Excerpt Tugger's Down Prologue Salem, Massachusetts A tiny skid. A jerk. And the planchette skittered across the Ouija board, came to an abrupt stop and pointed to the word “Yes.” Olivia Farnsworth took her fingers from the small piece of wood that rested on the board and gave Tiffani Adams a skeptical glance from slitted eyes. “You did that. You made it move.”  “No, I didn’t.” Tiffani’s face darkened. “Yes, you did. Even in this dim light, I can tell you’re blushing. You always blush when you lie.”

“See, I knew this was fake.” Olivia crossed her arms and tilted her head back to look down her nose at Tiffani. “I told you these things don’t work.”

“Yes, they do! I’ve seen them work.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true. Heather and Joannie and I play with Ouija boards a lot. It’s fun.” Tiffani leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And this board was Grandma Tessie’s. I found it at her beach cottage last weekend and sneaked it home in my backpack. Since Grandma Tessie did lots of stuff, read tea leaves, even did tarot cards, this is bound to be a good board.”

“I don’t care,” Olivia said. “It didn’t actually move like you said it would. You made it move.” 

“You were getting impatient. Like always. So, I was trying to keep you interested until, you know, until it started working.”

Neither girl said anything for a moment, each eyeing the other to see if she would give in. Usually, it was Tiffani who gave in first and allowed her cousin Olivia to win their frequent contests of wills.

“So, give it a little time. Okay? ’Cause it’s really lots of fun once it gets going. And spooky.” She faked an elaborate shiver. “Besides, you ought to feel privileged. I’m only letting you in on it because Heather’s not here. I was going to wait until she got home, but she won’t be back from Europe for two more weeks, and I don’t want to wait any more. I want to try it out now.”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t believe in this stuff. It’s just like religion-nothing but superstition and fairy tales.”

“I’m serious. It does work. You’ll see.” She gave Olivia a sideways glance and used her strongest argument. “Besides, you want to know if Matt will come back and marry you, don’t you? It’ll tell you.”

Matt Rhodes, despite his declarations of love during his seduction of Olivia, had abandoned her when the results of their lovemaking became apparent. Olivia still yearned for him to fulfill his promises of undying devotion, still wanted him to marry her as he’d said he would. And any mention of his return to Salem and to her, no matter how far-fetched, was greeted by Olivia as if it had substance and only waited for his compliance to become real.

“All right, I’ll do it. For you. Not because I believe in it. Just don’t tell my mother I did this.”

“Are you kidding? Me tell Aunt Sylvia?”

“Okay. But I’m doing it just this once.” Olivia rolled her head around and stretched her back. She unfolded one leg, flexed it and returned to her cross-legged position facing Tiffani, their knees touching. “And just for a little while. My back’s starting to hurt. Man, being pregnant isn’t any fun.”

“Oh, please.” Tiffani rolled her eyes. “You act like you’re the only girl who ever had a baby. I’ll be so glad when it comes next month so I don’t have to listen to you complain any more.” She repositioned the board, rested it on their knees and set her hands on the wooden pointer. “C’mon. Put your hands on the planchette and let’s get it going.”

“Planchette?”

“Yeah. That’s what you call this wood pointer thingie.”

“Oh, all right.” Olivia gingerly placed her fingertips on the planchette.

“Now. I think why it didn’t work the first time is because we didn’t say the stuff Heather always says. So this time, we’ll ask the spirits to come answer our questions. Since it’s your question, you ask them,” Tiffani said.

“This is silly. I’d feel stupid-”

“Go on. Ask. Say ‘hear me, oh spirit, I ask for you to come to me and answer my questions.’ Or something like that.”

Olivia sighed and said, in a bored, sing-song voice, “Spirit, I ask for you to come to me and answer my questions.”

He feels it. A disturbance. A minor one, but strong enough that he feels it. He rouses, extends himself, sniffs the surrounding atmosphere. Yes. Faint. But there. An invitation. It will allow him to escape his fetters again.

