a while. Trying to get rid of the scary passenger. A rider. Because ghosts always sit on your shoulder. You recognise these ones from afar by their panicked screams. The whole street is saturated with fear then. She can''t save either of them. Gail tried.


    The stitch she''s made herself in the first aid room is still sore. Gail unconsciously places her hand on her belly. She immediately pulls it away, though, remembering the last night''s pregnant one. Of all the nights, that was probably the creepiest. The baby had been born already with a rider. She could not do anything for them. There was no saving these all....


    The next night, they''d be back. Along with the army of ghosts. So every night there are more and more of them. Gail once again wonders what makes the difference? Why are some, a few, immune to possession? Or, rather, can resist it longer than others?  Those for whom her modest skills are sufficient....


    She briskly makes her way down the brightly lit street. There''s noise, shouting, the mad, uncontrollable laughter of the possessed. Why would they be having fun? Before dawn, some of them will be gone. Others will be so damaged that morning will bring them no relief. And if those she manages to get out of the riders'' grasp won''t make it out of town during the day, she can''t be sure of them either. She''d already seen the girl she''d rescued once before. A week after that night, she was dancing on the arc of a street lamp with a rope around her neck. Gail didn''t wait for the finale then.  Why? The riders almost never let go of their victims.


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    Almost.


    That little word warms her soul. Helps her overcome her fear of being the only live person in a town of crazy ghosts. Once, she was probably just lucky herself. Although, it¡¯s the way you look at it¡­


    She sees. It turns the riders away from her. They prefer to remain in the thick shadows of a clouded mind. And then there''s Hyacinth.  The pony pulled her out that very first night.


    A possessed man blocks her way. Gail stops abruptly, throws her head back and lets out an unnatural, violent laugh. She pouts her lips and winks sexy. It doesn''t suit her, she knows. The flirting and grimaces look ridiculous on her ordinary face. Glasses, bulbous nose, hair pulled back into a ponytail tied with the remnants of Hyacinth''s bridle. Her face shows signs of sleep deprivation and she''s probably been eating a lot of fast food lately. She''s not the type you''d remember. But the possessed man likes it and laughs. The way is clear. Gail rushes to turn onto another street. So far, tricks, grimaces and copied unnatural moves have always worked for her. Always, she repeats to herself, like a prayer.....


    Horses are easier. And harder at the same time. She''s more attached to them than she is to people. Getting a rider off them is only a matter of Vision, Allies and concentration. Animals don''t have human passions. No vices for a ghost to cling to. Like to a strong bridle...


    On the corner outside the Chinese takeaway, Gail sees a black dog. She frowns. All these nights made her dislike dogs. Dogs are a bad omen.


    The ghostly animal''s red eyes look at her in question. Gail sighs and heads towards it. It''s always worth a try. Especially since it''s on her route. Those she can save always come to the water. Water shelters from the ghosts. Gail always carries two full plastic bottles. Regular still water and the same water thickly mixed with salt. Salt always has to be stolen. For some reason, the other one never works. Holy water is not helping, unfortunately. And it''s not easy to find at night. Too many people try to find salvation in churches. Alas, ghosts are not susceptible to either holy water or the word of God.


    A woman''s cry is heard from the canal. The stomping of feet. The black dog whines and scurries into the darkness of the alley. Gail runs forward and is just in time. Before the rider manages to grab his victim by the shoulder. The rider himself, however, hesitates. He is confused.


    The woman standing knee-deep in water is not afraid. She''s furious. This perplexes the rider. And gives Gail a chance. The same tiny chance she leaves the house every night for.


    ¡®Hyacinth, now!¡¯ she mentally urges as her body reacts automatically.


