THE LOST

Three

'Presto!' Still on his knees, Eric reached down, desperately pushing his palms against his own words, scorched into the street. They were cold, and none of the ash came up on his terror-moistened hands. He looked from one end of the empty street to the other, calling out to anybody who might hear. 'What the fuck is going on?' His voice cracked slightly as it echoed along the dead, empty strip of bricks and tarmac.

There were strong, slim hands under his armpits, hoisting him upright. 'Come on.'

He resisted. 'No! Where did he go? Where did he...'

'Come on, Eric!' Diana span him around to face her, still clutching his arms. 'Back in the house. It's not safe out here.'

'It's not safe in there!'

Diana sighed, eyeing first the front door of the O'Brian house, then the words burnt into the street. 'I know it's not, OK? But this street is all wrong. People should live in this street. It should be alive.'

Eric still searched the street, hopelessly. 'It took Presto...'

'Yeah. It took Presto.' She held his head straight in both hands, meeting his eyes intently. 'I don't want it to take you, too. You still owe me a big, fat, expensive dinner, remember?'

She smiled nervously in the darkness, fighting back the urge to collapse into tears. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to just slink back indoors as she wanted, but incapable of looking away from her shining eyes. 'But... but...'

'The house isn't safe. But nobody's actually disappeared from it, which makes it ten times better than this street right now.'

She was cut off by another scream, that of a young boy, from inside the house.

'Bobby!'

They both turned and ran back through the front door. Bobby was still screaming, backing away from the door to the living room, clutching a toilet roll. Diana grabbed the distressed child, pulling him into her arms.

'Bobby. Bobby. What's wrong?'

The boy could barely speak through the terror and tears. His voice came out in small, breathless gulps. 'Shei... la... ah... ah... she...'

Eric pushed past them, into the living room where he had left Sheila fitting. He pressed the back of his hand automatically against his nose as the acidic smell hit him. The room was empty, save the furniture, the debris of the seance and a small puddle of vomit, slowly seeping into the carpet. Sheila, too, was gone.

'She was sick,' sobbed Bobby from the hallway, 'so I went to get somethin' to clean her up, and when I came back she was... she was...'

Diana looked up as Eric came back to the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame for support, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

'Sheila, too?' she gasped.

Eric nodded, turning back into the room with a sudden fit of fury.

Bobby watched as the youth kicked at the weakened legs of the broken table, causing it to slide further still towards the floor. 'Whaddaya mean, "Sheila, too"? Where's Presto?'

Diana ran her fingers through the child's sandy hair, as comfortingly as she could. 'He's gone, Bobby. Like your sister.'

They both flinched as Eric grabbed the Ouija board from the remains of the table and flung it against a far wall, screaming. He paused for a moment, his back to them, heaving with hard breaths, then bowed his head, his clawed hands covering his eyes.

Diana gave Eric a moment to compose himself, but when it became obvious that wasn't about to happen, took the toilet roll gently out of Bobby's hands and approached Eric.

'D'you want a tissue?'

'NoIdonotwantafuckingtissue!'

Bobby wiped a gob of teary phlegm from his nose with the back of his hand. 'I could do with a tissue.'

Diana rolled off a generous amount of paper for Bobby and handed it to him with a sad smile. 'We'll find them, OK?'

'No we won't.' Eric pulled his hands from his eyes and looked from Diana to Bobby. His face was flushed with anger, but, amazingly, dry. 'This Dreamboy of yours has taken them away, to Hell, or Limbo, or wherever it is he's tormenting us from. He wants us to go back to him, remember?' He laughed, joylessly. 'Remember? It's hopeless. He's gonna get us all.'

'Don't say that!' screamed Bobby. 'We're gonna get Sheila back!'

'It's the truth!' cried Eric with an equal violence. 'I don't wanna believe it either, it's got Presto, too...'

Bobby snarled as Diana held him back by the shoulder. 'Presto's not your brother, Eric.'