The entity homes in on the essence, familiar and tantalizing, that drifts through the void, and he follows it. He swims through the blackness and the miasma of his own existence, through the open gate toward the source. It grows stronger as he draws nearer. And he becomes more agitated. 

Sensations long denied him flow through his memory and tantalize him. He remembers. And becomes hungry for another conquest, hungry to be bathed in the deliciousness of a human life force once again, hungry for the power it bestows. 

He strikes the planchette a glancing blow as he moves upward through the board.

The flames of three fat, black candles on the bedside table flickered and danced, as if they wished to escape the wicks that tethered them. Two of them guttered. The flame of the third flared for a moment and died, although no breath of air stirred. The smoke-woven scent of hot wax hung heavy in the darkened stillness, along with a faint, unrecognizable stench .

“What was that?” Olivia’s muscles tightened, and her nose wrinkled.

“I...I don’t know. I’ve never felt that before.” Tiffani swallowed, took a deep breath and released it in an excited gush. “But wasn’t it cool! Wait ’til I tell Heather. I bet she never had that happen.”

Olivia rubbed her arms as though chilled by a wintry mist drifting through the room. “It wasn’t cool. It was creepy. I’m done with this. I don’t like it.” She shuddered, looked around the room at the red and black tapers Tiffani had placed around the room. Olivia’s hands clutched at each other, and she laid them on her lap. “Blow out the rest of those candles and turn on the light.”

“Come on, Ollie! You can’t quit now, just when it’s getting started!”

Tiffani cajoled and pleaded until Olivia consented to put her hands on the planchette again. She barely touched it, her aversion growing stronger.

“Now, ask the question, ‘will Matt come back and marry me.’”

Olivia sighed again, closed her eyes and asked, “Will Matt come back to me and marry me?”

After a moment, the planchette vibrated slightly, so slightly that Olivia wondered for a moment if she had imagined it, and it began to move. It inched along at first, traveled around the board in a slow, wide circle. As it started another circuit, it moved faster. And faster still. It slid from beneath Tiffani’s fingers. Now, it was flying across the board with only Olivia touching it. Her eyes opened wide and a chill vibrated from the base of her spine, crawled up her back when she realized the planchette was moving of its own volition.

A faint tingle started in her finger tips, grew stronger as it crept up her fingers into her hands, then her arms. She tried to remove her hands from the rapidly accelerating planchette but could not. A squeak escaped her lips when the tingle became stronger.

She looked in desperation to her cousin. “Help me! It won’t let me go!”

He feels the energy of the young body, drinks in the life force, basks in it. Ah! It has been long. Too long...

But...

Something. There is something else, someone else...some other being in this body. Has he been too slow? Has another come through the board first and laid claim? No. No. He tests and tastes the flavor of the life essence of the other being. It is untainted, yet it has the familiar flavor. Then how? It comes to him in an instant. This is a female body and there is another life forming within.

His glee and delight surges, burgeons, expands. He turns his attention from the female to the new being. Never before has he inhabited one before birth. He lets himself drift through the female, relishing what lies before him, anticipating.

When he floats to the small body housing the young life, ready to probe and find a point of entry, he moves slowly. He wants to have a long memory to enjoy and sustain himself during his next period of imprisonment in the abyss.

“Ollie! What’s wrong!”

Tiffani tugged at Olivia’s arms, tried to snatch her cousin’s hands from the whirling planchette but they adhered almost as if fastened to it. Tiffani whimpered when Olivia’s eyes rolled back in her head and her body slumped against the headboard of the bed. She was unconscious, but the racing planchette still dragged her hands along. Tiffani snatched the Ouija board from Olivia’s lap, and the ceaseless movement stopped.

He is yanked from the prize before he possesses it, feels a tugging and a long hard pull, stretching his being, pulling him outside the lovely young body. No! This can’t happen! Not when he is so close. 

The entity hurls himself at the small being inside the female, ready to penetrate its body. It is his last chance. But he is repelled by an iron-hard resistance. He is aghast. He’s been refused entrance to human bodies in the past, but always by older humans. How can a being this small deny him entry! In his fury, he throws himself at the baby, again and again, slamming himself against the personhood of the child. He feels a momentary giving way, and he hammers at it…

Tiffani’s stockinged feet thudded down the carpeted stairs of the solidly-built old house as she raced in search of help. “Mom! Mom! Come quick!”

