THE LOST

Two

Five heads snapped around to the kitchen doorway in horror, ten feet rooted to the floor in fear. Nobody screamed, their voices caught in their throats. The smashing sounds stopped as abruptly as they had begun, leaving no noise but the odd glassy tinkle and the laboured breathing of the five friends.

There was a long pause. Nobody moved.

Diana swallowed and said, cautiously, 'Hello?'

No sound, no movement from the kitchen.

Diana tried again, louder this time. 'Who's there?'

Nothing. Another moment of still silence passed. Sheila started, quietly, to cry.

'You're frightening us!' shouted Bobby with such a sudden violence that the tones of it reverberated around the room.

Presto put a hand on the child's shoulder, urging him to be quiet.

Sheila stepped forward a little, trembling. 'Somebody should clear that lot up...'

'Oh no you don't.' Diana pushed the other girl back. 'I'll go.' She gave the others a hopeful shrug. 'It must be my fault. I bet I didn't put the glasses back properly when I washed up.'

Eric shoved his way to the front of the group. 'I'll go with you.' He wasn't surprised to see Presto and Sheila roll their eyes at one another. 'Hey. I bet Presto needs to get more of a feel of this room. I'm just doing my bit.'

--- ---

The kitchen floor was covered in broken glass. Every inch of it was spiked with razor sharp transparent shards.

'Oh my God.' Diana stood at the kitchen door, her hand at her mouth.

Eric appeared behind her, dustpan in hand, 'It must be all the glass in the kitchen. Still think it was an accident?'

Diana snatched the dustpan and brush off Eric as he picked his way over to the dustbin. 'What do you suppose?'

He held the bin up to her, and she dumped the first of the glass into it in a sullen silence.

'It's been too long, Dee,' he smiled to her.

Diana crouched carefully to sweep up more glass. 'And who's fault is that?' she muttered.

Eric shrugged with a carefully rehearsed nonchalance. 'Fate?'

Diana snorted a bitter laugh, shaking her head. 'The seventeenth, you said.'

'Hey, I have a valid excuse for that.' Eric held up the bin to her. The glass smashed up further as she brushed it in. 'I was in Peru at the time.'

'Yes. I heard.' Sweep. Dump. Smash. 'For three months, wasn't it? Pretty extreme measures for getting out of Dinner.'

'Oh, you really believe I'd rather be milking goats than having dinner with a pretty girl?'

Sweep. Dump. Smash.

'You were only supposed to be going for ten days!'

'You're right. I was. That's why I said I'd meet you on the seventeenth.' Sweep. Dump. Smash. 'But I'll tell you something, Diana... the first night I spent there, I couldn't sleep a wink. I was surrounded by people who could barely afford to feed or clothe themselves, and there I was moping around trying to find myself.'

Sweep. Dump. Smash. 'So, did you find yourself or what?'

Eric shook his head. 'Better. I found uses for myself. I found myself so useful that I stayed for three months.'

Diana stopped sweeping. 'Nine weeks of which were school.'

'Yeah.' Eric smiled resignedly. 'Can't say I was surprised to return to an expulsion.' He rolled his eyes. 'From school, anyway. Finding out Dad had changed the locks, I'll admit, kinda threw me.'

'He'd have been worried about you.'

Eric shook his head. 'Nah, he was just mad that I didn't come running back when he told me to.' He held the bin out to her again. 'Best thing that ever happened to me. Found a new school, got a job, got a sexy new Bachelor Pad in a suburban basement...'

Diana dumped more glass in the bin with a tinkle. 'And The Wicca Men?'

'My idea,' grinned Eric, 'Presto's name. I wanted to go with The Hex Factor, but apparently that's too negative.'

'So you're a Witch too?'

Eric laughed suddenly, with a gently mocking warmth. 'Get outta here! I'd never be able to do what he's capable of! I'm just the admin guy - accounts, bookings, sweeping floors, that sorta thing. I leave all the real work down to him.'

'You must have a lot of faith in him.'

Eric nodded, matter of factly, as Presto passed by the door, fingers out, gently humming a single, suspended note. 'He's the best there is. He'll have this little problem all ironed out in no time. Before we've finished sweeping, I bet.'

Diana just 'humph'ed and carried on sweeping.

Eric bit down a relieved smile. He had not been looking forward to explaining his sudden, protracted absence to the girl he'd fought so hard to arrange a date with one little bit, and the more he'd avoided the matter on his return, the harder it had become to call her. But now he'd finally done it. And she was mad at him! It was great! The one thing he wouldn't have been able to bear would have been indifference. If she was pissed off, it meant she cared, at least. He looked down at the floor. It was almost clear.

'Well,' he said, at last, 'we've only got a few more glasses left, and we haven't even begun to talk about you.'