Eric blinked, as though that concept were hitting him for the first time. 'No...' he muttered, 'no he's not.' He stumbled over to the sofa, and slumped down in it. 'I mean... he wasn't.'

Diana sat down next to him, still clutching the roll of toilet paper. 'Less of the past tense, Eric. Everything's not lost.'

'I just...' sighed Eric, '...everybody needs a person they can count on, and my folks are shit at that sorta thing, all right? We can't all be The Waltons.' He watched Bobby shuffle over to the destroyed table and pick Sheila's scrapbook up from the wreckage, sadly. 'Besides,' he continued, 'he made me laugh. And did you ever taste his coffee? Fit for a king...'

Eric trailed off into silence. He and Diana sat watching Bobby flick backwards through his sister's book, frowning at the pictures.

'I feel like I know this guy too,' muttered the kid as he studied the book, 'I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before.'

'Join the club, Kiddo,' sighed Eric, propping his elbows on his knees and pushing his hands through his hair.

Bobby reached the end of the drawings, and continued to flick idly through the scrapbook. He stopped at the inside front page, and stared. 'Holy cow.'

Eric lifted his head. 'What?'

Bobby backed away from them, eyes still on the book. 'Holy Holy Holy cow!'

Diana stood, and went to the boy. 'What is it?'

'Bobby - I know you're reading this,' read Bobby aloud from the book, 'and I know I must be gone by now.'

Diana took the book off the child. 'There's a letter here,' she breathed, 'from Sheila. To Bobby and the rest of us.'

Eric said nothing, but curled back into himself again.

'I want you to know I'm safe,' read Diana, 'but please understand, Bobby, you and the others aren't.' Diana paused, licking her dry lips. 'Go with Hank when he calls you,' she continued, 'remember him. He isn't going to hurt you. But if you don't do as he says, you're all going to... going to...' she trailed off.

There was a moment's tense silence before Eric spoke from under his arms.

'When would she have found time to write that?'

'She didn't write it tonight,' replied Bobby, quietly. 'It was at the start of her book.'

'That doesn't mean anything.'

Bobby snatched the book off Diana and held it open towards Eric, furiously.

'See the ink?' he cried, violently, 'it's the pink glitter pen I got her when she was really down after the Incident. She used it over and over for about a month until it ran out. That was more than a year ago!'

Eric began to reply, but was cut off by more rhythmic bangs. This time is was the walls that shook. Framed pictures fell from their mounts and smashed on the floor. The clock leapt from the wall and was hurled by invisible hands across the room, narrowly missing Eric's head. It was only when the cacophony halted suddenly that he realised he was on his feet with the others, and that they were all clutching one another, both in terror and support. They all waited for a moment, silently, secretly waiting for one of their dilapidated group to begin fitting, or worse, disappear. Nothing happened. Eric looked about himself at the new mess in the room.

'We're leaving.'

'But...' began Diana.

'We're leaving, Diana, right now.' Eric stepped back from the other two, eyeing them both seriously. 'This house is not safe. Maybe Presto disappeared from the street but he didn't get attacked, or threatened with death. That only happens in here. So we're gonna run. As far away from this street as we can.' Something resting against the kitchen door caught his eye. He strode over to pick it up. 'Take something you can use as a weapon,' he added.

Bobby snorted. 'It's a ghost, Eric. Are you seriously suggesting that we try to hit it?'

Eric raised an eyebrow. 'If it comes anywhere near me I'm gonna rip its fucking dick off,' he replied with a dangerously calm sincerity.

'With a tea tray?' asked Diana.

Eric looked down briefly at the tray in his hands. 'Listen, the next time shards of glass start flying around, you're gonna be awfully appreciative of the tray.'

Diana shrugged, and started pulling at a loose leg on the destroyed table.