Barbara Adams emerged from the kitchen. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“It’s Ollie!” Tiffani whirled around and rushed back the way she’d come. She entered her bedroom and saw the Ouija board lying on the floor, half-propped on her shoes. She thrust the board and the planchette under the bed with a foot before her mother reached the bedroom.

Olivia’s body jerked and writhed as if she were enmeshed in a struggle with an unseen foe, and for a moment Barbara lost the ability to move as she watched. She drew in a breath, and regained control of herself. She flipped the light switch, grabbed Tiffani’s phone and dialed 911. 

A man in green scrubs appeared in the waiting room, mask hanging beneath his chin. “I’m looking for Olivia Farnsworth’s family,” he announced.

“I’m her mother.” Sylvia Farnsworth stood, adjusted her clothing, smoothed her skirt. 

“Could you step into the hall with me for a moment, please?” He gestured toward the open door, swept a surgical cap from his head, and stepped into the corridor.

“Certainly.” Sylvia followed him.

He led the way toward a set of double doors, away from the waiting room. He stopped and looked at the floor for a few moments before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” he began, “I did everything I could. I don’t think even her regular doctor could have-”

“Sorry? About what?”

“I…we lost your daughter, but-”

“Lost her? What do you mean?” Sylvia’s voice rose, a shrillness seeping into her normally cultured tone.

“Your daughter passed away. I don’t fully understand what happened yet, but-” He broke off when Sylvia began to tremble. “Do you need to sit?”

Sylvia shook her head, and, using the control she’d developed and mastered over the years, willed herself to maintain the proper decorum. 

“Was your daughter subject to seizures? She seemed…”

His voice receded from Sylvia’s consciousness.

Olivia. A brief vision, a flash of blonde hair and a vivid smile claimed her thoughts for a moment.

Her beautiful Olivia. Gone. It couldn’t be. And yet, here was this common man delivering a pronouncement of Olivia’s departure in a flat, nasal tone Sylvia found abrasive and unpleasant. She realized she’d lost the thread of his words and had to ask him to repeat himself.

“I said, you have a grandson. We rushed him to the neonatal ICU. Once he’s stabilized, you’ll be able to see him….”

The doctor’s voice faded again along with the other ambient sounds, and Sylvia’s knees buckled. The tiled floor rose to slap her face and light retreated.

Lacey Cochran pulled into the packed parking lot and eased along the full rows of cars, looking for a slot. She almost lost hope of finding one when she saw an empty space on the next row. She let out a relieved breath and accelerated. When she got to the end of the row, a blue Honda from the next lane over swung around the end, went the wrong way and turned into the row ahead of Lacey. The Honda reached the empty spot and slid neatly into it.

Lacey’s mouth flew open as a spate of angry words rose and threatened to spill from her mouth. She stopped her car behind the Honda and watched as a young man with short brown hair climbed out, reached in for a backpack and slipped it onto his shoulders. He strode past Lacey’s car without a glance.

“That was my parking spot, you…you….you jerk!” She bit her lip, almost as a punishment for voicing her frustration. What would Mrs. Parker think of her if she knew what Lacey had said? She cringed. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She continued her search and after twice around the lot, a car left a vacant spot and Lacey took possession of it. This was a bad day to register, since classes started today. She’d have to pay a hefty fee for late registration, but Lacey had no choice. She couldn’t register online, like most other students did, because she didn’t have a computer or a credit card. And because she’d had car troubles which depleted the money she saved for enrollment, she didn’t have money enough to register early. She’d had to wait until she got her paycheck this morning.

When she got to the Admissions Office, the owner of the blue Honda was standing at the counter talking to the woman behind it.

“Oh, cool,” he said. “I really needed to get that Microprocessor Systems class out of the way this semester. I was afraid it might have filled up already.”

“You’re in luck. One seat left,” the woman said. “But I don’t understand. If it’s so important to you, why didn’t you sign up earlier?”

