Ghost and Wednesday Anne Ryden
‘It’s okay,’ Wednesday once whispered to no-one in particular. Ghost and Wednesday have a favourite game. ‘Step. On. The. Black!’ Ghost releases the light’s reflection, and the dogs complete their leaps in the dark, throwing themselves into a fight. ‘Break your sculptor’s back!’ Wednesday gazes into a chandelier and the light recaptures the dogs in a tumble of teeth and legs. The caverns fill with their laughter. When the visitors are in, Ghost and Wednesday try to keep the dogs in place. But it is difficult not to blink when you stare into a light for a long time, and not to shimmy when your shroud makes such beautiful folds. Once, when Ghost shimmied just as Wednesday blinked, the silvergulls scavenging near the dogs accidentally became part of the exhibition. ‘It’s okay,’ Wednesday whispered to Ghost then. ‘You didn’t know what could happen.’ The visitors fill the caverns with wonder at the movement in stillness and admiration of the exquisite craft. But in one place, they all become silent. Wednesday mustn’t look. ‘Step on the black,’ Wednesday keeps one half of the chant going. ‘Break your sculptor’s back,’ Ghost the other. The dogs are shiny black under the lights, their teeth too white. Like the dogs frozen mid-leap, the visitors are briefly frozen in place by unheard growls, though soon emboldened by invisible leashes. 72
