The man who had escaped said that once they arrived at the camp the first thing they would do to them was to have a “cleansing ceremony” which was just another word for an exorcism during which the Priest and his followers would clean the newcomer of all the bad things and evil demons that possessed them. If a person got the bad thought patterns back they would do another ceremony. When he was asked about how the ceremonies were performed he started crying and ended the interview.
That was the closest anyone had ever come to learning what was going on behind that tall fence I was staring at right now. Where the sect had all its money from there were many guesses. Some said that they had a huge billion-dollar donation back in the nineties, others that they had inherited the money from an old member of the sect who had died a few years ago. Others speculated that people had to donate all of their money to the sect once they joined it and more than one millionaire had joined them over the years. Most famous was one of this country's biggest movie-actresses Isabella Dubois who was known to have given up her entire career and donated all of her money to the sect. She had never commented upon the matter to the press.
Suddenly I noticed Sune; he was walking fast along the fence towards us. A few seconds later he was running. When he approached me he leaned over and whispered:
"Someone is coming out now, I got a picture of someone getting into a car and driving towards the exit. Better get ready when the gate opens."
I nodded and placed myself strategically right in front of the gate so when the car approached and the gates opened I had the best spot. The other journalists didn't suspect anything was going on until they saw the black car and then they started swarming it. The gate opened slowly and the car tried to press its way through the crowd, but they were too many and the driver had to slow down in order not to hit anyone. I knocked on the window in the backseat. Nothing happened. The many photographers blocked the car while shooting pictures, trying to capture whoever was behind the black windows. I knocked on the window again and suddenly it moved. Through a small opening a set of eyes stared at me. I recognized them immediately as those belonging to Isabella Dubois.
"Care to comment on the tragic death of your leader?" I asked.
Isabella's eyes were moist when much to my surprise she spoke: "It is a very great loss not only to our Church but also to the rest of the world."
I felt the other journalists push up behind me forcing me closer to the car. I tried to stand still but it was hard. Sune stood right next to me, shooting picture after picture.
"Do you know who will be the next leader of your Church?" someone yelled behind me.
"Who will take over?" another asked.
"Who's in charge now?" a third person yelled.
"Will you release the members to their families?" I asked.
Isabella Dubois shook her head slowly like she couldn't believe us. Then she rolled down her window further. A great wave of silence washed over all the journalists. It may have been her beauty or her astonishing authenticity that had once spellbound so many from the movie screens all over the country for years. Isabella sighed deeply before she spoke:
"Anyone who comes to our camp comes here by his or her own free will. And they are the lucky ones. What happened last night marks the beginning of the end. Evil will rise all over this land and you will all end up burning in hell."
The journalists stared at her, speechless. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she truly believed what she had just told us.
"Are you saying that the death of the Priest wasn't an ordinary death?" I asked.
"You all think I'm crazy. I know that perfectly well," she said. "But we have known this was coming for years. We have been waiting and preparing for this. Don't say you weren't warned."
"You didn't answer my question," I said.
Isabella looked at me with her icy blue eyes. "No it wasn't an ordinary death. And neither will yours be."
"Was that why you didn't call for an ambulance?" I asked. "The call didn't come from your camp, did it? It came from one of the neighbors."
"You're focusing on the wrong thing," Isabella said.
"Then what is the right thing we should focus on in your opinion?" I asked.
"That this land is damned. We should all be preparing for the end. If that demon can take the Priest it can take anybody."
On that word Isabella rolled her window up and the car started moving down the road. Photographers followed it some of the way taking more pictures. Then it was gone. A journalist approached me. He was an older guy, kind of old school with a green vest, beard and a very laid back attitude.
"Can you believe that story?" he asked. Then he looked at me. "Great questions by the way."
"Thanks."
"Well no use in staying here," the journalist said. "There is a story to be written and they have shrimp and fish filet in the cafeteria at the paper today. Wouldn't miss that, huh?"
I smiled. Knowing his type, he would have a couple of snaps with that as well.
Sune returned just as the journalist left. He handed me his camera. I flicked through the pictures on the display. They were great. He had even captured Isabella in the camp just before she got inside the car. She was talking to a couple of other church members looking serious.
"Perfect," I said and smiled.
CHAPTER 7
NEXT STOP WAS the local people. Arnakke was a very small town of mostly a lot of houses and summer residents. We chose the closest neighbor to the sect's camp and knocked on the door. An elderly woman opened. She introduced herself as Esther, smiled widely and invited us in for coffee. We sat on the couch in her living room that reminded me so much of my grandmother's. Heavy curtains, carpeted floors, old naturalistic paintings on the walls and the windowsills packed with trinkets, birds and small rabbits made in porcelain. The old lady was still smiling when she brought the coffee. She poured some in our cups and offered us Danish butter cookies to go with it.
"I guess you've heard about what happened last night at the camp?" I asked and sipped the coffee. It even tasted like my grandmother's used to. I took in a deep breath and remembered her for a second.