“Couldn’t. I was on a ship. Just got discharged from the Navy and arrived here yesterday,” he said.

The woman completed his paperwork, handed him a printout and directed him to the Registrar’s Office. He walked past Lacey without a glance, and she glared at him as he pushed the door open and left the office.

He took my parking spot and now he’s taken the last seat in the class I wanted the most. 

She took a deep breath, forced her hands to unclench, and stepped up to the counter. “I overheard the man who was just here. He wanted to sign up for the Microprocessor Systems class I need-”

“Yes. He got the last seat. The class is full.”

For a moment Lacey said nothing, her teeth clamped tight, a mix of conflicting emotions building. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream. She wanted to follow the man and tell him what she thought of him, that he was a selfish boor and a thief. 

Ridiculous. I couldn’t do that.

The admissions clerk typed Lacey’s information into the computer, hesitated and looked up at Lacey. “There’s another class you have on your list that’s full, too. Do you have some alternates picked out?”

Lacey’s shoulders slumped. “No, I didn’t think…I didn’t…”

“Why don’t you go through the schedule again and pick out some others?”

“Can you go ahead and reserve the ones I want that are still available while I decide on the last two?”

“I’ll keep your form open unless someone else gets here before you complete your registration. I’ll have to give the classes to whoever registers first, though. It’s first come, first served, you know.”

“Okay.” Lacey’s voice was tremulous. She cleared her throat backed slowly away from the counter. 

“Here. You’ll need to keep your paperwork.”

She stepped forward to the papers from the woman and exited the Admissions Office. By the time she reached the sidewald, the full weight of disappointment descended and pressed down on her. She’d planned everything, mapped it out. She’d decided which classes to take each semester, got most of the prerequisite classes out of the way in her first year. She wanted ot get her degree in three years, and that meant in another year, she could get a better paying job. But it appeared now that her planning had been for nothing. All because of a selfish, inconsiderate…

Lacey, you know better than to have such an unkind attitude toward someone. Mrs. Parker’s admonions echoed from her childhood and interrupted her growing anger. She sighed, lifed her shoulders in a moment’s recognition of the futility and inadvisability of letting her mind dwell on the unchangeable situation. She’d missed out on those classes and that was that. It couldn’t be helped. The only thing left was to find alternate classes to fill out her schedule. Her steps dragged as she headed back to the parking lot.

Sunlight glinted from her windshield. It would be sweltering in the car…too hot to sit comfortably and go over the list of scheduled classes. She could probably think more clearly in air conditioned comfort. She was already hot and thirsty. If she went to the student center and splurged on a coke, maybe that would lift her sagging spirits. Lacey squared her shoulders, spun around and marched toward the student center.

The Commons building was packed. Lacey threaded through the crowd and entered the student center. She got a coke, spied the last empty table and snagged it. She arranged her papers on the cool Formica surface, shuffled through them and reviewed the schedule again. And started compiling a list of possible classes, making sure she had plenty of alternatives in case some were no longer available. She read through the catalog once more, searching for other classes, marking them according to which she preferred to take this semester.

“’Scuse me, is it okay if I sit here? Or are these seats taken?”

She glanced up at the man holding a tray of food, and her eyes narrowed. The driver of the blue Honda. The thief who’d stolen her parking place and taken the last seat in the Microprocessor Systems class. Her jaw tightened and the muscles in her shoulders became rigid. A glance around the room told her there were no other seats available. She wanted to say “go find yourself another place to sit,” wanted to inconvenience this man, wanted to, in some small way, repay him for ruining her plans. But Mrs. Parker’s teachings about kindness and Christian behavior asserted themselves again. She couldn’t go against the upbringing she’d received at the children’s home.

“No.”

“‘No,’ the seats aren’t taken, or ‘no’ it’s not okay?”

Lacey sighed. “You can sit here.”

“Thanks.”

He set his tray on the table, pulled his backpack from his shoulders and lowered it to the floor. He sat in the chair across from her and picked up his sandwich.

