Excerpt: The Fourth Box

The Fourth Box

I thought about Jonah Davis the night that he died. It was Halloween, my best Halloween yet. Actually, it was the first time I’d celebrated it. My grandma objects to it on religious grounds, and Dad finds it too American, but I was at university, and for once I had people to enjoy it with. So I’d gone on a mega-shop with Rachel, the type of shopping trip where you walk around the aisles for almost an hour trying to find the perfect combination of salty and sweet junk food, loaded far too much into the trolley, queued amongst student vampires and ghosts, and walked back to her room. Rachel’s accommodation block is about ten minutes away from mine, and after you get past the language faculty lecture halls the road is unlit, so it feels a little scary at the best of times. Combine it with Halloween, a creepy story about the resident university ghost (plays the chapel organ at strange times of night), and we were totally spooked. Rachel managed to freak herself out with her own story, a bike swooshing in behind her just as the elderly Russian lady was about to transform into a wolf. And then it was hot chocolate, marshmallows and cream, with Rachel’s feminist commentary, and Maria’s ‘Fifty little-known facts about Transylvania’ far more entertaining than the old Dracula film on the screen. I didn’t know their friends, but it felt great to be laughing with people again.

I was still on a sugar high when I got back. When you’ve eaten so much Haribo that you can hear your blood singing you realise that you’re not going to be sleeping any time soon. Besides, Halloween is one of those times you don’t want to waste, like the last night of the summer holidays, sleeping is just going to make everything else arrive. I’ve always loved the feeling of the 31st, one of those occasions where things kick off after dark, and it’s ten times better in studentville. My room is on the top floor, looking out onto the main street, and I sat in my window-seat for a while, watching the drunken zombies shuffle their way home. 1am, and my heart was still beating a caffeinated rumba in my chest. I scanned the DVD collection on my shelf. And because it now feels indie and atmospheric, and I’m that kind of girl, I chose ‘Jonathan’s Portal’ and watched it until it was almost dawn. And I thought of Jonah.

The phone call came early in the afternoon.