Perception (Apparition Investigations #1)

Case #1: Villanova Apartments: Part 5

"This is never going to work," I grumbled. Bronte cleared off the ottoman, moving everything to the kitchen table. I stood back, close to the door, the box tucked under my arm.

"Have a little faith. This is going to work."

"No, it isn't. You can't just buy a Ouija board at Wal-Mart and expect it to work."

Finished clearing the space, she sat down beside the ottoman and held her hands out for the box.

I hesitated. "I mean, if we really wanted it to work, we'd find some crazy spirit medium shop or something. Velvet curtains, fog machine, a scary woman with long nails and creepy jewelry. I think that Ouija board would be infinitely more reliable than a Hasbro—"

"Stella," she snapped, waving impatiently.

Slinking forward, I handed her the box. She slid off the lid as I dropped to my knees on the other side of the ottoman.

Bronte unpacked the box with care and solemnity. She handled the board with the caution a first-time mother might handle a newborn, carefully laying it on the center of the coffee table. Then she placed the plastic planchette—the movable piece with the transparent plastic window—on the center.

With how she set the board up, it was upside-down to me. Not that it really mattered—I recognized the alphabet. 'Yes' and 'No' flanked the rows of letters. The word 'Good-bye' hung below everything else, as if it's been added as an afterthought. The smirking sun in the top left corner, and the winking moon in the top right, seemed to focus on Bronte as she took in a deep breath and reached for the planchette.

"Oh wait," she said, hopping up. She hurried around to the book nook, flipping on the lamp, and then darted for the light switch near the front door.

"Hell no," I jumped up. "Don't you dare turn—"

She flicked the lights off. She cast me an impish smirk over her shoulder before bounding back over to the ottoman. "It's in the rules," she said matter-of-factly, dropping down into her spot. "The lights have to be turned off."

I caught the tremor in her tone.  "Like hell it is. If we're summoning spirits, we're doing it with the lights on."

"Sit," she ordered, gesturing.

I cast a longing look at the light switch.

She put her hands on the planchette. "I'm starting."

Grudgingly, I dropped back down. "How do we start?"

She hesitated. "Um, I think we just ask a question. And then the pointer moves."

"Planchette," I corrected, reaching for the box. "Oh look. There are instructions on the back."

"What do they say?"

"A game for those who seek to find a way to leave their world behind."

"Stella!"

"Fine, fine," I mumbled, taking in a deep breath. "Ok. It says that at least one person should refrain from touching the board—so as to be uninfluenced by the spirits. Dibs. I so call dibs on that. And it says we just ask questions. And not to use it alone. Does it count as alone if only one person is touching the board?"

"I think it'll be fine. So we just ask questions, right?"

I continued to skim the back of the box. "Yeah, I think so. And then the spirits will move the planchette to respond. So...what do we ask first?"

Bronte took in a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered closed on her exhale.

For a moment, nothing stirred. No sound came from outside. The soft light from the lamp in the corner cast everything in shadows. Outside, inky blackness stretched in every direction, fueled by a moonless night and thick clouds.