The Yellow Scarf

  #

  “Great,” said Tristan. “So what are the rest of us going to do? Read each other’s Tarot cards?”

  “Are there any?” said Pandora. “I didn’t see any in the other room. Maybe we could bring out that Chinese Ouija board and see if we can contact Confucius.”

  Tristan howled.

  “No one’s going back into that room,” said Peter.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch. I was only joking.”

  Peter took another swallow of his wine. “I think Bree is right. Coming here tonight was a bad idea.”

  “Not you too!” whined Tristan.

  “We’re all stoned out of our minds. And we’re tired. And you’ve got to admit the stuff in that room is pretty far out.”

  “Would it have been any different in broad daylight?”

  “Yes, I think it would. Maybe with the light coming in through the windows the place wouldn’t feel so…”

  “So what?”

  “Evil.”

  Tristan threw his hands up. “You’re really something, you know that? I can’t believe you of all people take this stuff seriously. You don’t think the things in that room have any power, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t want to find out.”

  “What about you, Pandora? Do you think inanimate objects can be evil?” Tristan’s words were laced with sarcasm, and his attitude was beginning to annoy Peter.

  “I don’t know. I suppose so. Why else would he have collected them?”

  “Because he was a nutter,” Tristan said, and then looked at Peter. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”