One Hundred Candles [2] by Mara Purnhagen Page A

them.” I left the bathroom and returned to my room, where a pile of clothes lay on the bed. I started picking through them in a determined search for my good jeans.
    “If Shane’s so nice and normal, how come he never got married? He’s, like, forty. And who spends their life driving around in a van trying to film ghosts?”
    “Careful,” I warned. “You’re about to insult my family.”
    “Sorry,” Noah mumbled. “I’m really tired.”
    I located the jeans and inspected them for obvious stains. “It’s okay. I know how you feel.”
    It had been a late night. After all one hundred candles had been lit, we waited without speaking. Then Gwyn led us into her kitchen, which was still unfinished. While everyone else quietly inspected the cupboards and corners, I kept turning over Gwyn’s story in my head. Thank you for pushing back the curtain. It gave me chills. What did it mean, exactly? Was it simply an eerie coincidence or was my experience in Ohio connected with Gwyn’s experience at home? She had said it happened a month earlier, so whatever I encountered in Ohio could not have possibly followed me back to South Carolina.
    I hoped.
    “So, what did you think about that whole thing last night?” I asked.
    Noah sighed. “I don’t know. After what happened in Charleston, I’m kind of open to anything, but it seemed hokey. I didn’t feel anything afterwards, did you?”
    “I definitely didn’t feel a hundred spirits in the room with us, if that’s what you mean.”
    Still, I thought I had detected something. Despite my two recent supernatural experiences, I wasn’t sensitive like some people. I never relied on my feelings alone, but I knew what to be aware of, and as the group of us stood in the kitchen, waiting, I tried to tune in and pay attention. Seconds after Gwyn finished telling her story, the candles all flickered in the same direction, as if responding to a slight breeze. The debunker in me immediately looked around to pinpoint the source, but I couldn’t figure it out. The room was warm and stuffy and still. No one had moved, and even if someone had exhaled deeply, the candles were scattered in such a way that not all of them would have been affected. In fact, Noah coughed a moment later, and only a couple votives flickered at all.
    There was something not quite right, something I couldn’t define, and it was more than just a feeling. It was like my brain was trying to alert me to something out of place. I continued to scan the room, hoping to identify what was wrong. Most of my classmates were focusing on the corner where Gwyn had said the cold light had passed. A few had closed their eyes. Bliss was also looking around, and for a split second, our eyes met. She frowned and turned away.
    I tried to move closer to Gwyn. I needed to talk to her about the voice she had heard. But every time I came within a few steps of her, she moved away, almost as if she was trying to avoid me.
    When the hallway clock chimed eleven, the spell seemed to break and people began to move toward the front door.
    “It may take a while,” Gwyn said. “But something will happen. You’ll see.”
    There was a general disappointed grumbling in response. After all, most of the group had sat around for hours hoping to witness something unusual, something caused by the hundred spirits brought forth by their hundred stories. I was just happy to escape the house and return to the party across the street. It was still loud and crowded, but at least it felt normal. Harris stayed at my side for the rest of the night, and we counted down the waning seconds of the year with the rest of the packed room. As the fireworks in Times Square erupted on the TV screen, Harris wrapped both arms around my waist and pulled me close.
    “Happy New Year,” he whispered. Before I could respond, his lips were pressed against mine. I don’t know why I was surprised—we were surrounded by couples ringing in the new year with a celebratory