The Exorcist
For the first time in weeks Bortor was lying in a bed. His own bed, even. It was a wonderful change from the quater-awful long-distance train. He couldn't understand how Gredeon was willing to take that trip every half a year. If it was up to Bortor, he'd spend the winter holiday at the boarding school rather than ride that horrible train home and back again. He could swear he had never felt so weary in his life.And still he was unable to sleep.
It happened sometimes, ever since the… incident. Some nights, Bortor simply wouldn't sleep. He considered it a part of his punishment. He'd just light a candle and wait the night away.
Tiredly, he snorted a laugh. Hell, if this was the extent of his punishment, he had got off easily.
The Brokenhoodian was staring up at the dancing candlelight shadows on the ceiling when the door creaked. Bortor's head whipped toward the entrance but nobody came in. At first. Then, slowly, the door opened and a tall cloaked figure slipped inside. The flickering candle was blown out in a gust of draught but not before Bortor could catch a glimpse of a bone-white skull and long horns.
Bortor's body went cold. It was – it was this again.
The cloaked figure came closer to the bed. Its eye sockets were glowing red. Bortor clutched at the covers, unable to move with terror. The apparition's eye sockets were glowing green. It towered over him. Shadows were drawing closer.
Don't hurt me, Bortor wanted to say. He couldn't find his voice.
“Hypen Nupen,” the Monkey Mage said, “is dead.”
“Oh fuck,” slipped out of Bortor as he sagged back with relief. “Gred, for Quater's sake, you scared the cr… the wits out of me! Is that the goat skull from the hall? That glowing effect's really something, how do you get it to change colour? The twins helped you with that, huh? Yeah, great prank, I think I wet myself, heh hehe.” Silence. “Gred?”
“Hypen Nupen is dead,” his little brother repeated.
“Yes, he is, what about it… Gred? …Gred?”
Gredeon pushed the goat skull up to reveal his face. The red and green glow was no trick. It was the whites of Gred's eyes that was glowing.
Gred placed a palm on Bortor's chest, pressing him into the bed. “H-Hypen…” His voice broke.
“Gred, what are you doing?”
“Hypen Nupen is dead!” Gred cried out, yanking a wooden stake from his belt. His hands were shaking like crazy as he raised the stake in the air.
“Stop-”
Gred drove the wooden stake into Bortor's chest.
It wasn't deep enough.
Gasping and crying with pain Bortor couldn't lift a hand as Gred placed both his palms atop the wooden stake and pushed it down with his entire weight. Bortor screamed as the stake pierced through his stomach and came out through his back.
Green glow. Gredeon took his brother's hand and placed it at his side, palm up. Red glow. He drove another wooden stake through the centre of it, crushing the blind eye. Green glow. Bortor was weeping and pleading as his little brother walked around the bed and produced a third stake.
Broken sobs were the only sound in the room long after Gredeon had left.
It took very long until Bortor gathered his wits enough to realise he wasn't going to die.
The wounds didn't hurt as much as they first had. Steeling himself Bortor moved his right hand upward. Pain shot up his arm but he didn't relent. Eventually his palm leaned against the upper end of the stake and he pulled it out of the mattress.
With the free hand Bortor extracted the stake from his chest. The acrid smell of half-digested food would have made his stomach turn, if it was still able to.
While Bortor was pulling the final spike out of his left hand, he noticed a rough “B” engraved on its top. Suddenly he felt a lot worse.
“Why, Gred,” he whispered, looking toward the ajar door.
Walking was a bad idea. Walking was the worst idea. Arms wrapped around his middle Bortor was limping along the hallway. He had to know if… there were other letters too…
Gred's room was the nearest. It was covered with wooden chips and splinters. Bortor recalled that Gredeon had asked for oak tree branches as soon as they had arrived from the boarding school.
Then… Ceola's room. Bortor would have vomited there if he could. He would have fainted if he could. He did not want to remember his older sister's body with a single wooden stake with the letter C thrust in the middle of her forehead.
He stumbled on, trying very hard to push the rushing hatred out of his mind. Maybe Gred had a reason, maybe this wasn't…
Bortor sagged to his knees and laughed crazily. It was a nightmare! A bad one, very bad one, but a nightmare nonetheless.
It felt real…
At any rate, he had to see his family. He had to check on them… If it was… part of the punishment… he had to see… had to see…
Alan's room was empty.
Suddenly a blood-curdling scream bounced off the hallway walls. It took Bortor a moment to recognise it. The twins. He staggered faster.
