The Harrowing (7 page)

“Of course, what was really happening was automatism: the subconscious minds of the players guiding them to move the piece to spell out desired answers. Still, there are many accounts of unaccountably precognitive and extrasensory messages, just as we experienced last night.” He glanced shyly at Robin, spoke toward her. “Both Freud and Jung attended séances and studied the phenomenon. It’s as if the collective concentration on the board somehow heightens perception.”

Patrick was already busy rolling a joint on one of the coffee tables. “Well, let’s see if ol’ Zach can come up with some lottery numbers tonight.”

Lisa ignored Patrick, huffed at Martin. “This is all fascinating, Professor, but you’re completely ignoring the salient point, which is that we were talking to
Zachary Prince
.” She picked up the yearbook, open to Zachary’s picture, and shook it at Martin. “He was real. He died here mysteriously”—she mimicked Martin— “in 1920, in fact. And last night we got him on the
telephone
.” She tapped the Ouija board with a crimson nail, then leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms. “Now, tell me that was coming from my mind, or Robin’s.”

Martin pushed at his glasses. “I don’t recall any mention of a Prince—”

“Right, Zachary is just
such
a common name. Must be a coincidence,” Lisa shot back.

Martin frowned. “It wouldn’t be at all surprising if one of you had heard talk of a student dying—even read the yearbook. It’s been here under our noses. It’s hardly inconceivable.”

Robin suddenly realized Martin was right, and automatism might not have anything to do with it. She hadn’t read the yearbook, but Lisa certainly could have. She felt a wave of cold and heat at once, paranoia and humiliation. What if the whole evening really had been an elaborate prank? Plant a Ouija board in the game cabinet, pretend to summon a long-dead student, leave the yearbook to back up the story. For all Robin knew, they were all in on it but her….

Not Cain, though
, her mind countered instantly.

And what about the game scores, the newspaper confirming them this morning? Surely that was proof—

Unless the newspaper had somehow been faked.

The thought sent another wave of paranoia through her, a feeling as shaky as nausea.

But why? Why would they do it?

Robin glanced to Patrick, studied him furtively. Though he was sprawled quite nonchalantly on the couch, he was watching Martin and Lisa intently.

He shifted his eyes toward Robin, caught her watching. The look he gave her was veiled, unreadable.

Martin was speaking loftily to Lisa. “At any rate, we have all night to test the theory and—”

He stopped mid-sentence, frowned around the room as if he’d misplaced something. “Where’s Jackson? We need to replicate the conditions.”

Lisa fished in a pocket for a cigarette, smiled secretly. “He’ll be down.”

Patrick lounged back on the couch and fired up the joint. Everyone looked toward him; he lifted his hands. “I’m replicating the conditions.”

Martin nodded. “By all means. The altered perception probably contributed to the overall experience.”

Patrick grinned, exhaled. “It sure as hell contributed to mine.” He extended the joint to Lisa, who took it, put it to her lips for an appreciative drag.

Martin continued.
Almost manic
, Robin thought. “Atmosphere is a huge factor in the efficacy of a séance. We had all the conditions aligned for us last night—the storm, the power outage, the fire…”

Caught up in her inner tumult, Robin had forgotten the fire she’d started to build. Now Martin noticed the unlighted logs in the fireplace. He reached for Lisa’s fighter and knelt rather awkwardly on the hearth beside Robin, sparked the lighter and ignited the newsprint between the logs. Flames licked up the paper, casting orange light on his face.

There was actually something attractive about him, Robin decided: the way he came alive when he was interested in a subject, the take-charge confidence he’d been showing all evening.

Martin turned beside her, meeting her eyes. Robin looked away quickly, flustered.

A voice came suddenly from the doorway, raised in irritation. “Okay, just stop it. It’s not funny.”

They all turned. Cain stood under the archway, looking frazzled. The others looked around at one another, mystified. Cain’s voice grated in annoyance. “The pounding? On the pipes?”

Patrick sat up from the couch. “We all’ve been here in plain sight of each other. Nobody’s been doin’ any pounding.”

Cain looked to Robin for confirmation. Robin nodded, unable to speak.