Diana stood, sweeping more glass into the bin. 'Not much to tell.'

'Surely not...'

Diana shrugged. 'Grades - back up to the top after a couple of months. Athletics - first National contest in three weeks. Nightmares - terrifying but forgettable. And that's me done.'

Eric nodded again, pushing a shard of glass with his foot. He cleared his throat slightly. 'Guys?'

'A few.' Diana smiled a little at the floor. 'Nobody special.'

'Interesting...'

'How?'

'Because if my memory serves me correctly...'

'...which it doesn't...' they both chorused.

'...I still owe you dinner,' finished Eric. He raised an eyebrow at her. 'How're you fixed for the seventeenth?'

Diana brushed the last of the glass into the dustbin, sighing melodramatically. 'Oh, I'm sorry. The seventeenth is my 'I Got Stood Up By Eric' anniversary. I tend to spend those evenings in a darkened room listening to sad music and wondering what I did wrong.'

'Sounds cool,' grinned Eric, turning to put the dustbin back under the sink, 'so, what... informal dress, carriages at midni...' his voice trailed off as he saw the kitchen window properly for the first time. 'Holy crap.'

Diana tried to follow his eyeline. 'What? Is there something out there?'

'No.' He crept closer to the window, tracing a finger over the scratch marks. 'It's in here.'

'Huh?'

'On the window. Can you see it?'

He took her hand and ran her finger over the scratches. She crouched slightly and pushed her face in closer so she could see the thin, faint lines.

'Oh...' she breathed. 'Oh shit.'

The window had been scratched from the inside. There was a large circle and, beneath it, two spindly words: 'REMEMBER ME!'

---

'Remember me,' Sheila read aloud as they all stood gathered around the window. She clasped her arms around herself. 'I don't understand. Remember who?'

'That's kinda the point,' smiled Presto, sadly. 'What we're dealing with here is textbook.'

Bobby looked up at the Wiccan. 'There's a textbook?'

'There's a spirit here that's passed on, and doesn't know it,' continued Presto, ignoring the boy, 'and it's getting all mad that it's being ignored and forgotten about.'

'Oh, it wants to be remembered, so it came to us guys?' interjected Eric, 'that's rich!'

'I wonder who it is,' mused Presto. He looked closer at the carving on the window, running a fingertip over the ragged circle. 'And what's this? It's drawn a circle.'

'Maybe it's a clue,' added Diana, 'to help us remember.'

'Circle...' muttered Sheila. 'Sir Cull...'

'Could be an "O",' piped Bobby, 'Like for "Olive" or "Oscar".'

'Or we could just be looking for a big fat guy,' shrugged Eric.

Presto stepped away from the window, squinting at it. 'It's a ring.'

'So, he was a jeweller?' Eric grinned. He was starting to enjoy the game. 'Maybe a telephone engineer...'

'It's ringing the house over the road.' Presto gently drew Sheila back so she could see. 'Look.'

Sheila cocked her head sideways slightly. The scratched circle perfectly encompassed the house opposite. 'Oh.'

'Do you know who lives there?' asked Presto, 'or, more importantly, who might not live there any more?'

Bobby turned to his sister, his frown of confusion matching hers. 'I... don't know.'

'Me neither,' added Sheila, 'I don't think we've ever spoken to them.'

'Really?' Diana frowned. 'I thought you guys were the last word in Neighbourliness. Doesn't your Mom know the names of everybody on the whole street?'

'Well, sure,' replied Sheila, 'but the couple opposite... I don't know... It's not that we dislike them... I think...'

'Maybe we just forgot,' smiled Bobby, sheepishly.

'Hmm.' Presto began to usher them out of the kitchen, watching the window cautiously. 'Well, it seems like somebody wants to talk to us, and since we're rapidly running out of glass here, I'm gonna suggest using a different method.'

'What kind of "method"?' worried Sheila.

Presto stopped still in the living room. The temperature had definitely dropped, and there was a strange static in the air. It was ready. It was waiting for them.

'Clear the table,' he said, 'and bring me candles and a cup.'

The others just stood, looking at him in trepidation, apart from Eric, who beamed with excitement.

'Tell me it's Seance Time.'

Presto shot a small smile at his friend. 'It's Seance Time, Baby!'

---

They used an overturned teacup in the end - one of the old chipped ones from the back of a cupboard. Sheila felt that her mother would be distressed enough at the broken glasses and scratched window without bringing any of her best crockery into the equation. Presto lit the candles carefully before joining the others around the table, placing his fingertips gently on the cup in the middle of the Ouija board. The others mirrored him, cautiously.

'I'm not sure I like this,' whispered Sheila as she placed her hand on the cup, 'aren't these things s'posed to be dangerous?'

