regarded Beth curtly. “Young lady, this is a hospital. Sometimes you’ll see blood and knives here. But there is no-one else here. You’re imagining things, girl.”
You’re imaging things. That’s what Curie had said. Now this nurse was saying it. Could they both be wrong?
Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah.
She could hear a little girl laughing. Beth spun around as she felt a finger scrape along the back of her neck.
“Jesus! Can’t you hear that?” Beth said aloud, not really paying much attention to the nurse.
“Hear what?” said the nurse. “Look, if you need help, I can a doctor up to see you.”
“That’s okay,” Toril interjected. “She’s with friends now. We’ll look after her.”
“Fair enough,” said the nurse, non-plussed. “Here to help if you need anything.”
Jacinta was sleeping on the bed.
“She’s out cold,” said Toril, “But she’s going to be just fine. Beth – what happened to you?”
Toril poured Beth a cup of water. Beth sat down, and recounted the night’s events to Toril as best as she could recall them, with one exception. She didn’t mention seeing the girl in the white dress that was covered in blood.
Wouldn’t want your friend thinking you are imagining things, would we Beth?
After she had finished talking, Toril asked “Do you think the boy is dead?”
Beth said that she didn’t know, and felt beyond awful for leaving him there, but admitted that he ‘probably was’ dead.
“You did your best,” said Toril. “We all did Beth. The doctor said Jacinta can go home in the morning. Turns out she didn’t break her leg after all. We just imagined things. ”
You did your best.
We just imagined things.
“It was just a stupid game, right Toril?” asked Beth.
“It was a stupid game, Beth, you’re right.” Toril said. “I won’t be messing with it again, you can be sure of that.” Toril wasn’t sure she had convinced Beth of that, much less herself.
Two friends had been put in severe danger because of the ouija board, and things had happened tonight that was more than the ‘weird’ Toril had previously been wishing for. Too much weird, thought Toril.
Too much had happened to dismiss the events entirely, but they had been through enough for one day. Toril and Beth fell asleep, but Beth’s slumber was infected with nightmarish images.
Curie, swinging the axe. The figure who coerced them to play ouija, until ‘two will die’ was spelt out. The stench of death from him. The boy in the bag, laying on the school grounds. The ghost girl with the pretty dress. The knife being stuck repeatedly into the nurses’ back. The bloodied apple appearing in Beth’s hand. A fingernail scratching her neck.
Make it stop, Jesus. Dear Lord, make it stop.
More images.
The girl with the bloodied mouth, was skipping. As she skipped, Beth could see her feet were landing on something. It was the boy in the bag. The girl’s feet were denting the bag in the middle, and the boy’s limp hands flapped wildly, as if controlled by some deranged puppet master.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah. Two will die.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah. Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah.
Outside, it had finally stopped raining.
A Smou l d ering Wreck
Ronald Winter had been driving for twenty-five of his forty-six years, and in all that time, he had never come close to having an accident. There had been no choice to swerve to avoid the girl in the road.
It wasn’t a particularly dangerous stretch of road. At least, it didn’t have that reputation. What the hell was someone doing in the middle of the road?
It was hard to deny the facts, even though he lay, his body crushed against the airbag in the car. His nose, broken. Blood was
You’re imaging things. That’s what Curie had said. Now this nurse was saying it. Could they both be wrong?
Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah.
She could hear a little girl laughing. Beth spun around as she felt a finger scrape along the back of her neck.
“Jesus! Can’t you hear that?” Beth said aloud, not really paying much attention to the nurse.
“Hear what?” said the nurse. “Look, if you need help, I can a doctor up to see you.”
“That’s okay,” Toril interjected. “She’s with friends now. We’ll look after her.”
“Fair enough,” said the nurse, non-plussed. “Here to help if you need anything.”
Jacinta was sleeping on the bed.
“She’s out cold,” said Toril, “But she’s going to be just fine. Beth – what happened to you?”
Toril poured Beth a cup of water. Beth sat down, and recounted the night’s events to Toril as best as she could recall them, with one exception. She didn’t mention seeing the girl in the white dress that was covered in blood.
Wouldn’t want your friend thinking you are imagining things, would we Beth?
After she had finished talking, Toril asked “Do you think the boy is dead?”
Beth said that she didn’t know, and felt beyond awful for leaving him there, but admitted that he ‘probably was’ dead.
“You did your best,” said Toril. “We all did Beth. The doctor said Jacinta can go home in the morning. Turns out she didn’t break her leg after all. We just imagined things. ”
You did your best.
We just imagined things.
“It was just a stupid game, right Toril?” asked Beth.
“It was a stupid game, Beth, you’re right.” Toril said. “I won’t be messing with it again, you can be sure of that.” Toril wasn’t sure she had convinced Beth of that, much less herself.
Two friends had been put in severe danger because of the ouija board, and things had happened tonight that was more than the ‘weird’ Toril had previously been wishing for. Too much weird, thought Toril.
Too much had happened to dismiss the events entirely, but they had been through enough for one day. Toril and Beth fell asleep, but Beth’s slumber was infected with nightmarish images.
Curie, swinging the axe. The figure who coerced them to play ouija, until ‘two will die’ was spelt out. The stench of death from him. The boy in the bag, laying on the school grounds. The ghost girl with the pretty dress. The knife being stuck repeatedly into the nurses’ back. The bloodied apple appearing in Beth’s hand. A fingernail scratching her neck.
Make it stop, Jesus. Dear Lord, make it stop.
More images.
The girl with the bloodied mouth, was skipping. As she skipped, Beth could see her feet were landing on something. It was the boy in the bag. The girl’s feet were denting the bag in the middle, and the boy’s limp hands flapped wildly, as if controlled by some deranged puppet master.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah. Two will die.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah. Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah.
Outside, it had finally stopped raining.
A Smou l d ering Wreck
Ronald Winter had been driving for twenty-five of his forty-six years, and in all that time, he had never come close to having an accident. There had been no choice to swerve to avoid the girl in the road.
It wasn’t a particularly dangerous stretch of road. At least, it didn’t have that reputation. What the hell was someone doing in the middle of the road?
It was hard to deny the facts, even though he lay, his body crushed against the airbag in the car. His nose, broken. Blood was
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