"Dock leaf, dock leaf, in and out, take the sting of the nettle out," I repeatedly recited while I salved my stinging legs with God's good leaves.

As I did so, a calm came over me, more so when a fluttering Crow landed on the post by the lagoon.

"Hello Crow," I said, starting a fresh dock leaf on another hive, "Caw," he replied.

I looked at him, "I wish you could talk to tell me about this secret

stuff that's going on."

When he didn't respond, I continued talking, "My sister's changed,

you know, something's happened to her." I continued salving my legs, ruminating on whether to say what I was thinking – aloud.

"Caw, caw, caw," said Crow, prompting me to look at him and say the unsayable – "I think she's possessed."

I put the dock leaves down and stood up to explain more, "Spirits of dead people can go inside alive people, you know, I've read about it in my comics and stuff." I felt suddenly purged for articulating what I'd been frightened to do so.

"There's no other reason for her change, Crow; she's been possessed by a spirit." I threw the dock leaves down and stood up, my mind whirring, "I have to go back," I said, compelled by a need to observe Maria. Crow took off and glided in the direction of the farm, with me in hot pursuit.

......

Crow settled on the corner of the byre, quietly watching. When he took off again, he soared along the avenue that led to St Patrick's College. Despite my unease with the place, I didn't hesitate in my pursuit.

The sound of other kids accompanied my run – bursts of Sunday morning merriment emanated from the orchards that surrounded me, as boys, borders from the school, indulged in illicit adventure.

My sprint continued until the boys' noise dimmed in the distance, giving way to other sounds. I ran towards a cacophony of chaos. Angry voices transmuted into swelling cheers of elation, which suddenly dropped to drones of disappointment.

These sounds ebbed and flowed like an ocean storm carrying me along in their wake until I burst through the clearing on a great choral crescendo.

I stopped abruptly; this chorus was not for my arrival. No, a goal had been scored. Players and spectators cheered in celebration of the heroic, game-winning scorer.

Deflated, I placed my hands on my knees and dropped my head to recover from my sprint. Crow had led me to a football match, not my sister.

......

This world I'd run into was alien to me. I didn't understand the language, the culture, or the physicality of this game that was so revered, yet I secretly reviled.

The cheering chorus continued, and I lifted my head to watch the celebrations. My focus was on the players as they milled about the pitch; I saw that they weren't men but boys on the cusp of maturity. Their parents mostly made up the spectators, who swarmed the pitch; proud fathers back-slapped triumphant sons while loving mothers soothed their dearly defeated.

But a splash of red pulled me from the celebrations – Maria's red wellies.

Instinctively, I crouched like a wily fox staking out its prey. My sister was on a grassy embankment that led down onto the football pitch. My heart lurched when I saw she was sitting next to him – the boy with Bruce Lee hair.

The sight of them together instilled in me a strange feeling for which I had no name. All I knew was that I had never felt like this before; it was an unpleasant emotion. I wanted it to go away, but the more I looked at them, the deeper this feeling became. Soon, I had to look away before I was swallowed whole by this strange pang that pulled me to my knees.

Sitting on my heels, I stared at green grass, trying to make sense of this monstrous feeling. It was a type of sadness, laced with anger, and accompanied by a looping question, "Why was Maria with him when she used to be with me?"

......

Soon, I realised that sitting on my hunkers watching my sister interact with this boy, a stranger to me, was odd behaviour. So, I rose and walked towards them, trying to affect a casual confidence suggesting I'd chanced upon them rather than sought them out.

The boy with Bruce Lee hair noticed my arrival, pointing towards me. Maria jumped up, "Gerard, what you doing here? I thought you were ghost-hunting?" she asked. I thought I heard annoyance in her question but couldn't be sure, so I said, "I heard all the cheering and wondered what it was for." I was pleased with the authenticity of my reply.

The boy with Bruce Lee hair looked towards the players departing the pitch, "You missed a great game; some of those boys are future superstars. They made the whole county proud when they lifted the cup for Cavan," he said, bristling with pride.

His pride puzzled me, "Why did they lift a cup?"

He smiled, "It wasn't any auld cup wee-fella, t'was the Hogan Cup, the winners' trophy for the All-Ireland Gaelic Football Championships."

I lowered my head to disguise another reddening face.

Maria's voice lifted me, "Have you had any sightings?" she asked.

"Not yet."

Looking at her, I was struck by her height. She seemed taller; she stood the same height as the boy with Bruce Lee hair.

He leant towards me, "I've seen him," he said in a hushed voice.

My head shot up, "Have you, what does he look like?"

He leaned back, "Ah now, I only seen him in the dark, but I can tell you, he's a fierce tall fella."

One of his words hit me like a bolt – "fierce."

Fierce was not a word I'd associated with the tall-man. On the contrary, my image of him, moulded by Dad, was one of a kind soul, searching for something lost, a spirit far removed from anything fierce.

My mind began to piece together threads: the change in Maria, her new height, the secrets, the Rosary reciting Guardians of the congregation – the tall-man.

My new understanding of the tall-man's fierce malevolency led me to a horrific possibility and a light-bulb-moment – perhaps my beloved sister was possessed by him!

My heart sank as my head soared with scenarios.

A scene from the Cathedral returned to me, the Rosary praying led by the lady who whispered secrets in Connelly Brother's shop.

My hand flew to my pocket where I felt the outline of the Rosary beads I'd purchased in the presence of this lady.

Fate was leading me towards the truth.

I needed proof of possession – I pulled the beads from my pocket and thrust the plastic cross towards Maria, "Do you like my new Rosary beads?" I asked calmly.

She instantly recoiled, screaming, a piercing, ear-splitting screech. The extremity of her reaction to the sacred cross was all the proof I needed – an evil spirit, the fierce tall-man, possessed my sister.

Maria continued to scream and flail wildly, even when I put the beads back in my pocket.

Turning away, I heard the boy with Bruce Lee hair, "It's only a wasp. Stop trying to swipe it; you'll make it more vexed," he said, his words laced with laughter.

But I saw no wasp; I saw the truth.

......

Two emotions I understood all too clearly engulfed me: fear and loneliness.

I feared for Maria, and in losing her to a demon, I felt lonely without her kinship. But more so, the burden of knowing pressed heavily on my slight shoulders. This was my secret, and I had to keep it sealed tight to save my sister.

This responsibility made me feel even more alone, isolated by the knowing.