Selina had a habit of drawing pentagrams on the soles of her shoes. A habit that started as an edgy facade and soon became an obsession.
‘Aces high,’ Deb exclaimed, turning out her hand to reveal a three-of-a-kind windfall.
Jack threw his kings at the couch.
‘Sssh,’ Selina barked; she was getting nervous. The tip of the Sharpie bore deep grooves in the soles of her turquoise Connies where she traced the five-pointed star over and over again. Now her teeth bored grooves in her lower lip, too.
‘Chill out, Sel,’ Deb shrugged. She reached for a bag of marshmallows buried amongst the pile of junk food they’d assembled for the sleep over. ‘Nothing’s going to happen at midnight.’
‘Why midnight anyways?’ Jack crunched a mouthful of Pringles.
‘Because that’s what he told me,’ Selina muttered through clenched teeth. Told being spelt-out on the crude, hand-drawn Ouija board last weekend. ’12. 12. 12 — 12 o’clock on December 12.’
‘How d’you know it wasn’t noon?’ Jack asked.
‘Because it’s dinner time and I’m still alive.’