"Dancing with the Devil." | Larry Stylinson. TRANSLATION

II. "God Bless You"

One day had passed since the event, that strange accident where Harry didn't die but it seemed as if he did, and in which a boy told him to get rid of the crucifix. In addition, he felt a presence staring at him, heard footsteps behind him, and the annoying ringing in his left ear. What could he say in his defense? Absolutely nothing. He had asked for it, he had wanted it, and if it had worked, he still wanted it.

However, he was scared... and he wouldn't take off his necklace.

As he researched the book where the invocation was, once the spirit was ignored, it would get bored and eventually go away on its own. Did the Devil himself go away? Did Harry need to go to a healer or something? No.

Of course not! He was going to be brave, he was going to get used to living with a stare on him, with an irritating ringing in his ear, and he was going to forget all about that strange resurrection. He would pretend he didn't see the color blood in his doctor's eyes, and that the boy in the hospital had some kind of mental illness, which made him hallucinate and see things that weren't there. Maybe he could lie to himself and think he was mentally ill, too! And he did.

It was then that day, the second -to be exact- that Harry cursed/blessed for life.

The Styles were on their way to church in Des' green Triumph Herald. The curly boy was wearing his casual clothes: a white T-shirt, buttoned up to the neck and inside a pair of black shorts. White socks covered his legs up to his knees, and black buckle kickers made him look elegant. You'd think he looked like a ten-year-old for his age, but that's the way his mother bought clothes for him, and since he was small it was even more confusing.

It was okay, because most people at Holmes Chapel dressed like that, even if at their school they thought he looked like an idiot for not wearing what most eighteen-year-olds wore.

Gemma looked very pretty in her knee-length dress and flat shoes; all in white. Her mother wore exactly the same, with her hair down beautifully, and her father wore a white shirt and black pants, fresh from the shower.

Everyone was listening to a -obviously religious- tune that the family was enjoying, and they even knew it, but they weren't exaggerated enough to sing it in unison.

Well... a little.

—Uh-oh, —Harry muttered as he watched through the window an accident in the distance on the side of the road where his father was driving.

Gemma tried to watch through her brother's window while Anne covered her eyes and whispered something incomprehensible in a low voice. Des frowned and drove faster, trying to pass quickly so that no one would feel sad or impressed.

Harry came closer to the window, curious, looking through the glass when they were in front of the unknown car in pieces, and time seemed to slow down as he witnessed a totally black, tall, broad-shouldered figure with something long in his hand. It was standing next to one of the bodies on the ground, and even if its eyes could not be seen, the curly boy knew that, at least for a moment, he had that chilling look on him. No officer or nurse seemed to notice it, passing by it as if it weren't there, being impossible to hide.

Was that the thing he had called?

He quickly turned his eyes to the front and swallowed hard the bile that was coming up his throat, pretending everything was fine. Nothing and nobody could remove that image from his mind: the bloody man, with his lost sight and somewhat purple skin. The nurses and policemen talking among themselves, while that figure was there... as if nothing had happened.

—Mom, Harry's acting weird, —Gemma warned, looking at her younger brother strangely, pulling back a little so as not to be vomited on.

Anne peeked between the front seats quickly, and Des just looked at her son in the rearview mirror, trying to hide the concern.