could speak, the glass moved again. It felt like it floated under his finger, scarcely touching the board at all. It circled the inner part of the board counterclockwise, as if waiting.
“Ask it something,” the man whispered.
Please don’t.
“Who are you?” Tricia said, softly.
The glass moved over the board. Tricia spoke the letters where it paused.
“F…R…E…D…I…S…D…E…A…D.”
“What the hell does that mean?” the man opposite said. Fred scarcely heard him. He’d already read the message, and his mind was filled again with pictures of a pale slithering thing in deep darkness. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and a sudden nausea gripped his guts. He stood, too fast, scattering the Ouija board, the glass and two beers across the trailer floor as he made for the washroom.
* * *
He only just made it. He emptied his stomach in one heave, tasting beer coming back up. Another spasm hit, then another. Every time he thought he was done, he saw the glass move in his mind’s eye, spelling out the letters.
F…R…E…D…I…S…D…E…A…D
What the fuck is going on here?
He had no answers. He stayed in the washroom for a while until his guts eased and he felt he could move without chucking up.
Screw this. I’m going home.
But by the time he returned to the main living area, the other three had the board set up, and the glass was once again moving smoothly across the board.
“You okay?” Tricia asked. She looked up and smiled. That was enough to get him to sit beside her again.
But there ain’t no way I’m touching that glass.
Tricia handed him a notebook with messages written in a scrawled hand.
“I think it’s them,” she whispered. “I think it’s your men from down the mine.”
She went back to the board with the others as Fred read the call-and-response in the scribbled notes, the knot in the pit of his stomach getting tighter with every line.
“Who are you?”
“FredJoeGeorge.”
“Where are you?”
“Fred is dead.”
“Where are you?”
“With Fred.”
“Are you in Hopman’s Hollow?”
“Fred is. Fred is dead.”
“Did you cause the hole to collapse?”
“Fred did. Fred is dead.”
Tricia gasped loudly and Fred looked up from the notepad. The three others stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at the board. The glass spun under their fingers, faster and faster, in a tight circle around the word NO . Without warning, it cracked and fell in three pieces to the board.
For a second everything went completely quiet and still.
“What just happened?” the man across the table said. Tricia looked at Fred.
“I think it was them.”
Fred lit a fresh smoke, having to force his hands to stay steady.
“You three have just spooked yourselves. There ain’t no such thing as ghosts.”
“Are you shitting me?” the man across the table said. “After what we’ve just seen?”
The lights in the room all dimmed at once, and the background hum that had been there from the refrigerator weakened and dulled to little more than a whisper. Shadows gathered in the corners, darkening as the lights faded further. The trailer vibrated, thrumming like a tuning fork, sending tremors up through Fred’s body. He felt wetness at his lip and tasted fresh blood. The jackhammer started up again behind his right eye.
Oh, crap. I think we’re in trouble.
Tricia looked down at the dribble of blood that ran from her chin down to her cleavage. Fred found he was no longer quite so interested in the contents of the top. The man across from them wiped at his nose and left a bloody smear across his cheek. The girl beside him sat, leaning slightly forward, dripping a steady patter of droplets onto the glass tabletop, where they pooled and started to run towards the broken shards of the drinking glass.
“What is this shit?” Tricia said.
No one had time to reply.
The floor lurched beneath them. The girl across the table screamed—the first sound he’d heard from her all night.
“Ask it something,” the man whispered.
Please don’t.
“Who are you?” Tricia said, softly.
The glass moved over the board. Tricia spoke the letters where it paused.
“F…R…E…D…I…S…D…E…A…D.”
“What the hell does that mean?” the man opposite said. Fred scarcely heard him. He’d already read the message, and his mind was filled again with pictures of a pale slithering thing in deep darkness. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and a sudden nausea gripped his guts. He stood, too fast, scattering the Ouija board, the glass and two beers across the trailer floor as he made for the washroom.
* * *
He only just made it. He emptied his stomach in one heave, tasting beer coming back up. Another spasm hit, then another. Every time he thought he was done, he saw the glass move in his mind’s eye, spelling out the letters.
F…R…E…D…I…S…D…E…A…D
What the fuck is going on here?
He had no answers. He stayed in the washroom for a while until his guts eased and he felt he could move without chucking up.
Screw this. I’m going home.
But by the time he returned to the main living area, the other three had the board set up, and the glass was once again moving smoothly across the board.
“You okay?” Tricia asked. She looked up and smiled. That was enough to get him to sit beside her again.
But there ain’t no way I’m touching that glass.
Tricia handed him a notebook with messages written in a scrawled hand.
“I think it’s them,” she whispered. “I think it’s your men from down the mine.”
She went back to the board with the others as Fred read the call-and-response in the scribbled notes, the knot in the pit of his stomach getting tighter with every line.
“Who are you?”
“FredJoeGeorge.”
“Where are you?”
“Fred is dead.”
“Where are you?”
“With Fred.”
“Are you in Hopman’s Hollow?”
“Fred is. Fred is dead.”
“Did you cause the hole to collapse?”
“Fred did. Fred is dead.”
Tricia gasped loudly and Fred looked up from the notepad. The three others stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at the board. The glass spun under their fingers, faster and faster, in a tight circle around the word NO . Without warning, it cracked and fell in three pieces to the board.
For a second everything went completely quiet and still.
“What just happened?” the man across the table said. Tricia looked at Fred.
“I think it was them.”
Fred lit a fresh smoke, having to force his hands to stay steady.
“You three have just spooked yourselves. There ain’t no such thing as ghosts.”
“Are you shitting me?” the man across the table said. “After what we’ve just seen?”
The lights in the room all dimmed at once, and the background hum that had been there from the refrigerator weakened and dulled to little more than a whisper. Shadows gathered in the corners, darkening as the lights faded further. The trailer vibrated, thrumming like a tuning fork, sending tremors up through Fred’s body. He felt wetness at his lip and tasted fresh blood. The jackhammer started up again behind his right eye.
Oh, crap. I think we’re in trouble.
Tricia looked down at the dribble of blood that ran from her chin down to her cleavage. Fred found he was no longer quite so interested in the contents of the top. The man across from them wiped at his nose and left a bloody smear across his cheek. The girl beside him sat, leaning slightly forward, dripping a steady patter of droplets onto the glass tabletop, where they pooled and started to run towards the broken shards of the drinking glass.
“What is this shit?” Tricia said.
No one had time to reply.
The floor lurched beneath them. The girl across the table screamed—the first sound he’d heard from her all night.
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