Page 31 of The Only One Left

“This is silly,” I say.

“Shush.” Jessie stares at the planchette. “I feel something.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I said shush. Don’t you feel it?”

At first, I don’t. But soon the planchette begins to slide toward the word printed in the upper-left-hand corner of the board.

yes

Jessie gasps with delight. I roll my eyes. She’s obviously guided us to the word.

“Spirit, is there something you want to communicate to us?” Jessie says.

Once again, the planchette moves, slowly circling the same word.

yes

It continues to circle, even though the pads of my fingers are barely touching the planchette. Which means it’s still Jessie’s doing.

“Spirit,” she says, “please identify yourself.”

The planchette slowly slides to the center of the board and the two arched rows of letters printed across it. Unsurprisingly, it comes to a stop near the end of the second row.

v

Next, it slides to the letter directly above it.

i

The planchette then glides back down to the second row and the inevitable next letter.

r

“Quit pretending you’re not moving it,” I whisper.

“I’m not,” Jessie whispers back. To the empty room, she says, “Spirit, are you Virginia Hope?”

The planchette again moves to the upper-left corner of the board. Faster, this time. A sudden, startling jerk.

yes

Jessie looks at me from across the board. There’s surprise in her eyes—and just a touch of fear.

“That wasn’t me,” she says.

It had to be. I certainly didn’t do it. My touch on the planchette is so light it barely exists. But when I look down, I see that Jessie’s fingertips are also barely touching it. Yet the planchette still moves, sliding back and forth beneath the wordyesas if trying to underline it.

Jessie gulps and looks to the chandelier directly above us, as if Virginia Hope is still hanging there. “Virginia, did your sister murder you?”

The planchette rockets to the other side of the board, zooming directly onto the word in the upper-right-hand corner.

no

The planchette keeps jerking forward, its tapered point stabbing at the word. Then it flies off the board entirely before skittering across the floor.

I jerk my hand away from the Ouija board as Jessie lets out a shocked cry. “What the hell just happened?” she says.

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