Martin rose from the hearth, brushed soot off his hands. “What exactly were you hearing?”

Cain glanced back at Robin, then to Martin. “In the ceiling.
Loud
. Rapping. Knocking—”

Patrick raised his eyebrows at Martin. “Funny, didn’t you just say spirits communicated through knocking?”

Lisa’s voice came suddenly from the table, breathless. “You guys—”

They all looked over. The planchette was moving under her hands.

Her eyes were wide. “He’s here.”

Robin felt a jolt of excitement, mixed with unease, doubt, a flood of paranoia again. A prank? A ghost? What were they doing?

Lisa looked up at her from the slowly circling pointer—and under the excitement, there was something helpless, even a little frightened in her eyes.

Robin bit her lips.
Go
, she told herself. Just go back upstairs now.

And then the longing to be part of something, something extraordinary, won out.

She sat abruptly across from Lisa, reached out to the moving planchette. Touching it was like an electric shock—there was something so clearly
alive
there, her breath stopped in her throat. She looked at Lisa in disbelief. Lisa met her eyes, nodded. She felt it, too.

In the doorway, Cain made an exasperated sound. “Oh Christ.” He turned to leave.

The planchette suddenly jumped, spelling quickly, urgently. Robin stared down at the unfamiliar letters. Lisa sounded them out one by one under her breath, groping at the words.
Latin
, Robin realized. Lisa spoke the whole sentence out.

EVIDENTIA EXCULPARE COUNSELOR ?

Cain froze in the doorway.

Robin wondered about the phrase.
A legal term? Something about evidence?
She remembered that Zachary had been studying law, too.

Patrick snapped his fingers at Cain impatiently. “Well? What’s it mean?”

Cain glanced at him. “Exonerating evidence. I was writing a paper about it—just now.” He looked at Lisa again with blistering suspicion.

She stared back at Cain defiantly. “
He
said it. I didn’t.”

Martin spoke up, more to himself than the others. “Telepathy again.” He reached for his legal pad, made a note.

Lisa pressed her fingertips into the pointer, raised her voice. “Zachary, was that you knocking?”

There was a puff and whoosh and a rush of orange light…as a log caught fire in the hearth. Everyone turned toward it startled.

Then the indicator leapt to life. Robin could feel the urgent tug under her hands. Much faster than the night before, and more confident. Almost—cocky.

DID YOU MISS ME CHILDREN ?

Robin’s eyes widened; she felt a prickling on her neck. Lisa looked at her from across the board. Robin leaned forward, intense. “Are you Zachary Prince, who died here in 1920?”

The pointer was still for a moment, then spelled more slowly.

ARISE ARISE FROM DEATH

“That’s the inscription from the yearbook,” Lisa said softly to the others.

Robin felt a deep chill. There was something wrong here, a creepiness under her fingers, almost heat, like anger. How different it felt from the playful teasing of the night before.

“Zachary, how did you die?” Lisa asked. Robin felt another shock of heat under her fingers as the pointer moved quickly.

BURNED

Robin flinched, and saw Patrick grimace. “That’s harsh.”

Martin stepped abruptly forward, stared down at the table. He directed his voice toward the board. “If you’re a ghost, what is a ghost?”

The pointer stopped, still now. Robin couldn’t feel a thing under her fingers. She looked across at Lisa.

Martin spoke again, more demanding. “
Explain
what you are.”

The pointer was completely still. Martin leaned over the board, agitated. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Shadows danced on the walls from the firelight; then the pointer started to move. Random, teasing circles. Finally, it slid quickly from letter to letter.

ASK NICELY

Martin colored. Cain looked sharply at Lisa, then at Robin. Robin started to shake her head.

Martin cleared his throat, forced himself to speak politely. “I…would like to talk to you, please.”

Robin flinched as the pointer jerked to life, spelling almost violently.

CR.AWL

Martin paled, stunned.

Robin gasped, pulled her hands off the pointer. Cain advanced on the table. “That’s enough, Marlowe.”

Lisa stiffened. “I’m not—”

“I know you’re doing it.”

“
I fucking am not
.” Lisa shoved the board away from her.

“She’s not,” Robin protested.