'He knows what he's doing,' muttered Eric in response. 'We need to communicate without causing any more damage, don't we?'

'Ssh.' Presto closed his eyes. 'Concentrate.'

They all waited in the tense silence.

The flames on the candles shifted, and flickered, and then all fizzled out as one. Presto smiled slightly, his eyes still shut.

'Are you here?' he asked.

Sheila, trying to calm her panicked breath, took her trembling hand from the cup, wiped the sweat from her palm onto her jeans, and replaced it.

Nothing happened.

'Hello?' asked Presto, again. 'Are you here?'

Diana gasped as the cup began to slide, slowly, across the board. Sheila couldn't surpress a small, frightened whimper as it made its gradual journey towards the word 'Yes'.

Bobby glanced from Eric to Presto, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 'Cut it out, you guys.'

'I'm not doing anything,' breathed Eric.

The cup stopped on 'Yes'.

'Push it back to the middle,' Presto told the others. They obeyed.

'Is it you who's been doing the things that have frightened us tonight?' he asked.

Again, the cup slid over to 'Yes', and, again, they pulled the cup back into the centre of the board.

'Are you mad at us?'

The cup shifted over to 'No'.

'We want to help you,' continued Presto, 'but we need to know more about who you are. Did you used to live in the house over the road?'

'Yes', again.

Did you know Sheila and Bobby?

'Yes'. The siblings shared a nervous glance with each other, and Diana gently squeezed Sheila's shoulder.

Presto paused, breathlessly, and licked his lips.

'What's your name?'

There was a moment of hesitation, and then the cup began to slowly move again, resting briefly on the letter 'H', then 'A', then 'N', finally stopping on 'K'.

'Oh', sighed Diana.

'Hank,' read Bobby, wracking his brains. 'Hank...'

'Ring any bells, Sheila?' asked Eric.

Sheila shook her head, frowning in uncertainty. 'I... I don't think so... there's something familiar about it, but I just can't place it...'

'Hank...' breathed Diana, 'yes... that's his name!'

The others turned to her. 'Whose name?'

'The guy in the dreams.' She looked up at them, the spark of recognition glowing in her eyes. 'I remember it now. He's shaking me. Trying to wake me. He says he can save me, if only can I remember him, and that his name is Hank. He wants me to go someplace with him. Someplace far, far away.'

Eric rolled his eyes. 'Great,' he muttered almost inaudibly, 'now I got competition from a dead guy...'

'Can you remember what he looks like?' interjected Presto.

Diana bit her lip, thinking back. 'He's our age,' she said eventually, 'with blond hair and a... a kind face.'

'...pretty boy...' hissed the dark boy at her side.

An amusing detail struck Diana. 'And he's dressed up like Robin Hood!' she laughed.

Nobody noticed Sheila's face whiten.

'Robin Hood?' grinned Bobby, 'now I would have definitely remembered if he'd been living across the street!'

Sheila shakingly got to her feet. 'Bobby?'

'Yeah,' continued Eric over her, 'something about that description makes me think that Dreamboy probably isn't our...' he blinked at the trembling redhead as she swayed on her feet, holding the back of the chair. 'You OK, Sheila?'

'Where's my scrapbook, Bobby?' whispered Sheila, her voice hoarse with horror.

Bobby twisted around in his chair, looking at his sister in concern. 'On the bookcase. With the games.' He slid to his feet. 'D'you want me to...'

Sheila turned, and tottered over to the bookcase. 'No. I'll get it. Sit down with the others.'

'We were dressed like that.'

The seated group turned from watching Sheila to Presto, who was staring at the motionless teacup, lost in thought.'

'Huh?'

The bespectacled boy gazed up at them. 'We were dressed in Olde Worlde clothes. When we were found.'

'We know.' Diana shivered at the memory of being woken by a stranger, finding herself half naked. 'So what?'

'Five of us were found,' said Presto, 'but who's to say that it was just the five of us that went missing in the first place? Maybe one of us didn't make it back from wherever it was we were. We were all barely alive as it was. Maybe one of us... didn't survive.'

'No...' Bobby shook his head, frowning. 'Somebody would have asked us about him. Especially if he lived opposite!'

'But if we forgot him,' explained Presto, 'who's to say who else did? Is it a couple in that house, Bobby? Are they our parents' age? Could they have possibly had a teenaged kid?'

Bobby just looked at Presto, his mouth opening and closing in uncertainty. 'I... I don't...'

They were interrupted by Sheila slamming a thick scrapbook onto the table. 'Found it,' she gasped, beginning to flick through its dog-eared pages.

'Sheila, what is it?' asked Diana, nervously shifting in her chair. 'What's in that book?'

