Meanwhile, aisles away, Dinah is staring and staring at a page, until it becomes a rippling swirl of nonsense. There is something odd about it, something illusive, until she looks up and the room is bathed in a curious soft glow, illuminating her eyelids with the yellow orange hue of dawn.

She experiences a strange weightlessness, a buoyancy that occurs when one is submerged in a body of water. A sun that carves with the skill of a sharpened blade and a wet feeling around her fingers and toes. She is bobbing in a translucent and sparkling ocean. She flails for a moment- grasping for …what? The bookshelf is gone, the library is gone. All around are small wooden row boats, creaking and brushing together, one after another with the tide.

A pale, feminine hand reaches from a vessel of dark wood, searching blindly. Long, blood red nails like a waxen apple. It sweeps down, until it touches a lock of Dinah's hair. It recoils, but on the instant fumbles down and grasps her shoulder in triumph. A small voice trickles over the side, soothing the scream Dinah is fighting to keep within. “Help me, help me up.”

Through a dreamy numbness of the limbs, Dinah slowly peers into the boat and the female occupant, with her pale petite fingers still clasping her shoulder. The sea is calm, the sun warming the water. The rosy features of a beautiful woman, high cheekbones, big olive eyes and lips full and voluptuous. Ivory teeth and hair that reminds Dinah of melted chocolate cascading down a waterfall. They stare at one another; Dinah in breathless awe, the woman in expectant wonder at the girl- almost a woman, washed up alongside. From her vantage point, Dinah can make out similar boats with their precious female cargo, lying with eyes closed, all equally beautiful in their slumber.

“You are a sister of the caskets?” The accent is foreign, one Dinah finds hard to place. She shakes her head. The beautiful lady has a sad smile.

“You can share my boat.”

Dinah, now under a strange wordless spell, does as she is bid and drops into the boat, falling gratefully on a bed of black velvet. The boat is made of ice. Except it isn’t a boat at all. But a coffin.

The woman beckons Dinah closer and whispers. “The casket girls are on a journey...would you like to join us?” Dinah wonders whether the journey will entail being hammered into an ice coffin.

“What’s your name?”

“Marian.” The woman, like an eclipsed mirage; scans the sea uneasily, and the boats as they bob further on the tide speak back in silent wonder. Her dark eyes are fearful. But nothing moves and all remains still as the lapping of the sea keeps time. “He who holds the jade controls the caskets.” Marian holds up a piece of precious stone in the shape of a cicada. It glitters in the light. “Ssh, we should not be awake,” and with a decisive lunge forward, kisses Dinah on the lips. She feels a coldness seep through her bones, a dark chill that revolts her, but keeps her frozen. She falls, toppling back into the water and under the current.

*

“You hear this Dinah? You’re becoming like-” She snaps back to the present, gripping tightly onto the bookcase to steady herself, fighting a wave of nausea.

“I’m going to be sick-” She bites the inside of her lip until the skin splits open like an overripe peach. She starts to count, the number of tiles on the floor, the books with red binding. She counts so it calms her from the voices, because there is symmetry in numbers. After she is done, she notices a nail stuck out of shelf number two, the one with English Literature books H-K. She really wants to touch it.

“Do you need to go to the medical room? I’ll come, I need some plasters…” Kary begins, the tip of her spoon dangles between her thumb and forefinger, yet still barely grazing the reservoir of her yoghurt pot.

Tony has his uptight, held together with too many layers of box tape look, like he will crawl through burning lava and a pool of piranhas to get his point across. Peter meanwhile, is starting to over analyse. When it comes to Dinah, he does not like to think something is making her unhappy. Peter is many things; spontaneous, refreshing, funny. He loves singing at awkward moments and charms female teachers into changing his grades. But most of all he is reliable, and when serious, makes the decisions; a role which Tony happily relinquishes to him and supports with his own beliefs. He is not a worrier and neither does he get stressed. He doesn’t like irrational thoughts because they give him migraines.

“You’re just over worrying because of exams. And all the tidying you do -” Tony starts; but Kary silences him with a glance.

Dinah tears a page off her journal, determined to change the subject. She does not like them discussing her OCD. She knew, that she couldn’t possibly be alone in the world, that there were other people like her, that this somehow separated her from her friends, who couldn’t possibly relate. She counts lampposts and the labels in her room have to face out. Sometimes she wakes at 4am and has to ensure everything is straight. And other times she doesn't care if there is rubbish on the floor or clothes under the bed. What was the big fuss about that? It wasn't a problem, it was a condition. And the creepy girl in the boat? The face at the fairground? The voices?

“This is a blueprint of my room, I’m going to redecorate it, and here will be my display wall,” she says proudly, banishing these uncomfortable thoughts aside. “Can you paint me a picture? Please, you’re good at Art. Something creepy mind, to suit my other decorations.” The friends know who she is asking.

“And pretty much everything else without trying.” Tony mutters with a smirk. “Do tell us Peter how you manage to do well in Physics, Music and English? You cheat don’t you mate, I know it.”

“A picture? What of?” Asks the curious Peter, shoving Tony off his chair until he falls flat on his back.

“But Halloween is over in a few weeks…” Kary says, dubiously.

“Halloween isn’t a festival! It’s a state of mind!” Dinah claps her hands delightedly, eyes shining.