Because I have marbles instead of sense rattling around my head, I asked a 14 year old girl who is obsessed with ghost hunting shows if there is anything at all I can do. "No really, anything," I signed at the end of my verbal contract.

Well what did I expect if not a ghost hunting expedition? Not to… the place where it happened, of course. But to some spot she read online that is supposed to be haunted. Because finding evidence of ghosts is not only a personal interest to her now, but also a spiritual one. Proving ghosts would really give her some peace with her sister. Damn it. So I basically have to indulge her goofy ideas.

Clattering sounds bounce off the trees around us in scattered echoes. Beth is compiling her "tools" as she calls them. I hear one of her tools meow, ask "Is there someone here?" and then meow again. Weird how that particular tool looks like a stuffed black cat. Weird that a tool would be named "Lucky McPaws." Weird that she would carry her tool around for 3 years without using it for its intended purpose of spectral communication. I'd call it a toy, but apparently it's a tool.

I love the kid, though. She's all enthusiasm and no cynicism. She did pick up some customary angst in her teenhood, but she doesn't care for acting jaded like I did at her age. Let's face it, too, I still am pretty jaded.

I might roll my eyes when I see her carrying Lucky, but deep down, I fear the day that she leaves Lucky at home and finally grows up. This world has no kindness for daydreamers. And it prefers that we feel alone so it targets anyone still clinging to their toys and tries to rip them away. 

Beth learned that the hard way, on her first day at middle school. She got mocked relentlessly for just quietly holding a toy she liked and not bothering anyone. So Henrietta- amazing person that she was-  bought her an extra big bookbag just so Beth could keep Lucky in the extra pouch. No one noticed, she still had all her books, and her Lucky could be close to her at all times. 

Plus, her scrawny sister built some solid arms lugging around all that mass. She refused to leave her toy – sorry, "tool" – at home so she just adapted to the weight. Henrietta – awful person that she was – frequently tried to instigate an arm wrestling match between us. But Beth is tall for a middle schooler and I'm short for a human and built like a match stick so I always refused. My pride couldn't handle defeat by a girl 7 years my junior.

My throat is in agony. I haven't been able to talk since the bar show 3 days ago. I have to tap on Beth's shoulder to get her attention. She looks at me and nods. "Ok I know. Almost done. I know your friend is waiting, just gimme a sec."

Rachel is already at the end of the trail. We've been texting steadily since we met. She really seems to enjoy the terrible jokes I make. Last night she was sharing all of her favorite celebrity crushes with me, accompanied by pictures. 

I have to say, the alt rock bad boys really are quite nice. Anyway, she sent me one pic of a guy with long black hair and grey eyes and an intricate tattoo on his neck.

"How do you feel about Masoni from Mad As Prophets?" she had texted. "Like what is your biological response?"

I texted back, "I shudder with horniness."

I am told this instigated a fit of laughter in her which lasted for a minute straight. I appreciate her appreciation of my humor. I took the opportunity to mention that I was going on a silly ghost hunt soon and roped her in. I figured it might make me feel less awkward to have her along.

Beth is packed up, various ghost hunting devices stowed away in various pockets on her pants and in her jacket. We make our way down the corridor of trees until we meet up with Rachel.

"Glad to see you."

I nod and smile. She already knows I can't talk right now. She then greets Beth, who responds with a brief greeting of her own then a lengthy ghost-ing itinerary. Rachel engages with her enthusiasm – I have no idea if she even believes in this stuff, she just seems to enjoy Beth's energy. Together, they are hyped for the adventure ahead. I, personally, just hope it's not entirely embarrassing.

Brown strands of grass tangle the expanse between us and the big, decaying house in the distance. The sun is nodding off, some darkness pools under the grass. We were halfway to the house before Beth squeaked at us excitedly. Me and Rachel padded up to see the great, square pit of an in-ground pool. It has to be something like 20 feet across.

Coming closer, I think the bones of a nice house are here. The moulding and flourishes are mostly still here, even if they are rotted or hanging on by a single nail. 

There's a large porch on the front, a second story on the top, and even a little pediment projecting from the second story over the center of the porch. I look into the cyclopian, semi-circle window in the middle of its face. It's pretty dark now, there could be someone staring at us from that window right now and we'd never know.

Beth eagerly takes the lead. I'm still just taking in the sight of the place as she's battering the door open with her shoulder. Rachel calls some warning out but I'm stuck staring at the window in the pediment again. It really feels like the house is staring back at me. I give it a wave and head inside.

