The camera is placed high up, presumably in a cranny in the rock wall. We are inside a cave-like structure, lit only by fire torches and candles. A stone table, much like a rudimentary altar, stands in the center; it is draped with cloth and tapestries of the Mala and Fairy Island tradition. Blackberries crown the head of the altar, while hot stones steam at the foot.
Naida stands near the camera, blocking some of the right-hand view. To the left stand men and women, none younger than sixty, and Naida’s grandmother herself.
“Come, child,” she says, beckoning Naida forward.
Naida complies, but her movements are weak and slow.
She walks around the altar and stands beside her grandmother, looking up at her and blinking hard.
“We have come to a decision. There is a battle ahead. But you aren’t strong enough to face it. We will cleanse you, purify you, and your body will release its toxins. Time is of the essence, but there is no hope if you are too weak to fight.”
Naida blinks slowly.
Seanmhair nods to two older men to her left and right. They rub something in their hands, a kind of oil, and then they smooth it over Naida’s face. She closes her eyes and lets herself fall. The men lift her carefully onto the altar, her head just beneath the berries, her feet on the warm stones.
Water is poured onto the stones under Naida’s feet as well as onto several buckets containing stones around the room, so that the camera mists over.
Seanmhair nods. “Let us begin.”
The following footage lasts most of a day. Naida is undressed, bathed in warm water, wrapped in large leaves, bathed again, and then dressed in a white cotton dress. Seanmhair removes the stinking drains under her chin and cleans the wounds. They pus, and Naida sweats and moans in her fever.
The holes are packed with some kind of clay and left.
Seanmhair keeps up a constant prayer and a constant muttering, even as Naida’s body begins to seize and convulse.
And then the camera dies.
13 June 2005
It’s been five days. Seanmhair and the family locked me in the clean hut. They lit the sacred fires, they burned the holly and the rowan, and I sweated as they poured water over the hot stones, steaming the entire place until the pain began to pass. I felt like I was being drugged, or carried away, and I welcomed it. I was somewhere else for most of it.
The physical pain is less, but the pain in my mind is greater.
The thing is speaking to me again. In some strange (and dangerous) way, I feel closer to Kaitie because it’s in my head. It shared our bodies, so I know how she must have felt in there, both in sharing her body with Carly, and later, sharing it with this thing.
Scott is angry with me, and Jeanie is bewildered. They didn’t know what was happening, and Jeanie says Scott thought they were torturing me or killing me. She had to physically restrain him from barging in. No one would speak to them, only brought them food three times a day. And Seanmhair, of course, was nowhere to be found. But he doesn’t understand. This demon, it messes with you. Talks to you, suggests things. You start seeing things—like shadow people. You think you’re not alone; that someone has come into the room with you, but when you turn, you are alone. Only, you’re not.
Not really.
I was dying, I write to him. I had to be cleansed.
“Of what?” he snapped. “I don’t like this shit, Naids. God, do you even remember what happened at Elmbridge? And you’re playing with this stuff again—”
He turned violently away. I thought he might punch something, the rage and tension were so built up inside him.
Jeanie bit her lip. “Yeah, mate. Are you sure this is the right thing? I know these lot are your family an’ all, but they seem a bit bonkers to me. I think maybe… maybe Scott’s right. We should leave.”
I flung my arms up and scribbled a furious note. You don’t know what’s going on!
She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Scott… he told me everything that happened.”
I glared at Scott, his betrayal stinging my veins.
“She had a right to know,” he said, staring at me hard.
I was furious.
“People died, Naida. Jeanie’s here. She has a right to know what could happen.”
I blinked.
Oh God. He was right.
I nodded, handed them another note.
He’s right. You both need to leave. Now. Leave now.
“You’re coming with us,” Scott said, stepping forward and reaching for me. I backed away, shaking my head.
“Why are you doing this?” he snapped. “Why are you playing with this again? You know what can happen! Do you want to cut out your eyes next?!”
I closed my eyes, willing the terrible image away. He paced and sighed and muttered while I wrote.
What I did was to save my friends. Carly and Kaitlyn, remember them? Only I got Kaitie infected with a demon, and she killed herself trying to contain it! But it was a trickster. Some of it or all of it ended up in me. Inside ME, Scott. I am a bomb waiting to explode! I’ve been carrying what it forced into me since that day and sooner or later, my will is going to break—if that happens, it’s the end. Of everything.
He read the note several times, then passed it to Jeanie.
“You believe this stuff, don’t you?” she said. I had never seen her bewildered before.
I nodded. Wrote: It’s true.
“Blimey, you are mental,” she said, but she was smiling as she said it.
I took her hand, implored her with my eyes.
“You know, that fever gave you some fucked-up puppy-dog eyes, Chounan.”
I smiled at her.
“Yeah, all right. I’ve not got anywhere else to be anyway.”
Scott shook his head and walked away. He never looked back at me once.
Why is it getting stronger, even here in Fairy Island?
I tried to talk to it. I am a fool.
It heard me.
Now it talks to me in her voice.
Kaitlyn’s voice is in my head.
And I don’t want to fight her.