Bobby looked from one teenager to the other. A tea tray and part of a dinner table. That was what these guys were planning to use as weapons? What were they gonna do, give it splinters? He sighed to himself. The bigger they get, the smarter they ain't.

'I'll go get my baseball bat, shall I?'

Diana and Eric looked up from their struggle trying to dislodge the table leg.

'We should go with you...'

Bobby shook his head, already turning to sprint up the stairs. 'I know where it is. I'll be back down in a second.'

'OK,' replied Diana as the boy began to noisily climb the stairs, 'but keep talking at least.'

Bobby hurried into his bedroom, feeling under his bed for his bat. 'So, what do you want me to say?' he called.

'Anything!' came Eric's muffled answer from downstairs, 'just so we know you haven't... you know..'

'Uh, OK...' muttered Bobby as he grabbed his bat and knelt up. 'I'm in my room, I've got my bat, I'm getting up, I'm...'

'Bobby?'

'Yeah?' Bobby stood up, looking for the speaker. It hit him at the same time that he realised there was nobody else in his bedroom that the voice had been his sister's.

'Bob..?' came a concerned voice from downstairs.

Sheila's disembodied voice spoke at the same time, coloured with panic. 'Bobby, listen to me.'

Bobby began to back out of the room. 'I can hear Sheila,' he called.

'You have to remember, Bobby,' continued Sheila's voice, 'you have to snap out of it.'

'You... you can?' called Diana from downstairs, 'Is she OK?'

'Hank's trying to help you,' Sheila continued, 'he's your friend, remember?'

'He's got her,' breathed Bobby.

'Remember the funfair?' echoed the disembodied voice. 'Remember the ride? The Realm, Bobby? Remember?'

'Bobby?' cried both Eric and Diana from downstairs, their footsteps hurrying towards the foot of the stairs.

Bobby stood, transfixed, on the landing, facing into his empty room. His lips moved silently as the faintest shadows of memories began to dance around his mind. They had gone to the funfair. And it hadn't been a ruin, it had been all bright and noisy. At the end of the day there had been a ride they hadn't seen before. It had been his idea to try it. They'd got on, all six of them. All six of them. And then... and then...

Eric and Diana were already halfway up the stairs when the bang happened. One single, almighty shudder which jolted the floor from under their feet. Eric fell forward onto his hands while Diana managed to grab the bannister to keep her upright, but the jolt caused Bobby, standing with his back to the stairs, to suddenly lose his balance and tumble backwards down the stairs. Both teenagers automatically scrabbled forwards, their hands raised, to catch the boy, but it was obvious they were going to be too late. The child was going to land, headfirst, on the staircase before either of them could get to him.

Only he didn't. Nanoseconds before he hit the stairs, he vanished. Simply vanished. Eric and Diana looked up at where the child had been in horror as his baseball bat rolled noisily down the stairs after him.

'Oh no...' gasped Diana, 'Oh no...'

The great cacophony began again, rumbling and growing from the living room and kitchen into the hallway. Eric flipped over onto his back, facing the ground floor of the house furiously.

'You Bastard!' he cried at the shaking walls of the hallway, ' he was just a little kid!'

Diana began to drag him up the stairs by his collar. Unthinkingly, he followed, still railing at the chaos that was beginning to creep up the staircase.

'Fuck you!' he screamed, 'Fuck you! Rot in Hell! Leave us alone!'

The staircase shook violently, throwing photographs from their hooks one by one, moving up towards the landing. Eric barely noticed himself grabbing the bat and allowing Diana to pull him towards the bathroom. He was too busy cursing the unseen force that pummelled the house.

Diana was no more aware of her own actions. The adrenaline had taken over. She had no time to think, or to mourn the friends that had gone. Her instincts had taken over, and their only need was to save herself, and this one person that remained. She pushed him roughly into the small bathroom and slammed the door shut on them both, locking it. They both sat on the floor, their breathing hard, their backs pressed against the door as the tremors found it and pounded against it ineffectually from the other side. They waited for the onslaught to stop, which it did, suddenly. Still they sat, wordlessly, propping the door shut with their bodies. Diana felt a hand touch hers. Her fists were still clawed tightly around the table leg, but she allowed the one he had touched to relax enough for him to slip his fingers under hers.