Beth has begun the process of diagnosing the local haunting. She pulls out a little black box with an antenna. It's a thing she calls a spirit box and it's somehow supposed to contact the dead. It flicks through random radio stations, buzzing with static chatter, and occasionally barks out a syllable or two. Rachel and Beth then take turns interpreting the words. Usually, it's something location based like "I'm here," or "Where am I?" Pretty mundane stuff.

Beth explains and demonstrates more of her various tools to Rachel. By the time she makes it to the part of her routine involving a flashlight, night has settled in. The dark is cozy in the corners of the room. The flashlight flicks on and off in erratic glints as Beth explains more to Rachel. 

"Well, if you turn the flashlight halfway, won't it just kinda go on and off? The battery is half connected so is that paranormal or just electricity?"

"Yes, but that's why it's gotta be right after we ask something," explains Beth. "And we have to say either on or off right before it happens."

The light turns on and stays on right when she finishes talking. 

"Like that!"

The two of them question their flashlight as I look around. 

It is creepy, I can admit that. There's just enough visibility to trick my mind into filling in the gaps. What can be seen just makes the imagination overzealous to fill in what can't be seen.

Light leaks in from old wounds in the plaster. The stray beams paint shapes in the darkness: a leaning dining table, a collapsed dining chair, a picture frame with no picture, a staircase covered in glass. At the top of the stairs, an arched window seems to smile down at me, cracked glass like fangs jutting from its rictus. I smile back and ascend the steps.

Timber groans under my hightops. Storm stains weep down the walls, my fingers trace a lattice across the dust clinging to the stains

Some carpet lies flayed and bundled on the upper floor. Some of the backing still clings to the planks in uneven strips. A hallway leads away from the stairs, plunges into blackness. I focus, trying to steal a glimpse of… something. Anything. 

Nothing. Just the beginning of a hallway, and then nothing. 

I take out my phone and turn on its flashlight setting. It cuts down the hall. I see spherical gleams on either side indicating doorknobs. I see the roof narrow into a wedge, then something at the end of the hall: a semi circular window.

I go to it. So many scenes come to mind. So many horror movies with lonely women just like me walking down a hallway. And so many watchful eyes, hidden dooms… leering malice. I remember all these things too well. But I don't dignify the paranoia with even a glance over my shoulder.

I make it to the window without seeing so much as a wisp. Not even a hint of heavy breathing muffled by a hockey mask. The world truly is as mundane as I have trusted it to be. I knew it. There can't be anything special in a world without Henrietta. 

This window, though. It still has glass, held together in a spiderweb array of panes. Not even a crack in it, too. That's strange. And stranger, how my flashlight reflects in it. Some of it shines, some of it dulls the light. 

It's dust. Just like the walls, the dust is here too, of course. That's why the light looks hazy in some places. But where the light is clear… no dust.

There is a shape in the glass. A hand print. It is small, too small to be an adult's. I don't like it. I don't like that it looks familiar – a hand is just a hand. I don't memorize hands, no one does, and so this handprint shouldn't be familiar. I hate that it kind of is.

Across the room, timber creaks.

I lash out at the dark with my flashlight. It's Beth and Rachel. Of course it is. "You're not pulling your weight, Kyrielle," accuses Beth.

"You need to help out," adds Rachel, carrying something over to me. "Here," she says, and hands me a Ouija Board.

I point at my throat and rasp. Beth smiles and lifts her stuffed cat toy. "Lucky will ask the questions. You and Rachel will operate the board." 

Rachel points at a spot by the arched window where there's no glass. "You heard the young lady. Now sit."

There is a "Bongo Brothers Toys" logo in the corner of the board, right under the picture of the sun. This thing was bought at Z Mart for 14.99, on sale. I know, I was there last year when Henrietta bought it for Beth's birthday. She liked it more than the laptop Hen had given her at the same time. 

The plastic triangle thing, the "planchette" as Beth calls it, rests between "Yes" and "No" at the bottom of the board.

I'm playing with it while Beth is going off about some warning jargon about not misusing the board. All I catch is the end… "Now Kyrielle, place your hands on the bottom right of the heart shape."

I notice that the triangle is kinda heart-shaped. But it's upside down, so it looks less like a heart and more like something else. I pretend to be possessed and spell out "ball shaped."

"It's a heart!"

