41

something like a “worry-bird,” painted orange, except for the beak, which was laterally striped in green and white. A tuft of feathers was glued to the head.
“Do you like it?” asked Stephanie.
“Oh, honey, I do, I really do. Got a name for it?”
“Uh-uh.”
“What’s a good one?”
“I dunno,” Stephanie shrugged.
“Let me see, let me see.” Shirley tapped fingertips to teeth. “I don’t know. Whaddya think? Whaddya think about “Dumbbird”? Huh? Just 'Dumbbird.' "
Stephanie was snickering, hand to her mouth to conceal the braces. Nodding.
" 'Dumbbird' by a landslide! I'll leave it here to dry and then I'll put him in my room."
Shirley was setting down the bird when she noticed the Ouija board. Close. On the table. She'd forgotten she had it. Almost as curious about herself as she was about others, she'd originally bought it as a possible means of exposing clues to her subconscious. It hadn't worked. She'd used it a time or two with Lori, and once with Thompson, who had skilfully steered the plastic planchette ("Are you the one who's moving it, ducky?") so that all of the "messages" were obscene, and then afterward blamed it on the "fucking spirits!"
“You playin’ with the Ouija board?”
“Yep.”
“Where’djya learn how?”
“Oh, it says on the back. On the box. Here, I’ll show you.” She was moving to sit by the board.
“Well, I think you need two people, honey.”
“No ya don’t, Mom; I do it all the time.”