Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

"Wait. Hold on a minute. When you get your messages or whatever, is it a voice in your head? Or is it
like a text message on a computer screen?"
"It's sort of both and neither. It's more a thing that passes through you, like when you leave the house
and you realize the stove is still on. It defies words, and yet at the same time, it is words."
That sounded real enough. "Do you see his face?"
"No. But I can definitely feel him near."
"So you can't tell me what he looks like - it's not like I want proof - I'm just curious."
"Okay. I'd say he's taller than you - six something -mouse-brown hair, not thinning, gray-green eyes.
That's not much to go by. I could have made that up."
"It's close. Very close." It was bang on.
Allison asked, "What does it mean, then? It's a weird message."
"I can't tell you."
"Okay. Fair enough."
"Tell me, Allison, does a person have to be dead in order to send you voices or words?"
"From what I've read, not necessarily."
"Does this voice say anything else to you?"
"No. Not words."
"What do you mean, 'not words'?"
"Just what I said. The voice - male, fifties maybe? - says 'Oh I say,' and then there's this weird laughter.
But it's not like real laughter. It's fake."
"Oh, Jesus." I put the phone down. I could hear Allison on the other end calling "Heather? Heather?
Heather?"
"Allison, where are you calling from? What's your number?"
She gave it to me. I asked if we could meet soon. She couldn't make it today, so tomorrow it is - in the
morning, down at the beach.
It was bedtime. We'd see what tomorrow would bring.
Sunday afternoon 3:30
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