It came again. They had been expecting it. It was like many hands slapping and punching the door. Their bodies, hunched against the door, felt the force of each and every blow, but still they didn't move. Without warning, it stopped yet again, and they were left huddled into one another in dark silence.

'I was gonna get an early night,' whispered Eric after a while.

She turned her head. He was barely visible in the gloom. 'Hmm?'

'I was tired,' continued Eric, half to himself, 'I was gonna read, and have some of Mrs Greene's wicked veggie lasagne, and have a boring, early night. And now it's not even midnight and here I am, shored up in the bathroom of America's Most Haunted House, about to go "poof" into the underworld...' Diana caught the glint of his teeth as he grinned at her. 'Never know what to expect when I'm with you, Deeds. Guess that's why I like you.'

Diana huffed a little in mock irritation. 'Tell me about it. I was going to wash up, send Bobby up to his room with his comics and settle down to a video with my girl friend.'

'Lesbian Porno?' asked Eric, hopefully.

Diana laughed, surprisingly loudly. '"Cinderella". I wanted to watch "Halloween". Glad I didn't, now.' She squeezed his hand a little tighter. 'So are you sorry you came?'

'No way.' He found the luminescent ovals of her eyes in the darkness. 'I mean, the abject terror and impending doom really sucks, but... if I hadn't come, you'd be on your own by now. And I couldn't have that.'

He paused, squinting to see the shape of the young woman in the darkness. His thumb began to trace a small figure of eight softly on the side of her hand. She reciprocated by gently stroking the valley of his palm with her own thumb.

'Besides,' he added, 'it was probably worth it to see you again. It's a pity we never got that date. I may as well tell you now, I'm kinda broke, so the Restaurant was off. I was just gonna cook.'

'Peruvian food?'

'Not unless you have a guinea pig you're not particularly attached to.' Eric smiled at her again. 'But I make a Coq Au Vin that'll turn your knees to jelly. Dessert would be on you, of course.'

Diana raised an eyebrow at him. He didn't see it so much as sense it. 'What were you planning? It all sounds way too sophisticated for me.'

He grinned. 'I'm sure you'll learn to cope. Just remember to start with the cutlery on the outside...'

They fell into another brief silence. Her thumb moved from his palm to the inside of his wrist, brushing small circles against the sensitive blue veins near the surface. The hairs on the back of his neck were already on end, so they didn't really have anywhere to go.

'You really are ridiculously pretty,' he breathed, even though he couldn't see her.

He gasped as he felt her gently pull him closer towards her.

So this is how I go out... he thought, leaning in so he could feel her shortened breaths on his face, ...guess there's worse ways...

He knew he should close his eyes. That was what they always did in the movies. But he didn't want to let the faint outline of her out of his sight, unless it was taken from him like all the others. Besides, it was dark. How would she be able to tell? He held his breath, opening his lips slightly as he leaned in closer still.

The toilet and bathroom cabinet exploded simultaneously, showering them both in cold water and shards of mirror. Eric flinched automatically, grabbing the tray and holding it over himself and the hunched figure beside him, screwing up his eyes to protect them from the onslaught as the glass tinkled around him. Stillness settled again, and after a couple of seconds, Eric allowed himself a small, nervous laugh.

'Told you you'd be glad I brought the tray.'

There was no reply. No other panicked breathing save his own. He didn't want to open his eyes, but he had to. There was nothing. No shape against the door. She had been taken. He was alone. He began to push himself across the bathroom floor, away from the locked door, not caring about the broken glass as it bit into him, picking up the baseball bat as he went. The Thing had found a way in, and had taken her. It was in. He couldn't get out. And he was alone.