    A somersault over her head that she is not normally capable of, and now she is one with the black pony. She hears the pounding of hooves, though she knows they aren''t really hooves. There are the heavy footsteps of her high, metal-toed boots. And still she feels like she''s back in the paddock. Only this time she is not the victim. One hand is already clutching the iron bit she has snatched from her pocket. The fingers of the other are drawing words, prepared in advance, on the run. Each exorcist has his own. Found in suffering, washed in tears and blood. The possessed who''ve come to see the show scurry away. Gail knows they''re in pain. But pain is salvation.


    The woman slips in the mood and sinks into the water. Good. Gail holds her down underwater, allowing the pony to bite the ghost. Feeling the weak resistance of the woman, she quickly slips the spell iron over the rider''s mouth. Now he''s mute. Which means he can''t compel anything. That''s how they work. They whisper in your ears until you mistake their voice for your own. Then they have complete power. Few people can fight themselves.


    It becomes harder and harder to hold both, the victim and the ghost, at the same time. And the clock is ticking. Too, too fast. How long does she have? Half a minute? Less? Will she be able to unhook the ghost before the woman drowns?


    Gail decides to do something she hasn''t tried before. She lets go of the woman and plunges the rider into the water.


    She is deafened by the squealing. At first, she doesn''t even realise which of the two of them is making it. The water suddenly becomes stinky. The woman next to her is pounding her hand on it in rage. Gail high-fives her and moments later she separates from Hyacinth. Somewhere high above them, the ghost is still shrieking. There is no one by the canal. An ominous emptiness reigns.


    ¡®What was that?¡¯ the rescued woman asks through gritted teeth.


    ¡®Hell,¡¯ Gail replies.


    She looks around alert. Not a soul. She realises the mistake too late. The rider''s reaction to the water was over-the-top. It attracts the Owl''s attention. There is a silence that makes the blood freeze in her veins. Gail looks at the woman. The woman looks at her. In the reflection of her eyes, Gail catches a glimpse of the oncoming horde. She knows that the woman sees it too. If only for one fatal moment. Seeing is always scary. Especially the first time. Gail shakes her head.


    ¡®Look at me, just look at me,¡¯ she pleads, trying to keep the tremor in her voice at bay.


    But the woman no longer hears. Her shoulders slump, fear appears on in her eyes. Fear is dangerous. Gail slaps her in the face. She feels wet, sticky hair under her hand. In the next moment, the ghosts rush forward....


    They could still try to escape. But the woman rushes away a second before Gail grabs her shoulder. The shoulder is no longer free, though. All she has now is watching helplessly as the rescued woman races away in a blind panic. Gail feels the icy cold where the chasing ghosts rush through her.


    Still, dogs are always a bad omen.....

 Day 33

    She misses a couple of classes. Gail''s not sure they happened at all anyway. The school is slowly becoming a chaotic gathering of lost lunatics. They still come there in the morning, as if performing an ancient ritual that no one remembers the meaning of. Teachers, classmates, parents...


    The latter still occasionally arrive to pick up their children and park crookedly on the concrete greenless lot. On all faces Gail sees the same thing. Confusion. A widespread progression of dementia. The classes are gradually thinning out, the teachers are more and more likely to freeze halfway through a sentence. Then a dumb, blind and clammy silence hangs in the room. No one laughs, no one talks, no one is doomscrolling his phone.


    Still their minds are in place. When Gail draws someone into conversation, the obsession passes. They chat lively, discussing popular musicians, bloggers and the latest gossip, freaking out about upcoming exams. Just normal teenagers, just a normal school day. But then again - plop.... Silence. Empty, mangled, dementing.


    Gail looks round the classroom carefully. Checking if anyone else has disappeared overnight. Shifts her gaze from one sleep-deprived face to another. Turning his back to them, a maths teacher explains something in an incoherent manner. Gail puts her pen down on the table with regret, for there is no way to write down this rambling. She stands up and moves to the first row - to Nicolas.


    The teacher''s muttering does not break for a moment. Gail would welcome some remark. Any reaction beyond this total somnambulistic ignoring.


