Steady

Chapter Three

"Okay, Bree," I whisper to myself, staring up at my window. "It's okay. Just tell it to get the hell out. That should do it. It's not welcome so it can't stay."

A jogger rushes by, looking at me like I've lost my ever-loving mind, and I try to smile, but fail greatly.

My hands tingle as I breathe in and out, building walls around all the fearful thoughts bouncing around inside my head. I can't stay outside forever, and I have to face the music eventually, so I crack my neck from side to side, steel my nerves, and make my way back up the stairs.

In my room, I quickly locate the board and planchette before returning them to their rightful place at the table. No, that's not right. Not their rightful place. They don't belong here. And neither does Jake... whatever or whoever that is.

After sweeping my hair up into a fresh ponytail, I roll my shoulders back and have a little pep talk with my heart.

"Quit being a pansy. This is ridiculous. We can do this." I point at my chest for emphasis. "We're stronger than this thing."

Placing the planchette in the center of the board, I summon every ounce of courage I have in me and force my butt to stay planted. Running away won't fix this.

"Okay, listen up. I don't know what I'm doing and I don't know what you want, but I do know that you shouldn't be here. Asking for you to contact us was a mistake and it's time for you to leave." My voice doesn't carry near the amount of conviction I thought it would, but at least all the words are out there in the open.

That counts for something.

The hair at the back of my neck stands on end and cold tingles race up and down my arms as I wait...

I need a clue, a sign, a message—anything.

"Jake? Is that your name?"

I hate that I'm crying tears of fear, but I can't help it. It's my body's first reaction to the unknown.

Once I'm able to inch my shoulders down away from my ears and take in my first normal breath of the hour, the planchette flies out from beneath my fingertips and I ball up my fists.

Unable to do anything but stare and shake, I watch as it makes its way across the board, shooting from letter to letter.

"Holy... shit..."

Without taking my eyes off its progress, I grab blindly for the pen and paper we use to take messages and scribble each letter the planchette comes to rest over. It rushes on with an urgency that an inanimate object shouldn't possess.

This is happening...

This is really happening...

I can't say why, but the fear in my chest ebbs, giving way to something bigger and brighter.

Exhilaration.

It's real.

The afterlife is real.

Spirits are real...

My epiphany is cut short when all movement ceases, and I look down to find a jumble of letters. It's not difficult to make out the words, and I swipe slashes between the letters, breaking them up into words, until one sentence stares up at me from the page.

"He won't understand," I read aloud. I'm not sure what I expected, but the simple words leave me wanting. "What does that even mean? Who won't understand?"

I hop off the chair and begin pacing the length of the room, wound too tightly to remain still.

"Who is 'he'?" I ask, raking still-shaking hands through my hair.