Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

after all, at least not of the official variety. While the fact put Dennis more at ease than he had been, it also raised further questions.

Questions which would have to wait, it seemed, as Bobo was suddenly at Dennis’ side, having bounded across the yard like an overgrown puppy.

“Alright, then, September,” he said, snatching up the gas can. “Let’s have us an old-fashioned exorcism!”

“I don’t remember anything about gasoline in those rituals,” replied Dennis, climbing back to his feet. The brief moments sitting had left some moisture clinging to the underside of his legs, along with a few blades of cut grass. He brushed at them with one hand, eyeing Bobo warily.

“You must have slept through that part,” Bobo said.

“What?”

“Did you get matches?”

“No, I figured we’d use a lighter. What was that you just said about sleeping?

Bobo plopped the gas can down on the chair. “Bad idea to use a lighter for this, mate. With matches, you can toss ‘em.”

“Ask Elspeth for some matches, then!” Dennis said. “And tell me what you meant by sleeping!”

“No time for that now, we have an exorcism to perform.”

Dennis eyed Bobo with a flat glare. “Are you always so intentionally difficult?” As expected, Bobo grinned in response.

“It’s a movie, September. An old one, even. You know, with the girl and the priests?”

“Haven’t seen it.”

“And the backwards stairs?”

“Now it sounds like one of those M.C. Escher drawings,” Dennis muttered. “Alright, fine, start dousing the chair. I’ll go get some matches from Elspeth.”

“Right here, Dennis,” the woman chimed, materializing next to him. She held out a cardboard box of oversized fire starters, probably designed for getting fireplaces going. Dennis took them with a nod of thanks, and reminded himself to get more sleep that night. Ironically, he was at greater ease with the idea of dealing with Evy than he was with the surprise of the girl’s sister sneaking up on him. At least he hadn’t yelped.

Nearby, Bobo was whistling as he emptied the gas can onto the chair. It took less than a minute before the final drops fell onto the worn upholstery. When the task was complete, Dennis stepped forward, readying one of the elongated matches.

“Okay, as soon as I light this, we’re going to want to get back a bit,” he said.

Bobo nodded seriously, glancing back towards the tree. “How hot are you thinking it’ll be?”

“This was your idea, you tell me,” Dennis muttered. “I just don’t want to take any chances.” He struck the match and waited for the flaring sparks to calm into a steady flame. Then, with a quick look to make sure that both Elspeth and Bobo were a safe distance from any danger, he flung the match at the chair and sprinted away.

After a minute or two had passed, Dennis stormed back towards the chair, a wide-smiled Bobo in tow.

“Make sure it don’t go out this time,” suggested Bobo helpfully.

“Do you want to do this?” Dennis scowled.

“Hey, you’re the big-shot doctor, I’m just the advisor. The assistant, if you will.”

Dennis struck another match and watched it burn for a few seconds. “Funny how the assistant sat back here and played Baccarat while the big-shot doctor played errand boy,” he said.

“Backgammon,” Bobo corrected. He readied himself to run as Dennis held the match up, and the pair retreated back to the tree as the tiny flame sailed towards the chair. This time, the effect was instantaneous, and a brief roar of spawning fire reached Dennis’ ears as he ducked behind the massive trunk.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Ethereal screaming, maybe, or some kind of exotically-colored smoke. Instead, the pyre looked incredibly mundane, or at least as mundane as could be expected when it consisted of a brown armchair and a gallon of unleaded fuel. It was hard to tell through the waves of heat and oily smoke, but the chair seemed to be enduring the conflagration with impressive resolve.

“Well,” Bobo began after several moments of watching the blaze, “at least it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” replied Dennis. “In a mad arsonist sort of way.” The flames continued to lick at the chair, although they were slowly shrinking as the fuel ran low. When the last flicker of the inferno finally died, the chair remained where it was, apparently no worse for the wear.

“I suppose that’s the end of it,” said Elspeth quietly.

“Do you really think that she’s gone?” Dennis asked, surprised. Elspeth looked up with an incredulous smirk.

“I was referring to the fire, Dennis. I suspect that Evy is alive and well, in a manner of speaking.”

“Here, now, that can’t be right!” Bobo protested. “That was a gallon of petrol, that was! It was enough to burn bricks!”

“But not antique furniture, by the looks of it,” mused Dennis. He stared across the yard at the object in question. The grass beneath it had dried out and cooked, but the chair itself appeared to be completely untouched.

“Bollocks!” Bobo pushed away from the protective cover of the tree and stomped towards the burnt area on the grass. Dennis started to protest, but it was clear that his words would have no effect. He hurried to follow, anxious to see what Bobo was up to. The bigger man stood with his hands on his hips, regarding the chair with a mixture of detachment and frustration.

“What the hell is going on here?” growled Bobo. Neither the chair nor its currently absent spectral inhabitant offered anything in the way of a response, and Dennis hurried to offer potential explanations in their stead.

“It might not have been hot enough,” he ventured. “Sometimes it takes a lot to get things going, especially when the wood is really hard.”

“What are you, a bleeding Boy Scout?”

“I was,” Dennis confessed. He swept a palm over the chair’s frame, taking care not to touch the wood. “It isn’t hot at all,” he stated. He stared down at the upholstery, which had remained equally untouched by the inferno. “You know, you’d think that the cushions would have been singed, at