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“I found it in the study.”
“And what do you intend to do with it?”
“If Mister Shadow wants to talk, then I think we should try it.”
Jess glanced at her wine, looking as though she wanted to down the whole glass. “Seriously?”
“I know it sounds stupid,” I said. “And borderline ridiculous.”
“I think it crosses that border, don’t you?”
“You’re the one who walked through this place burning sage.”
“That was different,” Jess said. “It was just superstition. What you’re talking about is—”
“Ghosts,” I said. “Yes, I’m suggesting that Baneberry Hall is haunted.”
There it was. The word we had tiptoed around for days. Now there was no way to avoid using it.
“You know how crazy you sound, right?”
“I do, and I don’t care,” I said. “Something strange is happening here. You can’t deny that. Something we won’t be able to stop until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Jess’s face rippled with indecision as she stared at the box. When her mind was made up, she took a gulp of wine and said, “Fine. Let’s do this.”
The Ouija board was older than I had initially expected. Far different from the one I’d used as a teenager, when my friends and I would get high and try to scare one another. It was an actual board, for one thing. Solid wood that thunked against the table when I removed it from its box.
The varnish gave the wood an orange tint. Painted across it were two rows of letters, arced on top of each other like a double rainbow. In a straight line below them were numbers.
1234567890
The upper corners each bore a single word.YESin the left corner,NOin the right. Two words ran across the bottom of the board.
GOOD BYE
Just like the board, the planchette also differed from my youth. It wasn’t plastic, but real ivory, one end tapered to a point.
I lit a candle, set it on the table, and turned off the kitchen lights.
“Romantic,” Jess commented.
“Can you please be serious about this?”
“Honestly, Ewan, I don’t think I can.”
We sat across from each other, taking opposite sides of the board. We then placed our fingers on the planchette, ready to begin.
“Is there a spirit present?” I said, addressing the area above the kitchen table.
The planchette didn’t budge.
I asked again, this time intoning the words the way a medium would do in the movies. “Is there a spirit present?”
The planchette slowly began to move—a stuttering slide across the board to the word in the upper right corner.
NO
I looked across the table to Jess, who could barely contain her snickering. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t help myself.”