"8356172?"

"Sarah... Are you busy?"

"No. What's up, Duncan?"

"I... I had something weird happen to me today."

"Oh! Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?"

"No, no, don't do that. Please."

"Alright, so, spill the beans then. What's so weird that you have to tell me about it at ten o'clock on a Sunday night? Don't you realise that I'm in my pyjamas, ready for a chapter of my Mulder and Scully book right now? I thought I told you this is how single white females roll out here in the country?"

"I don't really know where to begin to be honest."

"You could try by telling me what shit you've been smoking after dinner to make you hallucinate again."

"No, can't say that I did this time, Loopy."

"You're starting to worry me. Just tell me from the beginning."

"Okay. It's like this. I... I mean the room. It changed. I saw this boy. Well. Maybe not saw, but felt this boy..."

"Duncan, let me stop you there. That's just wrong."

"No, wait! I'm not fucking joking, Sarah. There was this boy..."

"Sorry, Duncs, carry on."

"Okay, no problem. There was this boy, and he was running to see if his dad was coming home from the war -"

"What? What are you going on about? Where? When?"

"In my apartment, but it wasn't my apartment. I guess it was the house - as it used to be, and this red head kid looked at me and, quite frankly, scared the shit out of me 'cause he said my name in this really really odd deep voice."

"Okay, first, breathe. Take a minute. Just concentrate on your breathing. In. Out. Okay? Think carefully about what you're saying. Did you really see all this? Or did it just appear in your mind after you passed out on the sofa again?"

"Sarah, okay, I get it. No, I'm not hallucinating. I haven't been smoking weed. I didn't fall asleep or have a wet dream on the sofa and I'm not making this shit up just to scare the bejesus out of you!"

"Alright, cranky pants. You're the one who made the booty call."

"Okay, sorry. Yes, I know, it sounds ridiculous when I try to explain it to you. It's just that, this boy, he seemed so happy. That can't be right, right? I mean, if you knew your dad was dead, you'd be sad right?"

"Well, yes? I'm guessing that would be my first response."

"Exactly. So why did this little git smile at me?"

"When did he smile at you?"

"After he told me that his daddy wasn't coming home from the war."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit."

"I don't know what to say, Duncs."

"Me either."

"Would you like me to come round tonight?"

"No. I can manage."

"Are you sure?"

"Loops, do you think there's something I can do to make it better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think the boy wants me to do something? You know. To stop him from coming again?"

"I'm not sure if that's how it works."

"Fucking hell."

"I know, I know. Do you remember what grandad said? That time, after, you know."

"The ouija board?"

"Yeah. You remember what he told us? - No shadow is made possible without the light of the sun."

"Oh God, yes. I remember now. He was all Clint Eastwood looking, with the sunset behind him in the doorway of that fucking bedroom. That's exactly what he said. Jesus, I remember."

"Yeah, well, try and stay cool, Duncs. Things are starting to get a bit strange around here these days, too."

"Anything you want to share with me? Has my double been popping up at the dinner table again? Or has the dirty little bastard been popping up in other places I shouldn't mention?"

"No, you daft prick. There's a few places I wouldn't mind somebody popping up in, if you know what I mean?"

"Oh, if that's the case, Loopy, I'll be round in twenty minutes, sweetheart."

"Give over you perv. No. All I meant was that there's been odd things happening here recently. I opened the fireplace today and it ended up looking brand new. I have no idea how."

"Woah. That is weird."

"Yeah. And I also had the strangest meeting with dad today. He kept saying mum's name. And saying that I needed to be safe. Wanting to know if I was safe."

"That's definitely creepy."

"Yeah. That's a great help."

"Sorry. Best I can do."

"So. Are you going to be able to sleep tonight, Duncs?"

"Not sure. Are you?"

"Doubtful."

"Want me to come over and shag you senseless until you pass out?"

"As tempting as that is, I have to give it a miss."

"Okay, Loops, all joking aside, you know I'm here for you, right?"

"Yeah, I know. And, Duncs..."

"Yep?"

"I'm here for you too, yes?"

"Yes. Ok. Goodnight, Loopy Laker."

"Night, Duncs."

**********

As she hung up the receiver, memories consumed her, sparked off by Duncan's talk of the dead. Sarah was brought back to the day she'd helped Clara's mother prepare for her daughter's final journey in this world.

Jacqueline had been unsteady on her feet, her hands shaking. Her breath had wafted an overpowering wave of peppermint mixed with whisky, almost knocking the eighteen-year-old of her feet - as the woman had swayed closer to her.