“By the way, my name is Porter O’Brien.” He took a bite of hamburger, chewed and swallowed. “What’s yours?”

“Lacey.”

He smiled. “Unusual name.” He took a drink of coke. “I like it.”

Lacey smiled at him in spite of herself. Then remembered she was angry with him, and her irritation erased her pleasant expression. She took a sip of her drink and returned her attention to the schedule of classes.

“What you doin’?” Porter asked.

“Trying to decide what classes I want to take.”

“A little late to be doing that, isn’t it? I mean, to wait ’til the last minute to decide-”

“I didn’t wait ’til the last minute! Things happened. And then, you took the last slot in the Microprocessor Systems class I planned to take. So now, I have to find an alternative.”

“Really? My bad.”

His flip answer made Lacey grit her teeth to hold back a scathing remark. She stared at the list she’d made, although the meaning of the words she’d scribbled on it escaped her.

“Guess you’d better get busy looking for another one then, so you don’t get totally shut out.”

“Yes. I know. That’s why I came in here so I could sit quietly and go over the class list again.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

But you have stopped me, she wanted to shout.

She shifted, as much as she could, so that her back was toward him, and continued scanning the schedule, looking for alternative classes.

“What’s your major?” he asked.

His words pushed Lacey over the limit of her self-control.

“Look. I don’t have much time, and if you keep interrupting, I’ll never get done with this.”

“Sorry.”

Red. Warmth. Comfort. Cradled. Floating. Bliss.

A nudge. Discomfort. Shift away from the nudge.

Another nudge. Sharper. Pain. Shift again. Escape the pain. 

More pain. Harder, harder nudges. Distress. 

Anger.

The dream was the same as his memory of the time before. But sometimes, Tugger realized the dream was only part dream, and Nudger, as Tugger thought of him, was nudging, prodding, hitting again, bringing pain Tugger couldn’t escape. As he had done before, when Tugger was in the red, warm comfort. And Tugger steeled himself, hardened his resolve and resisted. He flailed his arms and legs, as he had when he was in the red comfort.

And awoke.

“What is it, Tucker, baby? Have another bad dream?”

He whimpered. How could he tell her of it?

She scooped him up, enfolded him into the warmth of her arms and carried him to the rocking chair.

“I love you, sweetie,” she murmured as she always did and kissed his forehead. She caressed the rigid muscles of his arms and back as she rocked him. “I love you, Tucker, baby.”

Tugger snuggled against her comforting warmth and softness but didn’t relax. He remained wary, watchful. He pulled his arms in and folded them across his chest with hands clenched, tucked his chin to his chest and drew his knees up. As he had in the red comfort.

Lacey settled into her seat, pulled a spiral notebook and pen from her tote and readied herself to take notes. This class, like her others, was crucial, would prepare her for employment in a decent-paying job. Her future depended on doing well, and she intended to excel. 

It was almost time for her first class to begin. Professor Albritton approached the podium, laid a book and sheaf of papers on it and prepared to begin his lecture. The door opened. Porter O’Brien came barreling into the classroom and headed toward a vacant seat behind Lacey.

“Hey, Lacey,” he said as he passed.

She rolled her eyes. Of all the classes at the university, of all the students attending those classes, why did this man have to be in her class? Just looking at him tightened the muscles in her jaw. Not only was he far too cheerful, he’d proven to be an impediment in her path, no matter which way she turned. And now, it appeared he’d be an irritant in this class for an entire semester.

At the end of the class session, as she replaced her notebook in her tote, he intruded once again.

“You never did tell me what your major is.”

“Computer science.” Her answer was short and abrupt.

“Me, too. We might even have other classes together. Cool.” He grinned, shouldered his backpack and ambled away.

Oh no! This couldn’t be happening. Not only was she consigned to a semester of putting up with Porter in this class, she faced the prospect of having other classes with him, too.

For the rest of the week, before and after class, Porter carried on a friendly chatter which Lacey tried to discourage. She replied in monosyllables, sometimes pretended not to hear him. But nothing seemed to work. She concluded his friendliness was congenital, that he was unable to help himself.