“Okay, Mallory, I’m going to start the conversation. I’ll make contact. But once we have a good rapport, I’ll let you ask your questions. For now, just close your eyes and relax.”
I’m nervous and a little self-conscious, but Mitzi’s voice is reassuring. I find myself mirroring her, matching her posture and breathing. The incense relaxes my muscles and quiets my thoughts. All my everyday worries and concerns—Teddy, the Maxwells, running, sobriety—everything starts falling away.
“Welcome, spirits,” Mitzi says, and I jolt back in my seat, startled by the volume of her voice. “This is a safe space. We welcome your presence. We invite you to join us in conversation.”
Outside the cottage, I can still hear the sounds of the swimming pool—the sounds of frenzied kicking and splashing. But then I concentrate harder and manage to block them out. I relax my fingertips, keeping contact with the planchette without applying any pressure.
“Annie Barrett, we wish to speak with Annie Barrett,” Mitzi says. “Are you there, Annie? Can you hear us?”
The longer I sit in the hard wood-backed chair, the more I’m aware of all the points where it contacts my body—the seat beneath my bottom, the crossrail pressing on my shoulder blades. I study the planchette, waiting for the slightest signs of movement. The burning sage crackles and pops.
“How about Anya? Is there an Anya present? Can you hear us, Anya?”
My eyelids feel heavy and I allow myself to close them. I feel like I’m being hypnotized, or like I’ve reached those final moments at the end of the day, when I’m lying in a warm bed under a comfortable blanket, ready to drift off to sleep.
“Are you there, Anya? Will you speak with us?”
No answer.
I don’t hear the noises in the backyard anymore. All I hear is Mitzi’s labored breathing.
“Let us help you, Anya. Please. We’re listening.”
And then something brushes the back of my neck. As if a person has passed behind my chair. I turn and no one’s there—but when I look back at the Ouija board, I feel someone behind me, leaning over me. Soft long hair falls past my cheek, grazing my shoulder. And then an invisible weight pushes down on my hand—a gentle, prodding pressure, nudging the planchette forward. One of its wheels makes a tiny squeak, like the soft cry of a mouse.
“Welcome, spirit!” Mitzi smiles at me, and I realize she has no idea what’s happening; she clearly doesn’t see or sense whatever’s behind me. “Thank you for answering our call!”
Warm breath tickles the back of my neck and goose bumps spread across my skin. There’s more pressure on my hand and wrist, guiding the planchette across the board in slow sweeping circles.
“Is this Anya?” Mitzi asks. “Are we speaking with Anya?”
The board is illustrated with a standard alphabet and the numbers zero to nine, and the top corners have the words YES and NO. I watch passively, spectating, as the planchette stops briefly at the letter I, then moves back to G and then E. Mitzi keeps four fingers on the planchette, but she’s holding a pencil in her free hand to transcribe the results on a notepad: I-G-E? Sweat beads across her forehead. She glances at me and shakes her head, undaunted.
“Speak slowly, spirit,” she says. “We have plenty of time. We wish to understand you. Is this Anya?”
The planchette moves to N and then X and then O.
“You’re leaning,” Mitzi whispers, irritated, and I realize she’s talking to me.
“What?”
“On the table. You’re pushing, Mallory.”
“It’s not me.”
“Sit back in your chair. Sit up straight.”
I’m too scared to argue with her, to tell her the truth. I don’t want to interrupt whatever’s happening.
“Spirit, we welcome your message! We welcome any information you’d like to share.”
There’s more pressure on my hand and the planchette moves faster, veering across the board, stopping at one random letter after another, a string of spiritual static: L-V-A-J-X-S. Mitzi is still recording everything but she seems more and more annoyed. The results look like alphabet soup.
The wood planchette is thrumming with energy, like the racing heartbeat of a small frightened animal. It’s flying all over the board and Mitzi can barely keep up with her one-handed annotations. The air is so thick it’s suffocating; my eyes are watering and I don’t know why my smoke detector isn’t going off. Then Mitzi lifts her fingers and the planchette keeps moving. My hand pushes it across the board and it flies off the edge of the table, clattering to the floor. Mitzi stands up, furious. “I knew it! You were pushing! This whole time, you were pushing!”
All the weight leaves my hand and suddenly I’m out of the trance. The room snaps back into focus. It’s twelve forty-five Wednesday afternoon and I can hear Adrian out in the backyard counting “Six Mississippi, Seven Mississippi…” and Mitzi is glaring at me.
“Anya did that. Not me.”
“I watched you, Mallory. I saw you!”
“Eight Mississippi!”
“Anya moved my hand. She was guiding me.”
“This isn’t a slumber party. It’s not a game. This is my livelihood, I take it very seriously!”
“Nine Mississippi!”
“You’ve wasted my time. You’ve wasted the whole day!”
And suddenly I’m blinking into the daylight. The door to my cottage has swung open and little Teddy is standing on the porch, peering into the darkness. He raises a finger to his lips, gesturing for us to be quiet. Out in the backyard, Adrian calls out, “Ten Mississippi! Ready or not, here I come!”
Teddy ducks inside and quietly closes the door. Then he looks around the cottage, marveling at the votive candles and the blacked-out windows and my kitchen table with its ring of sea salt. “What are you playing?”
“Honey, this is called a spirit board,” Mitzi says, inviting him to take a closer look. “In the right hands, it’s a tool for communication. To speak with the dead.”
Teddy looks to me for confirmation, like he can’t believe Mitzi is telling the truth. “Really?”
“No, no, no.” I’m already out of my chair and guiding him back to the door. “It’s just a toy. Just a game.” The last thing I need is Teddy telling his parents about a séance. “We were just pretending. It’s not real.”
“It’s very real,” Mitzi says. “If you respect its powers. If you take it seriously.”
I open the door and see Adrian across the yard, searching for Teddy in the trees along Hayden’s Glen. “Over here,” I call out.
He comes jogging over and Teddy darts past my legs, sprinting across the grass, still caught up in their game of hide-and-seek.
“Sorry about that,” Adrian says. “I told him to stay on the pool deck. I hope he didn’t ruin anything.”
“It was already ruined,” Mitzi says. She’s gathering her things, snuffing out candles and collecting trays of incense. “There are no spirits in this cottage. There never were. This is just a story she’s made up to get attention.”
“Mitzi, that is not true!”
“I’ve used this board a hundred times. It’s never acted this way.”
“I swear to you—”