Glenda

Catherine appeared in the doorway.

Tall with long white hair and plump pink lips, the girl could have looked like an ordinary blonde from a teen comedy, if not for the bloody ax in her hand.

On a white silk dress, small red splashes outlined a cross pattern.

— Did you kill the deacon?

— Yeah. The old scoundrel decided to reproach me. — the girl answered coolly in the doorway and approached Glenda, who was lying motionless. A sharp heel pressed against his bare hand. — Get up, whore. You stole my boyfriend and then started stalking me, and you expect me to leave everything as it is?

— Why did you kill Graham, he’s still just a child?

— He killed himself, I only told about the death of his brother!

— You are sick, you need a specialist. Let me help you deal with this. — Glenda made an attempt to appease her executioner.

— Shut up, lousy British! Do you think you can pretend to be a psychologist? You won't live anymore. After all, you see, we are alone, and I have obvious advantages. — the blonde turned the ax near the victim’s face, a dried drop of blood fell right into her eye.

Glenda tried to get up to clear herself and gradually succeeded.

Barely standing on her feet, resting her hands on her knees, Glenda looked from under her brows at her tormentor.

— What do you want? Why haven't you killed me yet?

— Sit down! — shouted a slightly excited Catherine, to again show her superiority. The brunette carefully sat down on the sofa. — Look out the window. Do you see anything there?

Glenda turned behind her, pulled the curtains, but couldn't see anything. This happens if the window is sealed with opaque fabric. Then she looked ahead, trying to see what was visible in the windows of the hall. But there was nothing there either, thick blackness and that’s it.

— What does it mean?

— I don’t know, tell me. — the blonde with the ax answered sarcastically. “Some kind of devilry is happening in the city.” The radio and television don't work, the telephone connection has disappeared, and the electricity…

— What?

— There is light only in your house.

— You are lying? — Glenda involuntarily chuckled. — If you want to keep me locked up, keep me locked up. It's enough for me that you have a weapon. To do this, you don’t need to invent that the outside world is dangerous. I won't run away anywhere.

— Stupid! — Katherine grabbed Glenda by her long black hair, which had become quite tangled today, and dragged her towards the exit. — Look! — she threw her out onto the porch. — Walk around, do you see anything?

— Fine. But turn off the light, it's distracting.

In response, there was a dull laugh. Glenda repeated.

— Turn off the light, please, I won’t run away.

— It won't turn off, stupid. The lights don't turn off in your damn house, okay?

Glenda ran inside and tried to flick the switches. Katerina is right, no reaction. Now more alarmed, but also agile, she rushed to the electrical panel. The door was open.

— Are you taking me for a complete fool? — the uninvited guest said sarcastically — I’ve already tried everything here.

— So what should we do? — Glenda asked, as if asking a friend, more concerned about what was outside.

— I don’t know, but I can’t kill you.

— Why?

— Somehow everything is tied to you?

— I don't understand.

— While I was driving here, the lights behind me went out one after another. You're some kind of witch.

— Nonsense, the same thing happened to me when I… That night when you…

— Killed Jornas? — the blonde with the ax grinned.

— Yes. — Glenda said quietly.

— And just so you know, my father killed Wild Penny when he found out that this prostitute was blackmailing him. That evening he called dad to say that he was refusing to protect his daughter or he would tell everything to the press.

The mistress of the house swallowed, but a lump stuck in her dry throat and she coughed.

A blonde in a bloody dress went to the kitchen to get water. With a glass in one hand and a swinging ax in the other, it was hard to believe her thoughtfulness; anyone who saw this would rather not be there.

— Drink, you’ll still need a voice to tell me how to get out of here.

Glenda took a long sip, like she did at the police station when she was coming up with an answer.

“I don't really know what's going on. I do not know what to do. It's like a quest where there are two people in a locked room, me and a maniac. You seem to know that there are answers, but you just can’t guess. You are asked leading questions and you search around the entire perimeter of the room until you find the treasured key. But that's not the case here. There are no questions from outside voices, no answers or keys. Hopelessness in its most terrible form. Or maybe there is?”

— There are ghosts in this house. — Glenda tried to start.

— Yeah. And also aliens and God himself.

— It’s true, I heard them right before Jornas’ death.

— You, I’m looking completely cuckoo. Even stronger than me.

— Yes, listen. If we call this ghost, then maybe it will tell us what is happening.