Free The Red Cardigan by J.C. Burke Page B

she squeaks.
    â€˜I told you you’d think I was weird.’
    â€˜I don’t, I don’t! I just, well, I just hadn’t … hadn’t thought of – that.’
    â€˜Look, it’s this feeling I have. It’s hard to describe. It’s like somewhere in the back of my head there’s a TV on that someone wants me to watch. But I don’t want to watch it.’ She pauses. ‘You know, sometimes it feels like Antonia’s brother was … was like my practice for this. If you get what I mean?’
    â€˜Evie, what are you going to do?’ Alex gulps. ‘I mean, this is, like, serious shit.’
    â€˜Let’s see the photos again.’
    â€˜The photos?’ Alex gasps. ‘God, for a moment I forgot about those.’
    As Evie lays the photos out on the desk she is struck by the fundamental difference between herself and Alex. It’s so simple: Alex could forget, Evie never will.
    The image of a human standing behind her seems almost clearer. She traces her finger around the transparent figure. She’s certain this being wants to be seen. Like it masterminded the whole thing so it could show itself.
    â€˜Alex?’ Evie must be careful with this request. ‘Can I have these photos?’
    â€˜What? To keep?’
    â€˜Yes, to keep.’ Again Evie concentrates on making her voice sound calm.
    â€˜Well, they are mine, you know.’
    â€˜I think it’s better if I have them.’
    Silence.
    â€˜Okay.’
    Evie sees the wounded look on Alex’s face, but she cannot risk it. She puts the photos in her school bag, checking the zipper twice.
    â€˜I wouldn’t have shown them to anyone, Evie.’
    â€˜I trust you, Alex, you know that. I just think it’s safer if I look after them.’
    The girls sit in silence. It’s already dark outside. The dread Evie felt yesterday starts to settle in her guts. And somewhere deeper than Evie has ever dared go she begins to understand that the dread will sit there until it’s dealt with.
    â€˜Have you ever done one of those séances?’ asks Alex.
    â€˜What, with a ouija board?’
    â€˜A what board?’
    â€˜A ouija board or some people call it a talking board, I think.’
    â€˜What on earth is that?’
    â€˜You’ve never heard of them?’
    â€˜Never,’ says Alex. ‘You know I’ve led a sheltered life.’
    â€˜Pull the other one.’
    â€˜So what do they do?’
    â€˜They help you communicate with the spirit world. They have letters and numbers around them and the spirits spell things out.’
    â€˜Is that how a séance works?’
    â€˜I think so,’ Evie says. ‘I’ve never done one before. I know mygrandmother used to have a ouija board. I have a really vague memory of it. It was wooden with Egyptian drawings on it.’
    â€˜What happened to it?’
    â€˜My mum probably burnt it when Grandma died.’
    â€˜Your mum hated her, didn’t she?’
    Â 
    A memory of Evie’s grandma’s house flashes through her mind. It’s so vivid, almost like she’s there. She can smell her grandma’s rose perfume.
    Evie is with her parents. Her grandma has been dead almost a week. They are going to sort through her belongings. Her father is quiet. Her mother is business-like. Evie wanders into her grandma’s bedroom. It’s the same as always: the blue bedspread is neat and smooth and the photo frames sit in the same position on her bedside table. Evie picks up her favourite one of her father as a little boy. His cheeks look round and soft. He is in his mother’s arms and she is laughing and pressing her face against his.
    Her parents go into the spare room. Her grandma called it Evie’s room. She slept there when she stayed over. Her grandma made a Snow White bedspread especially for her. She can hear her mother: ‘Well, that bangle’s all she’s