I looked over at the mask again. “What if…” I said. Did I dare go there? I looked at this girl of mine, so like me. Me and not me.
I remembered when she was little, how we used to play a game where we’d try to read each other’s minds. I’d say, “I’m thinking of a color,” and Izzy would shout, “It’s orange!” and I’d laugh and take her in my arms and say she’d read my mind because she was my special girl and she knew me better than anyone.
“What, Mom?” Izzy asked.
I looked back to the mask on the dresser. The unlit red eyes watching me, daring me to go on.
“You know the stories about Krampus? Where do you think they came from?”
Izzy shrugged. “Long dark winters. A time when people weren’t afraid to scare children into being good with freaky stories. Like all those fucked-up fairy tales. The original Grimm stuff is pretty dark, right?”
I nodded. “But do you think there was any truth to them? The stories about Krampus?”
Izzy barked out a nervous laugh. “Um… are you asking if I think Krampus is real? That’s kind of like asking if Santa might be real, right?”
“There have been stories about dark spirits, demons, possession, for as long as people have been recording stories.”
“Wait,” Izzy said. “Are you saying… what… that you think Grandma is possessed?” She blinked at me. “By… Krampus?”
We both laughed nervously.
I held my breath, wondering if it was a mistake to confide in her like this. But if I could get her to believe me, or to at least be open to the possibility, then I’d have an ally. Someone to help me watch, gather clues, figure out what to do next. Someone to help me save Olivia.
I shook my head. “Not Krampus,” I said. “A few days ago, she told me her true name is Azha. I dismissed it at first, but…”
“No fucking way.” Izzy looked away from me and down at her phone, which was still clutched tightly in her hand. Maybe she was going to text Theo an SOS—My mother’s gone round the fucking bend. Send help!
“I’ve talked to Azha, Izzy. And I’ve also talked to my mother. She’s still there, pieces of her. But this Azha, this demon or spirit or alternate personality, whatever it is—it’s stronger. It’s been there a long time.”
“I, I don’t—” Izzy stammered. She looked at me, then at the monitor, where her grandmother and Olivia were communing with each other, then back at me. “I’ve been videoing her every day. I’ve got hours of footage. Interviews and stuff. She just seems like Grandma. She’s tired sometimes. I can tell she’s in pain and sick. But a demon?”
“You see what she wants you to see,” I told her. “The demon in her has worked hard to gain everyone’s trust, Iz.”
“But why? I mean, if the demon is so evil and all-powerful, why be nice?”
“It needs us.”
“Why?”
“I think Azha needs to go into another body once your grandmother dies.” I looked at Izzy, waiting. Then I looked at the monitor: Olivia cuddled up next to my mother.
It didn’t take Izzy long to catch on. Ten seconds, maybe. She was my clever girl.
Her eyes grew huge. “You’re saying it wants Olivia?”
I nodded. “But I’m not going to let it have her.”
“How are you going to stop it?” Izzy asked, her voice high-pitched, little-girlish.
“I’m going to find a way.”
She looked scared. “What are you going to do, Mom?”
“I don’t know yet. I have a few ideas, but nothing solid.”
“Is there going to be like an exorcism or something?” she asked, sounding hopeful. “If there is, could I, like… film it?”
“Izzy! I’m telling you your sister is in danger and you’re thinking about your movie?”