"Oh, yes. Wasn't it awful? Horrible. If I didn't know better I would think he was being tortured."
I nodded and ate my cookie. "Actually we heard it too," Sune said.
"We are here on vacation with our kids and have rented a house on the other side of the big road," I said.
Esther nodded. "Well it wasn't the first time that kind of thing happened, but it was definitely the most horrific one of them."
"What do you mean it wasn't the first time?" I asked and sipped some more coffee. After standing outside for hours in the snow it felt good to get warmed up again.
"Well, we do hear occasional screaming from up there. I don't know what they do to each other. But it doesn't sound nice, that's for sure."
"So you're saying that you've heard it before?" I asked and noted it on my notepad.
"Well not quite the same. Last night was worse than any night I have ever heard, but yes I hear screaming from up there every now and then."
"Do you have any idea what causes it?" Sune asked.
Esther shook her head. "No. But I have called the police more than once. But once they arrive at the camp to check it out they never can find anything, they tell me. Screaming is one thing, but if nobody is hurt or hospitalized then they can't do anything. The Church members tell the police that the screaming is part of a therapy they offer the young kids in order to get rid of their rage." Esther stopped and looked at the window. It was snowing again. "But the screams I hear aren't screams of rage," she said with a small still voice. Then she looked at me. "It's of pain and deep suffering."
Esther picked up her cup and finished her coffee. Then she lifted the pot with a smile. "More coffee anyone?"
I took a refill and flicked through my notes. Esther took my hand. I lifted my head and stared into her eyes. "There are rumors, you know," she said.
br /> "What kind of rumors?"
"There was one kid that disappeared. Many years ago. She was a local kid that they took in because no one else wanted her. Her mother had died from cancer, leukemia and her dad died even before they came here. They were from Ukraine. Back when it was still part of the Soviet Union. They got out of there once the Union fell and they were able to travel. They moved here. Just the mother and the child. But there was something seriously wrong with the kid. Her mother and father had both worked on the Chernobyl plant when the accident happened and all the radiation was spilled. She was pregnant, the mother. The father died a few weeks after, but the mother survived miraculously. She gave birth to Edwina. But she wasn't well. She looked strange. A few months after her birth she had a lump growing out of her head almost as big as her entire head. It made her face crooked. Even her eyes were scary to look at. They glowed greenish, the story goes that it was from the radiation inside of her that she had been exposed to while still in her mother's womb. She looked like a freak and people couldn't stand being near her. So the mother and child moved away for a new beginning. They ended up in our small town where the mother worked at the local grocery store. She kept the girl at home so she wouldn't scare anyone, but rumors started about the mysterious woman and her child that she didn't want the world to see. The young girl would stare from the window at the other kids playing outside in the street, longing to be a part of their play, but once they spotted her they ran away screaming. The mother home schooled her, and she hardly ever left the house."
"Poor kid," Sune said.
"Oh no," Esther exclaimed shaking her head heavily. "See, we all thought the woman kept the child away for her sake, so she wouldn't be bullied, but it was really for our sake. The kid was evil. I don't normally believe in things like this, but she was definitely possessed with something evil. If it was a demon or what I won't go into, but that kid wasn't human. As I said something was terribly wrong inside of her."
"How do you know?" I asked thinking this conversation had taken a strange turn.
Esther sighed. "Once the mother died from the cancer that was eating her for many years, the girl had to be placed in foster care. They found a nice family in Vipperoed, a city close to here. Soon after the family was struck by one accident after another. Not even months later they lost their younger daughter because she fell from a treetop and broke her neck. The parents found her in the yard when they ran to see what had happened. When they looked up into the tree they saw Edwina standing on a branch staring down at the dead girl. They later swore in the police testimony that she was laughing. The kid was that twisted. The family could no longer have her in their home so they gave her back to the authorities. A few months later they were both diagnosed with cancer, leukemia. Just like the girl's mother. Whoever took the girl in after that was struck by deathly accidents or cancer. They all died. In the end the social workers didn't know what to do about Edwina. She was getting more and more strange and would pull out her own hair and pee on the floor. Soon she began to suffer from convulsions. Unable to speak, scream or call for help she would later explain that she felt as if a huge body of weight was sitting on her, on her chest, holding her down. Like a supernatural force. She claimed she heard voices, which told her she was damned and that she was going to 'stew in hell.' Doctors grew concerned when she explained that the voices were giving her orders, they were whispering to her. Her behavior was out of control. They tried to put her in a psychiatric hospital for months, but it didn't improve her behavior. The doctors had to give up. Even strong medicine didn't help. I know all this because my daughter used to work as a social worker. She heard all the stories that were told about 'the Chernobyl-kid.' That's what they called her. It's said that all her victims dream about her in the moments before they die."
I stared at the old woman in disbelief. Never had I heard such a strange story. "So the church took her in?" I asked trying to stay to the facts.
