Alex by Adam J Nicolai Page A

a pair of rusty chains from a broad tree branch.   It had been part of the house when they had bought it, and when he'd gotten old enough, Alex had loved it.   Now it was twisting with the autumn breeze, banging against the trunk, its chains jingling like a poorly made wind chime.  
    The thing was, the board was the only way forward that he could keep a secret.   The other options - all the other options: talking to a psychic, trying to perform a séance, shit, even taking an FMLA leave - involved telling someone what was happening.   He wasn't ready for that.   He didn't know that he ever would be.  
    Finally he made up his mind and marched away from the window, toward Alex's room.  
    Outside, the wind blew and the dead leaves danced.
    66
     
    Wait outside the door and listen, some part of him said.   Make sure he's not in there.   But he steamrolled this warning, grabbed the knob and threw the door open.   It was his house, he'd go over wherever the hell he wanted.
    Boxes, stacked two and three high.   Faded white walls, flecked with bits of tape and old nail-holes.  
    It had to be done in here.   He was sure of that much.
    He flipped the switch, but the light was dead.   That was okay.   It was dim, and the overcast day didn't help, but he could still see.  
    The boxes were heavier than he'd expected, but he moved them out of the middle of the room.   He and Alina hadn't labeled them.   He still remembered the day they had packed it all up.   Alina had started in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, after mentioning that it had to be done several times over the preceding months.   She had come in here and worked silently, periodically walking out with a full garbage bag or a plastic dish.  
    She hadn't said anything, but she hadn't needed to.   Waves of condemnation had rolled off of her.   I can't believe you're making me do this by myself.   Hurt, anger, frustration: all the hallmarks of their new relationship.  
    Finally he'd caved.   He really didn't want her to have to do it alone.   It was a horrible job.   He didn't wish it on anyone, least of all her or himself.   Why he had to respect her wishes (to do it NOW), but she couldn't respect his wishes (to wait), he didn't know.   It didn't matter.   She was doing it, and he either had to be there for her, or abandon her.
    He stood and stretched his back.    The boxes lined the walls now, crouched in the dimness like blocks of stone.   Uncarved statues, waiting to watch the show.  
    He settled on the floor in the middle of the room and slid the board from the box.   There were no instructions: just the board, and a simple planchette.   Who needed instructions?   Everyone had seen The Exorcist.
    All the Ouija stories Ian had heard growing up involved inadvertently contacting something evil and bringing it into the user's house.   Even when he had believed in the possibilities of afterlife, he wouldn't touch a board for exactly that reason.   Now, concern for that outcome barely flickered across his mind.  
    He'd already spoken with his son; he knew Alex could move things.   He still didn't believe in demons, or any of the rest of it.   But he knew something was happening with his son.   He just wanted to talk to him.
    "I'm sorry, Daddy."
    Ian jerked his head up.   Alex stood by the door in jean overalls.   He was shorter, plumper, his cheeks stuffed with chub.   After speaking, he popped his thumb in his mouth and sucked at it furiously.   
    "For what?" Ian rasped.  
    "For... for... the owl-it."   His eyes were big and heavy.   He pointed at the nearest electrical outlet.  
    It came back.   Alex had been playing with the outlets.   Somehow, he had found a fork.   Ian had caught him.
    It was the first time Ian had really let loose yelling at him.   It had also been Alex's first spanking.   Ian could count the others on one hand.  
    I'm glad you're here to say you're sorry.   It could've hurt you really bad, you