The Underworld Crown (Series)

Chapter 3

"Who are you?" Sarah demanded.

The planchette stalled. I'd hoped this was a sign someone in the circle was fooling us. But no sooner did I think this, did the carved piece of wood swerve its way across the board, eventually coming to a stop.

"M-U-M. Mum?" Sarah repeated.

My hands started shaking. Camilla looked up at me with wide eyes, matching my own. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

"Whose terrible idea was this?" Camilla hissed, her eyes flashing accusingly around the circle. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Why would we think it's funny?" Ashley asked.

"Come on." Camilla placed a manicured hand on her hip. "Besides the fact Halloween is the same day Serena's mother died? And that she's buried in this cemetery? We've all grown up in Milton, you all know this."

A whole new silence descended on the group. Their quiet was emphasised by the creaking of the trees, which made me feel incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. While I was grateful to Camilla for trying to defend me, I didn't enjoy the extra attention it brought.

Then, everyone started murmuring, "I didn't do it" and "it wasn't me".

I took a deep breath. "I can't do this, this is ridiculous."

"No!" Sarah exclaimed, grabbing my hand. "You can't leave! I'm so sorry to hear about your mum, Serena, but if you leave now, you'll let the spirit out into our world."

"How do I not know someone here is just playing a sick joke?"

"Ask the spirit something personal, something only your mother would know."

It wasn't an easy task. Seven years had passed since my mother's death day, so digging through a memory pile while my classmates watched me was like pulling at water – the memories kept slipping through my fingers. Finally, my mind settled on the framed photograph in my father's bedroom. I had my question.

"What did I wear on my first birthday?" I asked.

The planchette began its dance across the board. Sarah, as the medium, read aloud the complete message.

"Mickey mouse costume?" Sarah looked up at me with a question in her eyes.

It felt like a cold hand had wrapped itself around my neck, threatening to squeeze.

"Yes," I whispered; my voice hoarse. My chest tightened. Could it really be her? My mother who was buried a few feet away? I had no doubt the feeling of being watched I'd experienced at the party had come from her. But this?

I'd told myself the séance would only be for fun and games; I hadn't actually believed there was a possibility of amateur teenage mediums summoning a spirit.

But I'd asked a question only my parents knew the answer to – so I had to act on the assumption that this actually was my mother. And that she intended on sending me a message. "It's her."

"Ask her a question," Sarah coaxed.

Everyone's eyes focused on me once again. I felt like the opening of a circus act.

Maybe I should sell tickets, I thought humourlessly, tucking my hair nervously behind my ear.

Cutting down the potential pool of questions was much harder than I'd imagined. For seven years my father and I had been left in the dark, unbelieving of the circumstances that led to my mother's death. Dad had found her motionless on the kitchen floor, her hair spilled around her and her eyes closed in sign of peace. She must've been in the middle of preparing lunch, since the stove catered for overflowing pots of boiling water and slices of fresh bread sat atop the toaster.