Incandescence

23: Ghost Stories

"What'd you think Alice meant back there?"

          Mason shrugs his shoulders, eyes fixed on the pavement as we cross the road at the bottom of my street. "No clue," he says, pulling the top of his hoody down to obscure his face even more when headlights brighten up the road in the distance. "She's never been all that sane, has she? Maybe she's on meth or something."

          "I really don't think it's the right time to be making jokes, Mase."

          He doesn't reply to that, just continues walking. I jog to keep up, heart hammering at the sight of every shadow, every movement in the corner of my eye. Why won't my pulse stop racing? Why do I feel the urge to scream every time I notice another car or person coming down the street? Mason's face is well hidden under his hoody, and even if they caught sight of it, chances are they wouldn't realise who he was beneath all those bruises and cuts. No one's going to recognize him.

          "You heard from Liv today?" he asks, breaking the silence after a minute or so. The park is around the next corner. We should be safe.

          "She text this morning; she said she's going crazy in ASA without anyone to talk to."

          "Mum and Dad don't get back till this Tuesday as well. They've been staying at Uncle Al's in Victoria for the week."

          "How'd you know that?"

          "You know how when I'm not at your house? I'm at theirs. They always leave the spare key for the back door under the entrance mat. It's better than the street, I guess."

          I feel a rush of sorrow for my friend the moment the words are out. He keeps his voice neutral, like it's no big deal, but I know better. Their house, because he no longer associates himself with the place he grew up in. It's 'better than the street,' but it's no home to him. Not anymore.

          I decide there and then to try my luck and ask the dreaded question. Alice is wrong about him, I know so, but that doesn't mean he won't know anything about the girl's motives. "She'll be much better once we figure out what happened to you," I say, referring to Liv. "And we will, you know. I'm not giving up till I know."

          "Thanks," he says, crunching a glass shard beneath his feet as we round the corner to the park.

          "I just wish I knew why Alice is so determined to get a hold of this book. D'you have any idea?"

          "'Bout what?"

          "Why she'd be interested in the book." I stop walking and look right at him; or at least, I try to, but it's dark and impossible to make out his face.

          He shakes his head, leaving no room for arguments. "No," he answers, the way I expected him to. "I don't."

          The Hope swing park is nothing special. It's a clump of yellowish grass about the size of ten gardens, complete with rusted chutes, swings and a halfway decent merry-go-round. A popular hang-out for the underage drinking squads, but tonight it's eerily quiet. I scan the area for signs of life before reaching out and prying open the gate. It gives a squeal of complaint, but nothing else happens. The silence is enough to make me shiver.

          "You think it's strange no one else is here?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at Mason as he steps through to the pathway and shuts the gate behind him.

          "Nah," he says. "I don't think your psychic paid everyone to leave to give us a scare, if that's what you're asking."

          "I'm not saying that. It's just . . . weird."