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The candle flames waver.

Two beats of silence pass.

“Is that you, Brodie?”

The flames flicker more, one sputtering out.

When Cirillo relights it, his fingers are trembling, and he has to try twice. Then he looks overhead. Checking for a heating duct or anything else that could affect the flame. He lifts the candelabra to move it… and all the flames sputter out.

“Thank you, Brodie,” Cirillo says in a reverent tone. “I understand that you seem to be with us. I am going to ask you a question, and I hope you do not take it as a sign of disrespect. I must be sure who I am speaking to. I am going to relight these candles.”

Cirillo does that. “Now, I will ask a series of questions, with two possible answers. If it is the first, snuff out this candle.” He points. “If it is the second, snuff out the other. I know you attended a local high school. Was it—?”

Both flames go out.

When Cirillo speaks, it’s with such exaggerated and patronizing patience that I truly feel sorry for his students. “Let’s try that again, Brodie,” he says as he relights the candles. “I will ask a question—” The flames go out.

“I understand you may be offended by me quizzing you, but I must be sure who I am speaking to.” Cirillo lights them again. “One question should be enough. Let’s—”

The candelabra flies straight into Cirillo, who scrambles back, smacking at his clothing as if he’d been hit by a fireball.

Cirillo takes a deep breath, centering himself and very deliberately uprighting the candelabra, only to have it fly at him again.

“Maybe it’s not Brodie?” Shania’s voice is hesitant, more like herself now.

When Cirillo turns on her, she shrinks back under his glare.

“Could it be Anton?” she says. “Maybe he really is here? Maybe…” Her gaze moves to the door, where she left the cremains box. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Should I take that back upstairs?”

“Anton Novak?” Cirillo’s voice is harsh now. “If that is you, then you can see your wife. If you are upset about our treatment of her, then perhaps you should step forward and speak to us.”

Dear God, does this asshole really think that’s the way to talk to ghosts? Like they’re misbehaving children?

What do you have to say for yourself, young man?

Cirillo continues, “I thought that because you made the candles flicker, that was how you wished to communicate. If there is another way, please use that, whether you are Brodie Kilmer or Anton Novak. We wish to speak—”

Brodie’s legs begin to shake, jerking up and down. Shania scrambles up with a shriek. Cirillo is on his feet, backing away before stopping himself.

“Is he…?” Shania says as the legs continue to twitch.

Cirillo doesn’t answer. It’s not Brodie’s body moving. It’s someone moving his body, plucking at his jeans legs and jerking them up and down. Then his intestines start wriggling like there’s something inside him.

Or like someone isreachinginside him.

Brodie’s body goes still and so do Cirillo and Shania.

One footstep sounds, clear and deliberate. Shania yelps, and I struggle against my bonds.

Oh, you just realized now that you need to get out of here?

My gaze flies to the knife. It’s only a few feet away from me. I inch backward in that direction. No one notices.

Just keep inch-worming backward until—

I stop as I see what they’re staring at. The furnace, where letters have appeared in his blood.

TRIGE