“Whatttttttttttt are you doing?”

“Are you real?”

“Are yyyyyyou?”

“I am,” I retorted. But then I had this strange sensation that he, with his whispers and scaly armor, was the real one, and I was just a thing wearing a Carly suit.

He seemed to laugh, and as he laughed, he curled himself about my neck three times. “A real girl, tttttttttttalking to a ssssssssnake. Are you ssssssssure you’re real?”

“What do you want?”

I began to shiver, but not from fear, and it repulsed me.

“I’m ttttthhhhhinking of doorrrrrsssssss and windowsssssss,” he told me; his orange eyes, so serpentine and unfathomable, stared right into mine.

“Doors and windows?”

“What, do you ttttttttthhhhink issssssssss behind a pane of glasssssssssssss?”

I felt utter terror at his words.

“Whatttttttt if there’ssssss nottttthhhhhing on ttttthhhhe otttthhhher ssssside?”

“There’s always something,” I told him. “There has to be…”

The brille on his eyes began to cloud over. “Notttthhhhhing issssss… ssssssometimesssssss real.”

“Please,” I said, feeling his body around my neck, slowly tightening. And I shivered again, and felt a desperate heat flush my cheeks. “Please stop.”

He turned those milky eyes on me. “Whyyyyy, when you like ittttt sssssssso?”

I gasped and raised my chin, trying to gain some space. “What are you? Are you really a snake?”

He began to shed. “Are yo o o o o u… real l l l l y a girl?”

Am I, Dee?

60

On 22 December 2004, Carly “Kaitlyn” Johnson was allowed to receive a visitor. The visit was recorded on the CCTV camera in the visitor room and has been transcribed below.

CCTV Camera Footage

Wednesday, 22 December 2004, 2:15 PM

Claydon Youth Psychiatric Facility

A low buzz sounds as the nurse lets Naida Chounan-Dupre into the visiting room. Naida steps inside, her eyes dull but alert. She looks at the guard for a moment, perhaps to ensure that he leaves, and then turns to Kaitlyn, who sits on a plastic chair in the center of the room, motionless. Her wrists are cuffed with soft restraints; Naida eyes them and bites her lips.

“I’m surprised you came,” Kaitlyn says; she doesn’t stand. Though her words are hostile, their delivery is weak—fragile as rice paper.

Naida sits down in the chair opposite Kaitlyn; she seems affected by Kaitlyn’s appearance, which is somehow muted since the Naida Camera Footage, as though washed of vital color.

“Of course I came.” Her eyes dart left and right. “You’re my best friend.”

Kaitlyn doesn’t reply for a moment, but her eyes seem to take Naida in with precision. “They… they didn’t tell you? About what’s happened?”

“Yes… I know exactly what’s happened. I came to see how you are.”

Kaitlyn nods. “Thank you. I… I’ve been better.”

“Everyone’s been so worried.” Naida glances around again, finally spotting the camera. “They can’t wait to have you back, hopscotching around.”

“I miss them too. Why aren’t you home for the holidays?”

“I’m staying at Elmbridge over Christmas.”

Kaitlyn frowns. “Why?”

Naida smiles but doesn’t answer. Eventually, she says, “Ari’s been asking after you. I said you’d be back as soon as you were well. He’s staying for Christmas too. And Scott and Brett.”

Kaitlyn turns her head to the side, resting her chin on her sharp shoulder like a bird perched on an outcropping. “I see. Thank him for me. Tell him… tell him I—” She breaks off as one dry sob breaks free.

Naida’s hand shoots forward to grasp Kaitlyn’s. She squeezes, then lets go. Kaitlyn balls her hand into a fist, eyes fixed on Naida, then snatches her hand into her lap.

Naida swallows. “Ari… he wanted to tell you that the chapel’s been pretty dank and dark, and he doesn’t like to go there much anymore. He prefers the main building… mostly the lower level.”

There’s a small pause and the briefest hesitation from Kaitlyn.

She swallows, squeezing her eyes closed. “They’re saying I’m crazy, Naida.” She says it in a rush. “They say I’m Carly and that I’m crazy—they say I need help—they say—”

“No.” Naida says it firmly, her voice low and her lips tight. “Never. Never let them tell you that, Kait. You’re not crazy—do you hear me?”

Kaitlyn presses her fists to her eyes. “I don’t know anymore—I don’t know what’s real. They sedated me, and I couldn’t get out of the Dead House. The Voice… I hear his whispering so close—” She breaks off once again, tearing her fists away from her eyes, and her voice grows softly shrill. “I think he’s trying to get inside me. Naida… that’s not normal, is it?”

Naida leans forward and drops her voice. “You listen to me, okay? You’re not crazy. I think someone’s trying to make you think you are. You’ll be out of here before you know it. Just stay calm, stay focused.” Her eyes dart to Kaitlyn’s hands and back up to her face. “All right?”

Kaitlyn begins to shake, slowly at first, and then more violently. “They won’t let me go, Naida,” she breathes. “They’ll lock me in here forever! I heard Carly screaming for me to help her, but I can’t—I don’t know how!”

The guard buzzes into the room. “Calm down, Johnson, or this meeting will be over in a second flat.”

But it’s too late.

Kaitlyn locks her eyes on Naida’s and yanks on her restraints. “Get me out of here, Naida! The Voice is getting closer! Get me out of here! Get me out!”

Naida stumbles out of her seat and covers her mouth.

The guard moves to intercept Kaitlyn. “I warned you.”

Kaitlyn throws herself out of the chair, yanking her arms violently to try to break free. She must pull a stitch, because the bandages covering her left arm bleed red. Naida begins to cry, watching as the guard grabs Kaitlyn.

“Naida!”

“You can leave,” the guard shouts as two health-care assistants rush into the room from the rear door. “Now!”

Naida, shaking her head, hand still pressed to her mouth, flees the interview room and out of camera shot. The assistants remove the restraints and carry a hysterical Kaitlyn from the meeting room. An eerie silence follows the slow, mechanical sweep of the weighted door.

61

The Johnson Claydon Diaries

Twenty-fourth Entry

Naida came.

She slipped me a note:

Kaitlyn,

You have to get out of there, I know you can. Carly told me how you’d break out at night and go wandering during the summer. You have to come back to Elmbridge. Down to the basement, which Ari showed me. Avoid the chapel—we can’t risk you being seen—the basement is safer. In that little side room, okay? Weird things have happened since you left, and I’m convinced that a Shyan is working you. That’s a Mala priest who has tainted himself with dark conjurings.

Someone’s been trying to bind me with tricks, I think because I’ve been looking into Carly’s disappearance, but they’re using Grundi, not Mala. That’s dark magic, plain and simple. But they don’t know that I know a bit about Grundi, so I recognize it.

I think I know who’s doing this—I mean, maybe. I’ll explain more when I see you. If you absolutely have to reach me, use this number: