The book said it was called a Ouija Board, which was apparently NOT pronounced how it looked, which probably meant it was French. From what Samara understood of the language, French was just bizarre
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Cuthbert had been driven inside by the grey weather- even though it wasn't raining, he just wasn't in the mood for work on his treehouse or wander the island. He'd get plenty of time outdoors lighting the torches tonight, he reasoned, and it would likely start getting dark earlier than usual, so he decided to try and amuse himself in the Compound.
Bert headed for the Rec Room. He'd been meaning to play around with the jookbox and see if he could get it to play anything but "Hey Jude" and "Careless Love", and this seemed as good a way as any to spend a cloudy day. When he walked in, there was a young lady with long, dark hair sitting down with her face concealed by a large book. "Hello," Bert greeted, and turned to face the colorful glow of the music-machine. He put his hands on the warm glass, and at his touch, a record raised and the needle lowered to the black surface. He read the label: "Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown" by The Rolling Stones. Well, Cuthbert didn't recognize it, and that was something. "There!" He turned around and saw two dark eyes regarding him from over the top of the book. "Oh! Cry your pardon- is the music going to bother you?"
"If it was going to bother me, it would already be bothering me," Samara said, though it may or may not have been agreement. "Can you make it play anything, or does it just bother you?"
For her part, it rarely played music when she was around. She'd always suspected it had to do with her inability to really understand why music was important.
"Oh," Cuthbert said, working out whether or not it was a polite way of asking him to leave. Having Roland for a best friend had given Cuthbert the funny habit of reading each and every mild word for all it was worth; he could interpret enthusiasm (whether or not it was actually there) in the most arid statement. Since she pressed on, he was encouraged, and took a seat in a nearby armchair. "No, I can't," he said. "But I imagine if you've been here long enough, you can probably learn the trick of it. It usually only plays songs I know, though I've never heard this one." He noted the strange drawing on the table, and his eyes darted up to the book she was holding. The book was open to a page that was half-hidden from his vision by the curtain of her hair, but he could see a strange woodcut of a horned fellow, likely the Devil, and a bunch of magic-letters like had been engraved on Rhea's door.
"What's that, there?", he said, as blandly as he could manage. She did look a little spooky, for a child.
"A talking board. It's also called a Ouija board. I guess you can talk to dead people and... the Devil?" Samara shook her head. "If there was a Devil, he wouldn't waste his time with a dumb piece of wood with the alphabet on it."
The picture of the Devil wasn't very scary, though she did note that he had hooves. As a horse did.
"I suppose that's true," Bert said thoughtfully, frowning at the board. Cuthbert had never held much regard for people's suppositions about the great unseen world; in his experience, folk liked to use them to justify all manner of unkindnesses and cowardliness. Furthermore, Bert didn't see much point in fretting about the next world over when there was plenty to be done in this one. In spite of all this, Cuthbert enjoyed a lark (especially one that promised goosebumps) as much as the next fellow, and this was an interesting idea, to say the least. Certainly worthy of a cloudy day.
"Do you know how to use it?" He leaned forward, flattering his palms against his knees as he looked on.
"Not as well as I probably could have at home," she said honestly. "I didn't use a board, though. The movie didn't say anything about one..." Samara looked up at him, really seeing him for the first time. "Have you ever been dead before?"
Bert shook his head. "To be quite honest, I don't know. I believed I was dead when I arrived. I thought the island itself was the clearing at the end of the path. I suppose I'm still not sure it isn't." He looked at her with an uncertain expression. "I drowned, I think - or else fell into a magic river that brought me here," he said with an eyeroll. "But I think I was thinking too much to be dead. Even when I was cold and still and couldn't move my fingers, my brain was still going a mile a minute. I wager if a fellow can worry about a fish eating his eyeballs he's probably still in the game."
Bert reached over and picked up the paper tentatively, asking permission with his eyes before lifting it off of the table. "Do you mean to use it now? I'd like to see, if you are."
"Dying is one of the only things that is a reason for being here," Samara said. "I died and I was brought here," she added. "There was water, but I didn't drown. I think."
From what little she understood, it had to be death from lack of food, despite how she didn't eat very much. She remembered cupping the well water in her hands, running it over her mouth.
Bert headed for the Rec Room. He'd been meaning to play around with the jookbox and see if he could get it to play anything but "Hey Jude" and "Careless Love", and this seemed as good a way as any to spend a cloudy day. When he walked in, there was a young lady with long, dark hair sitting down with her face concealed by a large book. "Hello," Bert greeted, and turned to face the colorful glow of the music-machine. He put his hands on the warm glass, and at his touch, a record raised and the needle lowered to the black surface. He read the label: "Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown" by The Rolling Stones. Well, Cuthbert didn't recognize it, and that was something. "There!" He turned around and saw two dark eyes regarding him from over the top of the book. "Oh! Cry your pardon- is the music going to bother you?"
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For her part, it rarely played music when she was around. She'd always suspected it had to do with her inability to really understand why music was important.
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"What's that, there?", he said, as blandly as he could manage. She did look a little spooky, for a child.
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The picture of the Devil wasn't very scary, though she did note that he had hooves. As a horse did.
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"Do you know how to use it?" He leaned forward, flattering his palms against his knees as he looked on.
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Bert reached over and picked up the paper tentatively, asking permission with his eyes before lifting it off of the table. "Do you mean to use it now? I'd like to see, if you are."
Reply
From what little she understood, it had to be death from lack of food, despite how she didn't eat very much. She remembered cupping the well water in her hands, running it over her mouth.
"I don't know if there's any ghosts here."
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