NECROMANTIC

nine.

At seven fifteen the next night, Rob was walking with determination through our local Wal Mart, singing happily to himself ‘snack duty, I’m on snack duty. Rob is on snack duuuuty!’ whilst I trailed behind him, my arms cradling four bags of various chips, two bags of giant marshmallows, nachos, and a tub of dip balanced precariously on top, all of which Rob had shoved there moments before.

I should’ve known assigning the snack and drink duty to Rob (assigning scary movie duty to myself) would be a mistake. Rob, the human beanpole, could somehow pack so much junk food into his lanky, skinny frame and not be affected by it in the slightest. So, naturally, that meant that he ate a lot, unable to determine what an appropriate amount for three people in one night would be.

Along the rest of our journey, he picked up a litre bottle of lemonade, and coke, a six pack of beer, a small bottle of Jack Daniels (he had a fake ID with him) and two tubs of Ben And Jerry’s.

I didn’t bother to mention he was maybe going overboard, instead letting him happily lead us to the cashier, still humming his song.

The cashier booped all our items through, bagging them, asking for ID when it came to the alcohol, which Rob supplied cheerfully, and she took a moment to eye the ID, then him, then me, suspiciously, before either deciding we were of age, or that she just didn’t care to enough to make a fuss, and handing it back with a nod. ‘Confidence is key’, Rob had told me, the first time he’d bought us alcohol, last year. ‘I mean, not too confident and arrogant, because that’s suspicious. Just enough, like, think like you’re buying anything else, and it doesn’t affect you, you know? Oh, and don’t buy the obvious stuff that teens usually buy. I mean, if you really want it, mix it in with some other, low-key stuff, too.’

The cashier rung our purchase up, a price that made me wince, and Rob paid her with a bright smile, and thank you when she handed him the receipt, and we took two bags each (ever the gentleman, Rob took the two heaviest), and off we went, into the street-lamp lit dark evening, to Mae’s house.

Rob bumped his shoulder against mine playfully as we walked. “I have a good feeling about tonight, you know.”

“You do?” I asked, bumping his shoulder back.

“Uh huh.” He nodded, and turned to shoot me a grin.

I felt a prickling sensation under my skin, and that feeling I’d had the night before, of dread, bubbled in my stomach. But I didn’t say anything, not even ‘well it’s weird that you do, because I really don’t,’ and instead grinned back at him.

We fell into a comfortable silence as we walked, and I took that time to just … appreciate him. I suddenly felt like I didn’t do it enough. Not just what he was currently wearing (skinny denim jeans, tan Timberland boots, a white t-shirt, another Hawaiian horror, this one bright red, with green palm fronds and yellow hibiscus flowers, and a brown leather jacket with a sheep’s wool collar – so all in all, a cutie kinda jumbled hipster that somehow pulled the ensemble off) but the way his hair fell, the dark blonde/light brown locks a haphazard mop, the way his lips were curved, and how full they were, the length and fullness of his lashes, the line of his jaw. His laugh, which was sort of honky, and dorky, but cute, and the way his shoulders shook with it. The way he’d look at me when he’d tell me a joke, or whisper an innuendo. The way he looked at me when he told me loved me, or thought I was beautiful, and the way in which he said it that even with my insecurities and self-deprecation, I believed him fully. His sense of humour which could be either immature, a little dark or Monty Python-weird. The fact that he always sung deliberately off-key to make a joke, when I knew, from when I’d heard him in the shower, or when he thought no one could hear, that he was actually really good. In that moment, I found myself falling even more in love with him, and I didn’t think that would’ve been possible before.

I must’ve been staring at him as I thought this all, because all of a sudden, he quickly grabbed my arm and yanked me into him roughly – away from the lamppost I’d been about to walk into.

“You ok?” he laughed, though the look he gave me was of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I shook my head, laughing at myself. “I was just in a world of my own there.”

He shook his head in mock disdain. “Well, be glad I brought you back in the real world in enough time that you didn’t end up breaking your nose, or giving yourself a black eye.” He paused, before shrugging. “Though, to be fair, I think you’d actually look pretty hot with a black eye, in a tough, take-no-shit way.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, want me to go back a few steps, and actually go ahead and walk into it?” I mocked annoyance, and he laughed, leaning down and pecking my cheek with a kiss.

We resumed walking – this time I managed to stay in the real world and not have any more near collisions with tall metal inanimate objects – and it wasn’t long before we arrived at Mae’s house. Now Mae’s house was the kind of cute place you’d imagine a fairytale grandma living – a little stepping stone path through a neatly kept garden with a stone birdbath and blooming flowerbeds, and a tall palm-like tree (I’m sure it had a proper name, but oh well) led up to wooden steps, which in turn led to not only the front door, but to a porch that had a cute little porch swing. It had a gutter utterly devoid of leaves, gray tiled roof, and a stone chimney. There was a ‘game’ room extension (both filled with family games and video games – the latter of which she and her younger brother made use of, and the former … well, Mae had a family that had to have a game night, once a week, religiously. Yup.) and the whole thing was wooden planks, painted a soothing off-white. I’m saying all this, because the house … it both fit Mae and her family, and didn’t. It was quirky, cute and just a little bit weird. Like her. Only she’s a lot weird. I mean that in a loving, best friend way of course.

I knocked on the door using the bronze Japanese dragon head door knocker (which her family had gotten in homage to her heritage, perhaps to offset the very suburban American house), and a minute or so passed, before Mae appeared, swinging the door open with exuberance, and a bright ‘hello, friends!’. What I noticed then was that she was dressed – not just in her normal jeans and shirt, but her canvas jacket, Doc Marten boots, and beanie hat – not the cosy pyjamas I was expecting her to be in – a rectangle in a brown paper bag shoved under one arm, and a flashlight sticking out of her pocket.

“Uh…?”

“We’re going out!” she announced brightly, as if her attire wasn’t making that obvious enough. “For a little bit anyway. Plenty of scary movie time later when we get back, don’t worry.”

“We are?” I asked, and she bobbed her head in a nod, gabbling that she’d had a great idea, so there was a last minute change in plans.

“We have ice-cream.” Rob added, in a concerned voice, lifting one of the bag he held and shaking it, brow knitted in confusion. Of course, he was worried for the safety of his ice-cream in all of this sudden craziness.

Mae stepped aside and waved her hand at us to go in. “Okie-dokie, no problem. We can just stick it in the freezer and be on our merry way.” When we didn’t move, she waved her hand again and excitedly and impatiently demanded “Go, go, go! Freezer, ice-cream, now, mobilise!”

So Rob and I went inside, exchanging looks of confusion, as Mae bounced on her heels excitedly, waiting for us. Rob obligingly stuck the Ben and Jerry’s into Mae’s freezer cabinet, and went to leave the rest of the snacks, when Mae yelled ‘bring the beer!’, and with a snort of confusion, but submission, he picked the pack back up and stuffed it back into the plastic bag.

“So, uh … where are we going?” I asked when we walked back to her.

She grinned, slamming the door shut and locking it. “It’s a surprise. But… I can give you a hint.”

“Please do.” Rob said, with another snort.

Mae turned to face us, took a deep breath, pulled the rectangle from her arm, pulled the brown paper bag from it, and like a child showing off the painting they’d done in kindergarten that they were super proud of, she held it out to us.

My heart stopped, then pounded back to life in a way that made me feel sick through my very bones.

Because Mae was showing us a Ouija board.