“Tonight we must break the barrier,” the Host’s voice carried around the room, though the man himself was quiet. He gestured to the Ouija board set on the floor in front of him. “So we will communicate with those who are beyond.”
He was met with silence. No one sitting on the circle dared speak. Even the Twins were quiet. The red light on Cameraman Jim’s massive camera blinked, blinked, blinked.
“The Host commands you to place your hands on the planchette.” He reached forward, touched one finger to the planchette sitting at the center of the board.
One by one, the others did the same: first Dr. Iplier, then Bing, Yan, Silver Shepherd, and King of the Squirrels. Both Jims rushed to touch the planchette, both eager to spy what they called “ghosty goos.”
All around them sat fat candles, dripping wax onto the floor, flickering flames that staved away the artificial darkness they’d made for a better spook. Rain hammered the windows outside, perfecting the ambiance.
“The Host and his companions humbly ask any spirits who may be lingering nearby,” the Host said, tilting his head back, voice rising and rising until he was shouting, “if they would speak to us. Please, reveal to us your presence.”
As soon as the last words left his lips, the candles blew out. The temperature of the room dropped ten degrees, and a breeze rustled the curtains. Gasps sprung up around the circle, but the Host merely continued, “speak to us, spirits.”
“It’s moving!” It was unclear who spoke; all attention was turned to the planchette, which twitched beneath their fingers, jerking from letter to letter, spelling out unintelligible nonsense.
“Shush!” The Host exclaimed, as the planchette continued to move. “Please, show yourself. Tell your name.”
But the planchette did not do that; it slid from letter to letter, not spelling a name but the word W-A-N-T.
“You want something?” The Host asked, speaking over Yan’s excited squealing and Dr. Iplier’s muttered, “oh my god.” “Tell us what you want.”
Letter to letter. Rain struck the windows, the roof, sounding like bullets from a gun.
Suddenly the Host’s entire body seemed to spasm. His shoulders shook and blood gushed from underneath his bandages, spattering down his front. Then, he collapsed backward, sprawling to the floor.
“Holy shit!” Bing scrambled to his feet, while at the same time Field Reporter Jim crawled forward. “Demons, Jim! Demons!”
“Host!” Dr. Iplier bent over him, frantically checking his pulse, a moment later recoiling with a horrified expression on his face. “He’s not breathing!”
“He’s dead!” Yan shrieked, clutching at King, who wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, as if he were just as terrified. Silver Shepherd only sat there, frozen.
But then, the Host laughed. A slow chuckle at first, that crescendoed to hysterical laughter that shook the walls.
All eyes darted to him as he sat up, grinning a grin full of bloody teeth. “Boo!” He screamed.
The others scattered, frightened shrieks of “Demons, Jim! Run!” filling the air as they fled for their lives.
When they were all gone, they both burst into laughter, and the Host slumped back to the floor, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe.
“Oh my god.” Dr. Iplier wiped the tears from his eyes. “We got them so good.” He twisted to look over his shoulder. “You can come out now, Blue.”
The android emerged from the shadows, his lips pulled into a satisfied smile. In his hands he held a tablet, which he’d been using to control the air conditioner and the electric candles. “It went better than my calculations predicted,” he said. “We did, indeed, ‘get them good.’”
“That’s what they get,” the Host gasped, finally managing to sit up. He wiped some of the blood from his face with his sleeve. “Let’s do that again, sometime.”