More shouts escaped into the hallway, erratic talking, a single helpless cry. Bortor barged into the open door of Ottimo and Tuborg's bedroom.
The twins were standing hip to hip on one side of the room, shaking badly. As usual their hands were clasped toge… nope. Bortor moaned as he saw that both their hands were impaled by a single wooden stake.
“Bortor,” Tuborg gasped, “are you alri… no, no, no, you aren't. Oh Quater.”
Gred was pressed up against the wall on the opposite side of the room, a thick steel cable curled around his waist. Eyes flashing green and red, he struggled to break loose.
“Let me go!” he cried out. “Please! Bortor – I – I'm sorry. Please let me go. I have to do this! Please.”
Bortor just stood there, mortified. Gred's black cloak was torn, revealing a large leather pouch tied to his belt. In it Bortor counted six more wooden stakes. Gred continued pleading. I'm sorry, I didn't want to, I have to. I don't have time.
Gradually Gredeon stopped speaking. The fierce glow of his eyes dimmed and he hung his head.
“Why?” Bortor whispered into the silence. “Why this-” he pointed at the twins, “why this-” he showed his own mutilated hands, “why… why…” The words wouldn't leave his mouth, not in front of the twins, “Why did you kill Ceola?”
Ottimo and Tuborg stared at Bortor, wide eyes begging: this is not true, is it?
“Who killed me?” a voice from the afterlife asked softly.
Bortor jumped up; he cried out as he jostled his injuries. Ceola was standing in the hallway behind him, leaning heavily on Alan. There was a horrible gaping hole in her forehead.
“You're alive,” Bortor gasped, tears springing to his eyes. “How-”
Alan answered: “I pulled the stake out… And she opened her eyes.”
“Who was it?” Ceola asked insistently. Speechless, eyes still fixed at the hole in her head (he could see straight through her skull!) , Bortor motioned her in.
Ceola clung to Alan tighter when she saw her little brother fixed against the wall. “Gred,” she breathed. “Your eyes…”
Gredeon gazed at her, pleading. He, too, couldn't take his eyes away from the wound on her forehead.
Ceola moved forward.
“Stop!” the twins called out. “Don't come near him.”
“It's alright,” she glanced over her shoulder. “He won't hurt me.” Standing in front of Gred she – Bortor couldn't believe his eyes – gave him a kind smile. “It must be hard,” she all but whispered. “Do you have to cleanse everyone?”
Gredeon nodded.
“How many are left?”
“One for Ottimo and Tuborg,” Gred answered shakily, “three for dad, two for mum.”
Ceola sighed and hugged him. The tall but skinny Brokenhoodian melted into the embrace. Hiding his face behind her bobbing stems he made a few disparate sobs before pulling himself together. He raised a hand and covered the wound on the back of Ceola's head. Then he said a word.
Bortor flinched back, entirely certain that pain was imminent. But no pain came. Instead the twins gave a unison gasp and came to their knees.
Breathing heavily, Gred let his hand fall to his side, revealing a hole much smaller and cleaner.
“Ah,” Ceola felt her forehead. “Thank you but – you shouldn't have. Save your strength.”
“I'm sorry,” Gred whimpered. “I can't… can't help it, I have to. You understand, don't you? That I don't get a choice?”
“I understand,” Ceola confirmed. “I'll help you.”
“Whoa. WHOA,” Ottimo cut in. “Explain, please. What the hell is going on?” he asked angrily, raising his and Tuborg's impaled hands.
“Yes, an explanation would be nice,” Alan asked with venom.
Ceola turned toward them. “He's an exorcist,” she said. “He has to cleanse his family tonight, else everybody's black magic will devour him. Now if you'll let him finish the job? He only has until sunrise.” She turned toward the twins. “Let him free.”
“And let him destroy the rest of our palm eyes?” Ottimo spat.
Ceola rolled her eyes. She pointed at her forehead.
“Good point,” Tuborg mumbled.
“That word,” Bortor blurted out, grabbing Gred's attention, “was it… white…?”
Gredeon nodded his head.
“Ah hahaha…” Bortor laughed weakly. He was aware how strangely everybody looked at him, then how everyone's expressions turned alarmed. The word was echoing in his head when the world vanished.
Dawn was breaking when Bortor became aware of himself. His hands were bandaged and so was his chest. He turned his head to the side and saw Gred, exhausted and smiling.
“It's done,” his little brother told him. Bortor's lips twitched in an attempt at a smile.
“No more sleepless night, then?”
Gredeon shook his head. His smile faltered. “Hypen Nupen is dead,” he said and began crying.