    ¡®What level?¡¯ she asks as usual.


    Nicolas is a skinny nerd with braces on his teeth that haven''t gone away in all two years she knows him. A badass gamer and the only diamond brains in the entire school. Gail doesn''t understand why he''s even here. He''s four years younger than all of them. Or is it five? Gail doesn''t know for sure. She knows the answer in advance, though.


    ¡®Fortieth,¡¯ Nicolas¡¯s voice sounds unconcealed pride.


    Gail closes her eyes in disappointment for a moment. So he''s been driving that rider all night again. To herself, she calls him a level forty rider.


    Not all ghosts make their victims climb walls, dance on street lamps, pull faces, or just shoot each other. Some are quiet, some are violent. Gail seems to think it depends on the person. Weaknesses are possessions. Not all possessed people leave the house at night.


    Every night of Nicolas is about the same game, the same character, the same quests and the same damn level forty. Why the ghost is stuck in this particular one Gail doesn''t know. She doesn''t try to exorcise him. He''s like a watchdog. At least Nicolas stays at home, relatively safe. At the thought of dogs, Gail wrinkles her nose.


    ¡®You?¡¯ inquires Nicolas with interest.


    ¡®Thirty-three.¡¯


    For a fortnight now, Gail has been telling him every morning what happened to her overnight. To keep herself from going insane. And because Nicolas somehow remembers everything she told him the day before. Perhaps because he''s smarter than the others? Gail doesn''t know. Nicolas, however, thinks it''s a game and writes the name down again every time. The City of Owl...


    ¡®I screwed up,¡¯ Gail admits, fighting a momentary flash of anger at herself.


    That woman... Gail can still see her eyes in front of her. Hope, fear, darkness... Possession is like running away. Maybe that''s why it has such a power. People want to escape to another world. Become someone else. Don''t go back. Never go back.


    Nicolas listens with a matter-of-fact expression on his face.


    ¡®I still don''t understand. You can turn into some kind of hell horse, right?¡¯


    ¡®A pony,¡¯ Gail corrects him.


    ¡®How exactly do you become this pony? Does your body change?¡¯


    ¡®No, not like that. It''s more of a mental thing.¡¯


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    ¡®A mental thing?¡¯


    ¡®Yes...¡¯


    ''If it''s only a mental thing - how do you get these special abilities?¡¯


    ¡®I don''t know.¡¯


    ''I do know. In the same way that ridders can give people the ability to climb walls. You''re possessed. Think about it.¡¯


    Gail thinks for a moment. He''s probably right. Nicolas, that annoying, quiet nerd is right as usual. Or is he?


    ¡®Hyacinth only comes when called. And leaves when it''s done.¡¯


    ¡®Are you suggesting that other ghosts break in uninvited?¡¯


    Gail doesn''t know. Perhaps he''s right again. Perhaps there is an invisible sign on each shoulder inviting them.


    ¡®You should know better,¡¯ she mutters softly.


    ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®I don''t know about the ghosts,¡¯ she replies, ¡®but I hope I don¡¯t need your invitation tonight.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re always welcome ¨C you know that.¡¯


    He thinks she has a problem with physics. She knows he has a problem with dinner. His mother disappeared a week ago. Nicolas doesn''t remember much about her, though. Gail''s parents disappeared that very first night. It was for their sake that she went out into the sudden and unannounced hell that just began. She tries not to look at the ghosts faces. She hopes she''ll never recognise those crazy masks as her family''s. Until she does not knows for sure, she has hope. Hope is everything.


    Gail pushes open the unlocked door of Nicolas''s flat at exactly seven in the evening. She is greeted by the usual semi-darkness and mess. The busy clacking of a keyboard can be heard from the room. She puts the grocery bags on the floor and locks the door. It''s a good thing they both have their own income. As strange as it is.


