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were tears in his eyes.
    I felt lost, alone. I lit up and stared at the stars, cursing a God who would let an innocent suffer while a worm like me could live.
    And that’s when I saw him. An old man, so ill as to be nearly dead. He sat on a bench wrapped in a robe, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
    "Do you want her to live?" he said.
    "You can help?"
    He smiled.
    "Yes… but only if you promise never to stop smoking."
    "How will that help?"
    Again he smiled, thin whisps of smoke rising from his nostrils.
    "It might tip the balance of suffering… in the long run. Besides… what have you got to lose?"
    I was desperate enough to do anything.
    "Shake on it?" the old man said.
    I put out a hand… and he stubbed his cigarette out on it.
    He wheezed again, before putting out his hand, palm up. A small circular scar sat proud on the skin.
    "What kind of story is that?" I asked. "There’s no point to it."
    "Oh, there is," he said, coughing. "Believe me, there is. My beautiful girl lived… still does in fact."
    "How was that possible?"
    He coughed up a lump of brown phlegm and hawked it into the pool where it sank.
    "The balance of suffering… forty years of smoking."
    "That’s all it took?"
    "All?" he said, and laughed bitterly. "Oh yes, that’s all."
    "I’ll take it," I said.
    "Take what?"
    "The deal. I’ll take it."
    He showed me his thin bony chest, and coughed loudly for effect.
    "Sure?"
    I nodded.
    "Shake on it?" the old man said.
    I put out a hand… and he stubbed his cigarette out on it.
    　
    　
~-oO0Oo-~
    　
Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral
    　
    The cracked black leather of the bible felt rough and cold in his hands as he took it from his satchel and placed it on the stone floor in front of them.
    He looked around at the three pale faces, the wide dark eyes staring blankly back at him. The silence lay heavy around them and he toyed with the idea of letting out a scream - at least one of them was to sure to faint in fright. But that would spoil his big scene, and he couldn’t have that. He’d promised them a ghost and a ghost was what they were going to get.
    He needed this to work. The three boys around him represented the figures of power in the school and, as a new boy, they knew that Jim would have to gain their approval if he was to fit in. Which was why they’d let him bring them here, to the ruins of Cameron Castle on a cold winter’s day. One mistake now and he would be ostracised for months to come.
    ‘Are you ready?’ he whispered, and was dismayed to find that his voice trembled, a childish quaver which echoed around the confines of the cramped dank chamber.
    ‘Yeah. Just get on with it. I’m freezing my balls off here.’ Bob Kerr shuffled his bottom, trying to find a more comfortable spot. He was the one that would need most watching, being the oldest of the three and also the biggest. Jim had seen him in action against some of the smaller boys and had no desire to fall prey to the bullying and the kicking and gouging.
    The other two would be easier. ‘Camp followers,’ his dad had told him when they discussed their plan, ‘Cut them off from the leader and you’ll be able to manipulate them.’ Dad was big on manipulation and Jim didn’t intend letting him down.
    Bob Kerr took a single cigarette from his jacket pocket and made a big show of lighting it up. His eyes screwed up tight in pain as the smoke got to him but Jim managed to control the giggle which had grown in his throat - it wouldn’t do to antagonise Bob. Not yet anyway.
    ‘I’ve told you already what happens,’ he said, and was pleased to notice that his voice had now steadied. ‘I’ll put a pencil on the bible and then you can ask your questions. The pencil will move left if the answer is no, right if the answer is yes. Do you understand?’
    He wasn’t really sure that any of them knew their left from their right but they nodded anyway, seemingly afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell. The atmosphere was