Page 46 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

“Leave me alone,” I shout, and push the barrierout.

A gust of wind sends the discarded planchette tumbling end over end, making the walls tremble. There’s apopof pressure, and wet warmth bursts from my nose.

I shriek and cover my face, startled by the force of it, and only then realize that I’m free to move my hand again. The disembodied pressure is gone. I can’t feel the presence here anymore. I cradle my hand to my chest, shivering, and when I look down, red marks in the shape of fingerprints ring my wrist.

Chapter Twenty-One

Icall Ezra and wait on the porch, trying to staunch my nosebleed. This is a particularly bad one, rendering me lightheaded and foggy. My wrist throbs, too; the red marks have now darkened into visible bruises.

Soon, Ezra pulls into the driveway and emerges with an armful of ghost-hunting equipment. But he sets it aside to pull me into a hug and then steps back to look me over.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say with a weak smile.

“Thank God,” he mutters. “Ouija boards are nothing to mess with, Daisy, especially for people like us.” He grabs his equipment again. “Stay here while I have a look around.”

I grab his arm before he can enter the house. “Wait,” I say. “I-I-I don’t think it’s safe in there. Let me come with you.”

He smiles, gently removes my hand. “I’ve dealt with hauntings before. I’ll be all right, I promise.”

And so I end up on the porch, unable to do anything but shiver and wait. Five minutes pass, and then ten.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

I pull the door open and hesitate there, staring into the foyer. It’s quiet and still. Deceptively normal. “Ezra?” I call, and step inside.

The silence is deeper than usual. There are none of the usual creaks and groans, like even the house is holding its breath. My steps seem to echo faintly as I move forward.

“Ezra?” I call out again, louder.

The lightbulb above flickers—and then shatters, plunging the room into darkness. I shriek as glass rains down around me, and I retreat toward the door—but it slams shut behind me.

“Ezra!” I shriek again, panicked this time. I grab the handle and pull, but it’s stuck. I try to reach for my powers, but my fear is too overwhelming, making it difficult to concentrate.

Something is breathing in the darkness behind me.

I whirl around, pressing my back to the door, and choke on a frightened sob. Blood flows steadily from my nose, dripping over my lips and down my chin. “Leave me alone!”

Footsteps thud down the stairs, and I am frozen, stuck between running toward them or away—but when a warm hand grips mine and that familiar connection sparks, I immediately know that it’s Ezra. The EMF reader in his other hand is going haywire, the meter a bright, dangerous red:Maximum activity.

Ezra drops the reader on the floor, providing a dim illumination, and reaches for something else. “Salt and iron,” he mutters under his breath. “Maybe just salt will hold it off—” He pulls out a salt shaker and spills it on the floor around us.

I wipe my hand over my still-bleeding nose and flick it over the salt. It’s not much iron, but maybe—

The EMF dies. Ezra and I are both still, clutching each other and breathing fast. Then I fumble for the handle behind me, and the door creaks open without resistance.

We both race to Ezra’s car. I curl up in the passenger seat, one hand pressed to my nose to staunch the flow. Ezra reverses out of the driveway hard enough to make me lurch in my seat and stops only when we’re past the gate.

I hug my knees to my chest, heart pounding in my ears and blood still dripping between my fingers.

“Jesus.” Ezra runs shaky fingers through his hair. “I…I couldn’t find anything at first. I wasn’t getting any readings until you stepped into the house, but thestrengthof that reaction to your presence…”

As terrifying as the experience was, something like elation bubbles up inside me.

“Did you check the attic?” I ask.

“I was about to when I heard you call for me.”

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