I spell out "balls" and she tells me I'm older and to act my age. Then she tells Rachel to "touch the bottom left of the heart." Rachel acts possessed and moves the planchette while I act surprised, as though there was a genuine spectral event. I gape and go wide eyed as Rachel whips the ball shaped planchette around the board and announces the letters. She spells out, "touch the left nut."

Rachel and I guffaw and giggle because we're the adults in the situation. Meanwhile, Beth chastises us both. We settle down to appease her. After a siege of explanation, Beth says, "Now clear your mind so you can channel the ghosts, Kyrielle." Then she turns on Lucky.

"Hello? Meow."

I know how this works. I'm not surprised when our hands float over to the letters "H" and "I." I forget when I learned about it exactly, but I know it's caused by tiny, unconscious micro movements you make all the time. Combine these movements with subconscious expectations of where the planchette should be going, and it's like it moves on its own. 

"Oooh spooky," says Rachel.

"Shh, Lucky is talking."

"Meow, mowr," says Lucky. "Who's here?"

The planchette moves to M-E. "Me," not a terribly useful answer. Lucky says Hello again, followed by, "Brr! It's cold in here!" And yeah, it's mid Autumn and it's night so it's cold. Not surprising.

Then Lucky hisses. Beth's eyes light up. "Oh!" she squeaks. Normally, her voice is even, almost monotone, so that is different.

"What? Did he hiss, was that a hiss?"

"Yeah he… he never hisses. He's supposed to, I read online that it's his rarest reaction but almost everyone gets at least one hiss eventually."

"But not you?"

She shakes her head. "He never has. Had him 3 years. I just thought he was defective."

Lucky hisses again and then growls. Beth lets out another surprised "oh."

"Hey, what's hissing mean? What's the growling about too?"

"He just reads temp changes and he's supposed to read like electromagnetic fields."

I roll my eyes. I put the planchette on "No."

"He does! I saw a video where someone held an actual electromagnet near a Spooky Cat like Lucky and he went nuts! It's real!"

"Ok so what's the hiss mean?"

"It's supposed to mean lots of EMF, really abruptly."

I spell out "defective" on the board. 

"Kyrielle says your toy is defective like you said. So I guess she thinks he's not a reliable witness."

Lucky hisses at that. 

"He-he can still read just fine! He has tried to hiss before but it always stopped. He can read the air just fine. He's just bad at talking."

Rachel looks to me. "Just like you."

Lucky growls again. "He's not supposed to hiss and growl this much. This is weird- they are supposed to do it like once and stop."

"So… abrupt EMF and temp change. That means…?"

Beth is quiet. She looks at Lucky then to us. "Um…"

"Yes?'

"Online, they say like you can interpret-"

"Beth, love, what's it mean?"

She looks down at Lucky like she's in trouble. "...Most people agree that it means there's a vengeful ghost. They say it means you should leave immediately."

"Hm. Well that's-"

"Meow! What happened to you?" asks Lucky.

Our hands move, the planchette moves. Steadily, it creeps across the board, the same as before. 

"F"…

It doesn't feel any different. 

…"A"…

I don't feel possessed. 

…"L"...

It's cold, but it doesn't feel noticeably colder.

…"L."

So why am I shaking?

Rachel looks at me. "You moved it." I shake my head no. "I felt you moving it, Kyrie." I keep shaking my head. "You and Beth are in on this, huh? You're both trying to get to me and that's why you made it spell 'Fall-'"

I throw the planchette. It clatters against the wall behind Beth.

I'm shaking. Rachel apologizes and shake my head "no" one more time. I mouth the words "I'm sorry," and pick the planchette back up.

We head back quietly. Rachel is the first one to break the awkward silence by remarking on the fun she had. She gets Beth talking about the evidence they collected and eventually the mood I ruined is repaired.

I know Rachel was very intentional in how she got us talking again. I realize that the entire night she has been almost like a host. A very subtle haunting host, I guess. It's hard to explain. I don't know exactly how she does it, I just know that I have memories of her smiling a lot and me feeling relaxed around her. And I remember her engaging with Beth a lot too, and Beth smiling back a lot. 

She's not quite Henrietta. But no one is or ever will be. She is my friend though, it feels like.

We say our goodbyes and I even hug Rachel. I don't normally hug, but I stood there in front of her and something just told me that she would appreciate it. And she did. 

I drove Beth home and she never did ask me why I threw the planchette. I would never have been able to answer that, anyway. Even if I could talk without a Ouija Board.