'Bit and bobs,' shrugged Sheila, still rifling through the pages, 'keepsakes, and... and my drawings. They're not very good, just doodles, really... I don't really pay much attention when I'm doing them, but...' She found the page she had been looking for, and opened it out, flat. Stuck in it was a large pencil sketch of a blond youth, wearing a medieval tunic and carrying a bow. She looked up into Diana's horrified eyes. 'Is that him?'

Diana didn't answer, but just swallowed dryly, nodding.

'When did you do that, Sheila?' Eric's tone was flat, masking his fear. He recognised that guy! God only knew where from, but he knew him, all right.

Sheila sat back down, turning the book around so that the others could see properly. There were tears welling up in her eyes. 'On and of, I've been doing them ever since the Incident.'

Presto's eyes widened, picking up the stress in her voice. '"Them"?'

Sheila nodded miserably, dipping her head and allowing small, shining tears to drip off the end of her nose as she turned the page, revealing another three doodles of the boy. The next page she turned had yet more, as did the next, and the next, and the next.

She sobbed aloud as Presto reached over and stopped her hand. 'I think we've seen enough, Sheila.'

He set his face and, leaving the book open where it was, put his fingers back on the teacup. The others followed his lead, nervously.

'Hank?' he asked, 'are you the boy in those pictures?'

The cup slid over to 'Yes', much easier this time.

'You know us all, don't you,' continued Presto, 'from the Incident.'

The cup practically leapt onto 'Yes'.

'OK, Hank,' said Presto calmly, pushing the cup back into the middle of the board, 'here's what I think. I think you're lost.'

A dull pulsing began in the table, and, above them, the light fitting began to sway gently. Presto ignored it and continued. 'I think you were lost with us, but we got found and you didn't. And now you're trapped somewhere. Somewhere strange. In a different plane of being to us.' The pulse began to grow to a slow rocking. Still Presto continued unabated. 'I don't want to alarm you, Hank, but there's a very real possibility that you may have died.' There was a loud banging from the ceiling and the table's rocking grew stronger. It seemed to be moving parts of the floor. Presto cleared his throat, controlling his voice as well as he could. 'But we want to help you, Hank. We're going to help you find a place where there'll be peace...'

The light bulb smashed above them, and everybody but Presto yelped automatically. The cup was moving again, moving to 'R', then 'E', then 'M'. It began to speed up as it wrote the words 'REMEMBER ME.' Eric opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again as the cup continued to move with increasing velocity and violence.

'COME BACK OR YOU...'

The cup was moving too fast for their fingers. One by one it fell out of their hands as it wrote, until, to their utter horror, it was flying about the board of its own control.

'ARE ALL GOING TO DIE'

The cup did not stop at the final 'E', but flew from the board and smashed against a wall. Screaming, they leapt to their feet. The table was still shaking, the ceiling and floor still pounding.

'Stop it!' cried Presto, 'Stop this right now!'

The table collapsed, and Sheila screamed a long, desperate, unnatural scream.

'Sis...?' began Bobby before the small redhead flung herself, shaking, to her back.

'It's got her!' yelled Diana as she ran to the other girl's aid.

'Leave her alone!' cried Presto, desperately, 'Take it out on me, if you must, but stop this at once!'

'No, Presto!' screamed Bobby from his fitting sister's side, 'You stop it.'

'Bobby...' warned Eric, holding Sheila's head still.

'Piss off, the pair of you,' spat the kid, furiously. 'We thought you could help, but you've only made this ten times worse. Dabbling with stuff you don't understand. Some Ghostbusters you are!'

Presto stood still for a moment, trembling slightly himself, then turned, marching out of the living room, heading straight for the front door.

'Presto?' cried Eric after him, still keeping Sheila's shaking head from hitting the floor, 'What are you doing?'

'I'm gonna find him,' called Presto over his shoulder, opening the door and striding out into the street, facing the house across the road.

'No, Presto!' Eric struggled to pass Sheila's head over to Diana.

Presto stood in the street, his arms flung wide to the house. 'Where are you? Why are you doing this?'

'Presto, come back!' Eric scrabbled to his feet and ran to the front door.

'Show yourself!' screamed the Wiccan.

The door, untouched by any hand, slammed shut in Eric's face just as he got to it.

'No!'

He rattled the handle desperately, pushing and pulling against it with all his body weight as the door stuck fast. And then, seconds later, it unjammed as suddenly as it had slammed, and Eric fell through it into the empty street. He looked around himself, wildly. There was nobody there. The street was completely empty. No onlookers, no nosy neighbours, no Presto.

'Shit!'

His obscenity echoed off the walls of the dark houses as he sprinted to the spot where his friend had, moments earlier, been standing. He looked down at the tarmac. He covered his mouth, screaming into his hands, dropping to his knees. The words were scorched into the road.

PRESTO, COME BACK!