Page 11 of Signs and Wonders

“Yeah, I’m getting that feeling,” Seth agreed.

While the camp was still in use, two drownings had occurred in the pool. Through the years, a handful of people had gone missing in the general area, written off as runaways. Evan suspected that the real story was much darker and that local officials didn’t want to look too closely at Swain’s “ministry.”

There have got to be ghosts here. Are they hiding from us? Could they make themselves visible if they wanted to?

“Let’s see if anyone wants to talk.” Seth pulled supplies from his bag. He spread a tarp on the ground that was marked with runes and sigils along the edges. In the middle of the tarp, Seth made a circle from a rope soaked in salt, holy water, and colloidal silver, marking a space large enough for both he and Evan to sit.

As Evan kept watch, Seth lit candles at the four quarters of the circle and withdrew a Ouija board from his bag.

“Not fancy, but it works.” Seth shrugged and got into a comfortable position. He took a deep breath before staring straight ahead into the shadows.

“Ghosts of Camp Morning Glory—we wish you no harm,” Seth said as Evan constantly scanned for any sign that the revenants were listening.

“We apologize for disturbing you, but we need information about a man who might have done you harm—Fletcher Swain. He’s gone by other names, and he used to run this camp. We want to hold him to account. If you can help us, please make yourself seen.”

Evan found that he was holding his breath. The odd stillness seemed to deepen, and his skin itched with the sensation of being watched.

The temperature dropped, turning cold enough for Evan to see his breath. He saw staticky flickering in the air around them, as if spirits tried to make themselves visible but lacked the power to do so.

“Thank you for coming,” Seth continued, and Evan guessed his partner sensed the spirits’ presence. “If you can hear me, give me a sign using the talking board.”

Seth let his fingers rest lightly on the planchette. As Evan watched, the raised triangle quivered, then moved slowly to the word “yes” on the board.

“What are your names?” Seth waited to see if the triangle would move again.

Very slowly, the marker spelled out names: “Amy,” then “Cathy,” followed by “Kenny.”

While last names would have been helpful, Seth had more questions, and they didn’t know how much energy the spirits could maintain.

“Good,” Seth encouraged and drew the planchette back to the center of the board. “Was your death an accident?”

The triangle moved fast this time, circling the word “no” so vigorously that it felt like a silent shout.

“Was Fletcher Swain involved in your death?” This time, the triangle remained still. Seth began to list the other names Swain had gone by during his unnaturally long life. Once again, the planchette darted to “yes.”

“Holy shit,” Evan murmured. He didn’t know how many ghosts answered Seth’s summons or whether more than one chose to respond via the Ouija board. Whatever they learned this way wouldn’t be admissible as evidence, and they were likely to have difficulty corroborating the ghosts’ testimony.

“Did Swain kill you?”

“Yes,” the planchette indicated.

A chill skittered down Evan’s spine. He didn’t think the ghosts meant them harm, but then again, some had been at the camp for a long time, with decades to reckon with the injustice done to them. That made him wonder whether the camp had become so haunted that Swain had abandoned it.

“Did he kill you here?” Seth asked.

It seemed as if ghostly hands tugged at the planchette, arguing over the answer as the triangle veered wildly between “yes” and “no.”

“Are you buried here?”

Once again, the spirits vied for control, giving both answers.

Maybe some of them had families that claimed the bodies. Or they died here, and he moved the corpses elsewhere.

“Does Swain come back here?” Seth probed. Evan knew he was looking for a lead on where the relic might be stored.

A cold wind stirred dead leaves and whistled through the warped boards on the ruined cabins. Evan tried to move in a slow circle to keep them from getting blindsided. Frost formed on the broken windows, and the clang of rusted windchimes sent an eerie note through the stillness.

The planchette juddered as if it were alive, finally spelling out “not now.”

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