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Authors: Brent Hartinger
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stock in Ouija boards.”
“‘Usually’? What about when things aren’t usual?”
Mrs. Swan smiled. “Richard likes you. He thinks you’re smart.”
“Mrs. Swan, please.”
She listened to Richard, then said, “Dark forces, just like people say. Evil spirits from foul dimensions. But for such a force to inhabit this world, to speak through a Ouija board, it must be connected to a person. These dark forces need our essences to be anchored here; otherwise they get swept back to where they came from. So they attach to our souls. Sort of spiritual stowaways. But they can only attach to a wounded or confused soul—someone who is so disoriented, he or she doesn’t recognize the presence of the dark force alongside his or her own. For a dark force to have spoken to you through a Ouija board, it would have to be connected to you.”
Harlan waited for her to say the rest: that there was no dark force connected to him. Because that’s what she meant, right? His soul wasn’t “wounded” or “confused.” But if that’s what she meant, why wasn’t she saying it?
“Anyway,” Mrs. Swan said. “This isn’t the beginning.Richard thinks we should start at the beginning.”
So Harlan took a breath and told her—them?—about the premonitions: about the choking, the drowning, and all the rest. And about how he’d seen an image of himself being hit by a vehicle, and then how a bus had almost run him over at the corner of Grand and Humble.
“So one premonition did come true—or almost,” Mrs. Swan said. “But the premonitions haven’t stopped.”
“Yes,” Harlan said. That was it exactly.
“But that’s not the beginning,” Mrs. Swan said.
“What isn’t?”
“The premonitions. That’s not when all this really began. It began before the premonitions. With an accident.”
“What kind of accident? I haven’t been in any accident.”
“Long ago.”
Harlan thought for a second. When he was twelve, he’d had a big wipeout on his skateboard. But he was sure that wasn’t what she was talking about.
“In the water,” Mrs. Swan said.
Harlan perked up. “Water?” H 2 O danger Tub! “But that’s what the Ouija board said! That I’m in danger if I go to that swim meet!”
“As I mentioned,” Mrs. Swan said, “the past and the future are often one and the same. They can also be very hard to distinguish. Especially for a soul in turmoil.”
“What are you saying? That my soul is confused?” He didn’t say out loud the rest of what he was thinking: that if his soul was confused, then there could be dark forces stowing away on his essence!
She tilted her head, listening. “Richard says there was an accident in the water. It wasn’t your fault, but you almost died. And that’s when things started to go wrong.”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“Your life’s road. Your spiritual direction. You’ve been led astray, to a dead end. That’s why you see death. You’re doomed to repeat the tragedy of the past until you get back on the right spiritual road.”
“What road? What tragedy?”
“Stop it!” Mrs. Swan almost shouted. “I’m sorry,” she said to Harlan, more softly but perspiring. “You’re both talking at once. It’s confusing me.”
Harlan waited breathlessly for her to speak again, for her to tell him how Richard thought he could get back on the right spiritual road. But instead of speaking, Mrs. Marilyn Swan reached for a cookie from the plate in front of her.
That was when Harlan knew: she was a fraud after all. It was the cookie that had done it. Here she was, supposedly all flustered from the different “voices,” and she’d reached for a cookie? A drink of tea he would have bought—some liquid to soothe her ragged throat. But people didn’t eat in the midst of a real emotional disturbance.
He thought about all that she had told him so far. That something happened at a party? That could have been a lucky guess; good-looking teenagers like Harlan were
“‘Usually’? What about when things aren’t usual?”
Mrs. Swan smiled. “Richard likes you. He thinks you’re smart.”
“Mrs. Swan, please.”
She listened to Richard, then said, “Dark forces, just like people say. Evil spirits from foul dimensions. But for such a force to inhabit this world, to speak through a Ouija board, it must be connected to a person. These dark forces need our essences to be anchored here; otherwise they get swept back to where they came from. So they attach to our souls. Sort of spiritual stowaways. But they can only attach to a wounded or confused soul—someone who is so disoriented, he or she doesn’t recognize the presence of the dark force alongside his or her own. For a dark force to have spoken to you through a Ouija board, it would have to be connected to you.”
Harlan waited for her to say the rest: that there was no dark force connected to him. Because that’s what she meant, right? His soul wasn’t “wounded” or “confused.” But if that’s what she meant, why wasn’t she saying it?
“Anyway,” Mrs. Swan said. “This isn’t the beginning.Richard thinks we should start at the beginning.”
So Harlan took a breath and told her—them?—about the premonitions: about the choking, the drowning, and all the rest. And about how he’d seen an image of himself being hit by a vehicle, and then how a bus had almost run him over at the corner of Grand and Humble.
“So one premonition did come true—or almost,” Mrs. Swan said. “But the premonitions haven’t stopped.”
“Yes,” Harlan said. That was it exactly.
“But that’s not the beginning,” Mrs. Swan said.
“What isn’t?”
“The premonitions. That’s not when all this really began. It began before the premonitions. With an accident.”
“What kind of accident? I haven’t been in any accident.”
“Long ago.”
Harlan thought for a second. When he was twelve, he’d had a big wipeout on his skateboard. But he was sure that wasn’t what she was talking about.
“In the water,” Mrs. Swan said.
Harlan perked up. “Water?” H 2 O danger Tub! “But that’s what the Ouija board said! That I’m in danger if I go to that swim meet!”
“As I mentioned,” Mrs. Swan said, “the past and the future are often one and the same. They can also be very hard to distinguish. Especially for a soul in turmoil.”
“What are you saying? That my soul is confused?” He didn’t say out loud the rest of what he was thinking: that if his soul was confused, then there could be dark forces stowing away on his essence!
She tilted her head, listening. “Richard says there was an accident in the water. It wasn’t your fault, but you almost died. And that’s when things started to go wrong.”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“Your life’s road. Your spiritual direction. You’ve been led astray, to a dead end. That’s why you see death. You’re doomed to repeat the tragedy of the past until you get back on the right spiritual road.”
“What road? What tragedy?”
“Stop it!” Mrs. Swan almost shouted. “I’m sorry,” she said to Harlan, more softly but perspiring. “You’re both talking at once. It’s confusing me.”
Harlan waited breathlessly for her to speak again, for her to tell him how Richard thought he could get back on the right spiritual road. But instead of speaking, Mrs. Marilyn Swan reached for a cookie from the plate in front of her.
That was when Harlan knew: she was a fraud after all. It was the cookie that had done it. Here she was, supposedly all flustered from the different “voices,” and she’d reached for a cookie? A drink of tea he would have bought—some liquid to soothe her ragged throat. But people didn’t eat in the midst of a real emotional disturbance.
He thought about all that she had told him so far. That something happened at a party? That could have been a lucky guess; good-looking teenagers like Harlan were
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