Silence fell in the room. The logs snapped in the fireplace as flames ate at the logs. Patrick and Cain circled the shadows around the table, the board.

Robin bit her nails, stared down at the black letters, focused in on the burn marks along the edge of the board.
Charred
. There was something ominous about the black now, something that didn’t make sense.

Stop now
, she told herself.
I don’t like this game
.

Cain stopped across from her, met her eyes. He seemed about to say something.

Robin suddenly put her hands back on the indicator. Lisa looked at her, slowly reached out to the wooden piece. A garnet in one of her rings caught the light, glowed briefly like a drop of blood.

Robin drew a breath and asked tightly, “Zachary, why are you angry at Martin?”

The pointer circled, slid almost sullenly from letter to letter. Lisa sounded the words out, frowning.

ADON OLAM

Robin and Lisa looked across at each other, then at Martin. He stared down at the board as if mesmerized.

“What does that—” Robin began.

The planchette jerked under their hands, scraping violently across the board. Robin and Lisa could barely hold on.

ASK HIS COCKSUCKING MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE

Lisa gasped and stood, pushing herself away from the table. Robin sat frozen, staring down at the board. Martin’s face was very still.

“Master of the Universe? Is this a video game now? What the fuck…” Patrick looked around, bewildered.

“God. It means God.” Martin pulled back Lisa’s chair and sat heavily down, put his hands on the indicator and stared across at Robin. “Let’s go.”

Robin jolted, startled by his vehemence.

Cain stepped closer to the table, behind Robin. “I don’t think—”

Martin glared at Robin, eyes burning. “Let’s
go
.”

Transfixed, she slowly extended her hands to the planchette. Her fingers touched Martin’s cold ones. Martin spoke through clenched teeth, unfamiliar, grating syllables: “
Haim ata ru-ach o Qlippah?
”

The pointer jumped violently under Robin’s hands and flew off the table, clattered to the stone hearth.

“
Shit
,” Patrick yelped, jolting back.

Robin found she was standing—she’d jumped up so quickly, she hadn’t realized she was on her feet. Everyone was standing except for Martin, all of them frozen in disbelief.

Cain whipped around toward Martin. His voice was strangled. “What the fuck did you say?”

Martin sat back against his chair. He spoke evenly, his face like alabaster in the flickering light. “I said, What are you, you fuck?”

He stood up with eerie calm, crossed to pick up the pointer from the hearth. He put it back on the board and sat, looked up at Robin intensely. “Come on.”

Cain moved forward. “No. That’s enough. You’re too into it.”

Martin nearly shouted over him. “
Come on
.”

Robin flinched, blinked back tears, but she felt for the back of the chair and sat, reached to the pointer.

Cain spoke low behind her. “You don’t have to.”

Martin’s voice cut through his. “What are you?” he demanded of the air. All scientific detachment was gone; he’d spoken as if to a real person. He pushed his fingers into the pointer, stared down at the board as if he were alone in the room.

Robin touched the pointer with her fingertips. Immediately, the piece began to move. Robin recoiled. There was something different there, not a new energy, but a change in the energy.
So much…loathing. Malice. Fury
. The malevolence fairly crackled through her fingers.

But the words the pointer spelled were slow, almost teasing.

WOULDNT YOU LIKE TO KNOW ?

Martin jerked forward, his voice raised. “
What are you?
“ The planchette scraped, swift and violent, across the board.

ASK YOUR PORK LOVING KIKE GOD

Robin gasped and pulled her hands away from the planchette. She felt rather than saw Cain move forward behind her; then his hands were gripping her shoulders. Lisa was hugging herself from the edge of the shadows.

Martin pressed his fingers into the wood, white-faced and shouting. “I’m asking
you
. Tell me what you are!”

Everyone was still. The indicator slowly circled under Martin’s hands.

Robin watched, paralyzed, squeezing her hands together on her thighs, subliminally aware of Cain’s hands on her shoulders. She suddenly thought, with clarity for the first time,
Lisa wasn’t moving it. It wasn’t ever any of us. Then, oh God…what is it?

The letters appeared inexorably under the cut circle of the pointer.

TELL ?