I glanced down at the little heart-shaped wooden thingy and noticed it wasn’t budging. I looked up at her and shrugged. “Looks like no one’s home.”
“Shush, Peyton, this takes a while,” she scolded me. “Is anyone there?” she called out, but only the silence in the room responded. “If you are here with us, please let us know!”
I watched the planchette as it sat there, completely immobile. I looked over at Trina again as she spoke loudly. “If any spirits are present, please send us a sign that you are here with us!”
If there were crickets in the room, they would’ve been chirping.
“Spirits, please announce your presence!”
I waited another few seconds before I decided to stop wasting the rest of my evening trying to contact something that didn’t exist. “Um, I don’t think it’s working, Trina. How much longer do we wait?”
“Hush, Peyton,” she whispered and then speared me with her wide eyes as she glanced down at our fingertips. “Look!”
I followed her gaze and watched the planchette as it skidded across the board to the upper corner and settled itself on the word “Yes.” “Did you just do that?” I whispered.
She shook her head immediately. “No, neither one of us did.” Then she gulped and I got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t as practiced with this ghost conversation business as she’d let on. “There’s a spirit here with us.” Then she sucked in a big breath. “Welcome, spirit!”
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to welcome it too so I added a quick, “Hello.”
Trina didn’t seem to notice and instead asked, “When were you born, spirit?”
I didn’t move; I don’t even think I breathed for a few seconds as the planchette began to point to numbers until it spelled out “1895.” “Are you moving it?” I demanded.
Trina frowned at me. “No! I’m barely restin’ my fingers on it!”
And I was barely resting my fingers on it as well, which had to mean one thing—that Milton Bradley knew their stuff. As soon as I registered the fact that we could be conversing with the dead, I couldn’t help but wonder if somehow we’d contacted Drake’s spirit. But then I realized that if Drake had been born in 1895, that would have made him twenty-four years old when he died and he definitely looked older than that. Well, if he’d died in 1919, anyway. As to why I thought he’d died in 1919 I wasn’t sure—I figured it was because all the articles covering the guest room were from 1918 to 1919, and I had a sneaking suspicion his death had something to do with them.
“What is your name?” Trina continued.
The board spelled out “Joseph.”
Hmm, so maybe this wasn’t Drake’s spirit after all. I couldn’t help the keen sense of disappointment that snaked through me.
“When were you born, spirit?” Trina asked as if she’d forgotten she’d just asked the exact same question. Afraid our ghostly visitor was going to get annoyed at being asked the same questions, I glanced up at her.
“You already asked that.”
She frowned at me. “I know. I’m makin’ sure this spirit isn’t tryin’ to trick us!” Then we watched as the planchette spelled out “Now.”
I glanced up at Trina in confusion. She gave me the exact same expression. “It’s playin’ with us,” she whispered before clearing her throat and saying in a louder voice. “Is this still the spirit of Joseph?”
The planchette slowly moved to the upper right hand corner and settled on the word “No.” As soon as it did so, the candle’s flame began growing very large, only to drop down again—almost as if someone were blowing it. And I hadn’t noticed until now that the temperature in the room was freezing. I could see Trina’s breath.
“Then who is this?” I said, not able to control myself. My voice was shaky, and in my head, I desperately wished that the response would be “Drake.” Somehow, I thought I’d feel safer if I knew his spirit was with us. That and I had to know if Drake was really real—if he’d really visited me in my slumber.
The planchette moved quickly, but it didn’t spell out Drake’s name. Instead, it revealed the name “Charles.”
“Charles?” Trina repeated and seemed confused. Her breath continued to billow out in front of her like white smoke. “Is this Joseph or is this Charles?”
The planchette didn’t stop moving and it didn’t appear to be responding to Trina’s questions either. Instead, it continued to move from letter to letter. “B-E-S-U-M-E-R,” Trina spelled out before glancing at me with a question in her wide eyes. “Besumer?”
I felt my stomach drop as I watched the planchette continue to spell out names—names that I recognized.
“Anna,” Trina repeated as I stared at her, feeling the heavy weight of shock as it descended in the pit of my stomach. I had the ominous feeling that whatever we’d gotten ourselves into, we were in over our heads. The candle was now flickering as if it were in a heavy wind.
Trina faced the board again, her eyes settling on the candle as worry began to gnaw at her mouth. “We wish to speak…to speak with only one…one spirit, please,” she stammered.
“We have to stop,” I whispered, shaking my head as a bolt of icy cold air ricocheted up my spine. My heart pounded in my ears as every fiber in my being yelled at me to release the planchette.
“Why?”
“All the names,” I started, hating the fact that I could see my breath. “They were all the victims.”
“Who were what victims?” Trina continued, shaking her head as we both felt the planchette buck underneath our fingertips as it begin to race across the board. It began landing on letters so incredibly quickly, I had a tough time following it. “J-U-S-T,” Trina called out, her attention riveted on the board. “L-I-K-E-M-R-S-T-O…”
“Toney,” I finished for her and felt a blast of fiercely cold air explode right in my face. I blinked at the same time that Trina’s candle went out, the acrid smell of smoke stinging my nostrils. I yanked my fingers from the planchette as if it had burned me.
“Peyton!” Trina yelled. “Quickly, put your fingers back on it!”
“No,” I said, feeling true fear coursing through my body. I even scooted a few inches away as if to prove there was no way in hell that I would ever touch the thing again. Not after what it had just revealed, something that was seemingly impossible.
“We have to end the session properly!” Trina demanded. “We have to say good-bye!”
But before I could even consider putting my fingers back on the planchette, the thing pointed to number one, followed by two, then three, and so on. Trina immediately flipped the board upside down; the planchette flew across the room. We both jumped at the sound of the wood hitting the wall, but once it fell on the floor and lay still, neither of us said anything. We just sat there, staring at each other, shock registering in our eyes.
“What just happened?” I asked finally, looking around myself as I realized the temperature was now slowly warming. It was almost as if the board had been generating the chill in the air. Now that it was turned upside down, there was no chill to speak of.
Trina swallowed hard and glanced down at the board, flipping it faceup again. “Whenever the marker starts to move in alphabetical or numerical order, you have to flip the board over before it finishes.”
“Why?” I asked even though I was deathly afraid for her answer.
“It means we’ve encountered somethin’ that is tryin’ to gain access to us through the board.”
“Oh my God,” I started as I shook my head. “Did you flip it before the thing finished counting?”
She nodded. “I think so.” Then she took another deep breath and closed her eyes. “Spirits, as I blow out this candle,” she paused and then glanced at the candle, apparently realizing it had already blown itself out. “As the candle is blown out, I close this sacred space and ask that protection surround Peyton and myself as well as this sacred space.”