"Yes. No one else would take her so the county accepted it just to get rid of her even if she did fall in the hands of a sect. Barely a teenager the Priest granted mercy on her and like so many before him he believed that he could help her. I guess he didn't succeed. The last thing I heard she had disappeared. No one has seen her in many years. Luckily, I guess. I was afraid she was going to kill them all."
It was with a strange feeling that I said goodbye to Esther. I promised her that her picture would be in the morning paper. I knew it wasn't going to be much of what she had told me that I was going to actually put in the article.
Back in the car Sune exhaled deeply before he turned the key and started the engine. "Are they all completely insane up here?" he asked.
I laughed. "I'm afraid so."
"Let's get back to some normal people," he said and put the car in gear.
I was already looking forward to spending time with the kids and drinking hot chocolate as soon as the article was done.
CHAPTER 8
THEY HELD A meeting. The third one today, Hans Christian thought to himself as he sat down on one of the chair in the meeting room at the camp. People's faces were strained with fear, including his own. The death of their dear leader last night had planted an anxiety among all the church members and especially those who lived at the camp for a long time, like Hans Christian who had been there for twenty-five years.
He had met the Priest back when he was just Anders, a young pastor with ideas that Hans Christian could relate to. Anders had convinced Hans Christian to join him and his cause. Hans Christian had taken cash advances on his dad's credit cards and given Anders all of the money. Hans Christian came from a very wealthy family so with the money they were able to rent the property that they had lived on ever since.
It was an old abandoned school camp where school classes used to come back in the eighties. With his dad's money they rebuilt the place and soon moved in. Hans Christian had helped recruit new members to build the congregation and raise more money for their cause. Anders had some wonderful ideas and Hans Christian had no problem standing behind them and eventually made them his own. His dad had tried to get the money back and filed a lawsuit against both of them, but eventually he dropped the charges, probably because Hans Christian's mother had convinced him to do so. She was a smart woman and knew perfectly well that if they should ever have a hope of seeing their son again, then filing lawsuits probably wasn't the way to do it. Besides too much evil had been between them over the years.
Hans Christian didn't feel bad for taking the money at all. No he thought he had deserved it after all that his dad had put him through. Keeping his mouth shut about the sexual abuse of his older sister that he had discovered by coincidence when he walked in on them in the wine cellar. Hans was only thirteen looking for a bottle of wine to bring to a party. His dad was bent over his sister with his sex in her mouth. Then he had taken a bottle and handed it to him. From that day on they had an agreement. He wouldn't tell about Hans Christian's drinking and stealing expensive wines from his cellar and Hans Christian kept quiet about what he had seen him do to his sister. Hans Christian had never been too fond of his sister anyway so he figured it was a good deal.
Later in sessions with Anders he had spoken about this for the first time and repented his actions for hours kneeling in front of the Priest, till his knees were bleeding. Now Hans Christian was a free man, free from the sin and guilt. He still had scars on his back from the beating Anders had provided him in order to drive out all the evil from his soul, but it had been worth it, every striped scar from the stick. Now he was free.
Hans Christian looked at his friends around the table. It was the first time he had seen their faces like this. It wasn't just the sorrow of having lost their leader and guru Anders the Priest, it wasn't only the insecure future of their church that caused them to suffer and look strained. It wasn't even the mob of journalists waiting outside the fences, waiting for them to make a mistake so they could write their lies in their papers.
No Han
s Christian knew why they were grabbed by this sudden angst. It was the thought that this might be the Priest's prophesy that finally came true. Nobody dared to speak about it but they all thought the same.
The Priest had spoken about it for years. Ever since that night in 1998 when the full moon had shone above Isefjorden just like it did last night. That night when the Chernobyl-kid had looked at him with those green glowing eyes and...
"So what do you think, Hans Christian?" Isabella suddenly asked him.
Isabella Dubois. How he hated that name and those icy eyes. Hans Christian had been the Priest's favorite until she came along and ruined everything. Suddenly the Priest had declared that she was going to be his predecessor that she would take over once he was gone. Hans Christian had loathed her from the beginning. She was a conniving snake. Suddenly Hans Christian was frozen out by the Priest. He was no longer invited to the important meetings where the important decisions were made. He was shoved into the cold and the Priest hardly looked at him anymore. Just because of her. And now since the Priest was gone she suddenly wanted his opinion? Was Hans Christian a part of the leader group again all of a sudden? Did he want to be?
"Well I guess I think it is important that we keep on as usual in order to keep the youngsters calm. They're scared to death. We need to get back to normal at any cost."
Isabella nodded to his surprise. "I couldn't agree more," she said.
Hans Christian was surprised that she had even asked for his advice and he had never thought she would agree with him.
"The worst thing we can do is let panic get the best of us. So let's get back to doing what we normally do and proceed with the ceremonies that we had planned for this week. Anders might not be here anymore, but he still lives on in us. In this place we have built for his cause, for our cause."