KDBookOnline
Share Us
“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!”