    Every fair earned cent is valuable now. Otherwise, they''d be looking at, at best, a not-always-legal part-time job in evenings. Which means no sleep at all. At worst, foster carers. And the same roulette every night. In between, theft, looting and adult entertainment. A nightlife you don''t remember during the day. Maybe it''s for the best.


    Crisp green onions and sausages look cheerfully at her from the grocery bag. While she composes an improvised nasi in the kitchen, Nicolas makes himself comfortable on the back of a chair. The crochet hook flickers nimbly in his fingers. The green puffy scarf grows longer each evening.


    Gail marvels at how quickly that kid can progress. In everything he takes on. She taught him to crochet. Now they share a hobby. In a world where psychotherapy is just another form of possession, balls of wool can save the mind. At the very least, give you a break. As if all was well and the night ahead only promises rest. For Nicolas, though, Gail hopes that would be it.


    ¡®If riders are afraid of water,¡¯ she hears his voice through the predatory hissing of oil in the pan, ¡®then we need to understand why. I so think it does damage to the Owl. Why else would she interfere?¡¯


    Gail nods without looking. She remembers the dull, lifelessly indifferent eyes full of not fear, no. She hadn''t noticed the Owl was afraid of anything yet. More like cold interest. An otherworldly attention that would not let go for a moment. But Nicolas has a point.


    ¡®I think the purpose of your mission is to get to the little birdy herself. It would be good to know what connects her and the ghosts. The way I see it, the owl is a necromancer. The ghosts are her army. Have you even tried to destroy them in any way?¡¯


    ¡®Eat,¡¯ Gail places two plates on the table, her and Nicolas''s.


    It smells appetisingly of sausages and spices. They eat in silence for a while.


    Destroy the ghosts... How can you destroy something that''s already dead? The only way is to exorcise them. If you''re lucky.


    ¡®Or so,¡¯ Nicolas intervenes in her thoughts. ¡®You destroy the Owl, you destroy the whole army.¡¯


    ¡®And how do you suggest to do that?¡¯


    ¡®I don''t know. Call a downpour?¡¯


    Nikolai nods towards the window, at the dreary autumn rain. The window looks like a grey blur. Gail knows the rain will pass soon. Not a drop has yet leaked from the coal black skies since this hell began.


    ¡®I''m an exorcist, not a weather spellcaster.¡¯


    ¡®Then find a weather spellcaster.¡¯


    ¡®I''ll try.¡¯


    Gail smiles tiredly.


    The rest of the evening, a normal evening, Nicolas hangs out on the computer testing something, and she just waits. Night ripens outside the window like a black boil.


    The ghost appears just in time. He walks casually into the room and sinks into the chair next to Nicolas. For a while, the two of them stare at the screen together. Gail examines him, trying to find a weak spot. Tall, pale, unhealthy skin colour, as if he hadn''t seen the sun in a long time. How would he have seen the sun, anyway?


    Gail doesn''t know where ghosts spend the day. The underworld is probably not such a strange answer. She tenses when the ghost places a skinny, pale hand on Nicolas''s shoulder. The next thing that happens is exactly the same like before. Her friend''s face goes sallow. He switches off the programme he''s been working on all evening and launches the game. That''s it. All night just chasing this bloody level forty.


    The ghost smiles at her with a gnarled mouth. She gives him the middle finger.


    ¡®Keep him inside. Otherwise, I promise - I''ll find you.¡¯


    Gail quietly slips out of the flat. Locks the door with the key. Checks it. Checks it again.  Let fall a few drops of water under the threshold with which she personally washed one of the many dead yesterday. In the morning twilight, they sprout through the city like pale mushrooms. The ghosts are not attracted to the dead. She hopes this water will take away the scent of life and their sense of smell at the same time.


    Gail throws her hood over her eyes and glides silently down the stairs.


    Sometimes she even envies Nicolas. One tiny chamber in the Underworld is probably calmer than the myriad of frightening halls she have to walk through. All night. Night after night.


    Night after night¡­