They had been swapping stories of Clara's ability to see straight through to people's true intentions, how she had been able to join the dots so to speak, between what someone said and meant to do. Jacqueline had suddenly stopped laughing. She had held open the door of her daughter's bedroom closet, her brightly painted nails digging into the chipped woodwork.

"I don't know what to do."

Her voice had been quiet, scratchy and cold. Broken by emotion.

The teenaged Sarah had felt lost, incapable of providing any kind of comfort to this grieving mother. She had only just begun to process the torrent of loss for her friend for herself. How could she have been expected to offer consolation? She'd stood behind Clara's mother, peering over her shoulder into the closet, gazing through the collection of hanging clothes and stacked top shelves. The bare light bulb had swung drunkenly, left to right, right to left, spreading shadows across the remaining physical evidence of Sarah's best friend's life.

"Do you think she'd have liked this one?"

Jacqueline had grabbed a desperate hand at a simple, dark blue shirt dress. The grey buttons glittered as the light bulb passed by.

"I think so."

Clara's mother had hung her head and nodded heavily. Her voice had very little volume left.

"I think so, too."

The tall, broad woman had tipped her head and glanced backwards at Sarah.

"Do you think that the black velvet ballet shoes will go well with it?"

Sarah's heart broke at the look in Clara's mother's eyes. They had held nothing. Watery graves of life, reflecting the passing glow of a single light bulb.

"Yes. They'll look perfect."

Jacqueline had passed the dress back to Sarah and crouched down to pull out the chosen shoes from the small collection in a box under the clothes rail. As she had done so, Sarah's eye had been caught by the stack of board games upon the top shelves.

"I never knew Clara was into games." She'd spoken without thought, normality sounding out of place within the presence of so much pain.

Clara's mother had straightened upright, her hands gripping tightly to the slender shoes.

"Yes. Her dad used to play with her regularly, before he pissed off with his slut."

Sarah had given an embarrassed twitch of a smile.

"If you see one you like, you can take it." Jacqueline had brushed past the girl, throwing the shoes on her daughter's single bed. They'd sank into the heart patterned duvet cover, setting free pockets of pent up air from the downy bedding.

Sarah had scanned the boxes, one in particular got her attention.

"Did she ever use the Ouija board?"

"Not that I remember. And I would hope not. Have you ever used one?"

Sarah had shaken her head, believing that to be a better option than attempting to lie. She'd seen her father 'playing' with one during her early teens.

He'd always done it when he'd thought she was asleep upstairs and her grandfather was out. She'd been fascinated by the words he'd said and the way he had remained so calm and collected while concentrating on the wooden triangle shape that moved from letter to letter. The memory was a happy one for her, but the board had long since disappeared.

"Here." Jacqueline had reached up, past Sarah. A scent of alcohol and perfume released as she did so. " You take it."

She'd handed the box to Sarah, the weight surprising her.

"It's a special edition. My great aunt was well into this kind of crap. I don't know how it got up there. I was sure I'd thrown it out when we cleared her house."

Sarah had given another lame attempt at a smile. "Thanks."

"Listen, Sarah, I don't mean to be rude, or come across as some kind of crazy, weird sicko, but she never talked to me about boys. Did she tell you anything about anyone? How stupid I am. Of course she did. What kind of a friend would she be otherwise, right? So, was there Sarah? Was there a boy?"

Jacqueline had slumped down onto the bed, her hands gripping her knees and her tense, pale face fixed on Sarah.

"It would be nice to think that she'd known something about love. At least something."

Tears had pricked at Sarah's eyes and she'd tightened her grasp on the old Ouija box. Her voice had nearly given out on her as she'd replied.
"There is a boy... Well, maybe two boys. I think she loved one, but maybe they both loved her. Does that help?"

Clara's mother had bent her head to stare at the floor, her long, curly blonde hair hiding her face from Sarah. Her shoulders had begun to shake. It wasn't until Sarah heard a low moan that she'd realised that Jacqueline was crying.

Feeling embarrassed and lost for an idea of how to comfort this woman, the teenager had got up to leave the room. She'd hesitated at the door, unsure of her next move. Should she disturb Clara's mother by saying goodbye? Would it be more polite just to go? Should she clear her throat or something to get her attention so she could have seen that she was going?

Jacqueline had saved the girl any further discomfort by wiping her nose across her sleeve and looking her way.

"Thank you, Sarah."