Alexandra Sokoloff - The Harrowing

Robin’s breath caught in her throat, and Lisa finished.

The sentence hung in firelit orange and dark.

Robin and Lisa looked at each other, chilled. Scattered around the room, the guys were still.

Lisa cleared her throat slightly and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “What do you mean, ‘here’?” Her eyes met Robin’s, glanced away. “Where is ‘here’?”

The planchette jerked and then circled, with no response. The moment seemed suspended; the red yarn on Lisa’s wrist trailed across the letters like blood. Robin could feel the others waiting, leaning forward slightly, perhaps not quite breathing. Her entire attention was on the smooth age-yellowed surface of the board, the formal black letters, the scorch marks.

And then, as if some decision had been made, the word came. Strange and unfamiliar, so that both she and Lisa spoke the letters out individually.

Robin was the first to put the letters together. The word felt alien in her mouth.

“Qlippoth?”

Martin looked up from his back table with sudden interest.

In the hearth, the logs crackled and popped, sending showers of sparks up the chimney flue. The shadows of flames rippled on the walls.

Lisa nodded hesitantly at the pronunciation, guessing rather than knowing Robin was right. The others stared around at one another in the flickering light, mystified.

“Take me to your leader,” Patrick intoned, zombielike. The joke fell somewhat flat, everyone still unnerved.

Lisa pressed her ringed fingers into the planchette, spoke into the darkness, her tone falsely bright. “How about in English, Zach?”

The silence was too thick as the planchette circled. Robin could actually feel everyone in the room leaning forward as she and Lisa spoke the words.

Robin was peripherally aware of Martin being very still in the back, staring at Lisa.

Lisa looked at Robin. “The shells? Do you mean the shelves ?”

“The beach?” Patrick guessed. Cain spoke dryly from the couch. “There was a doo-wop group in the fifties—Clam Chowder and the Shells.”

Patrick snickered, partly in relief at the break in tension, Robin thought. Lisa glared toward both boys. Then the girls jumped as the indicator moved again, unbidden.

Again, Robin could feel the guys leaning forward in the silence to hear. Lisa read the words aloud, somewhat short of breath.

Robin stared down at the board, felt another prickle of foreboding. The pointer moved again, almost jauntily.

The unexpected joke relaxed them all. Robin and Lisa smiled across at each other.

Patrick groaned from the floor. “Ahh, don’t encourage her.”

Lisa laughed, reassured, and flirted back at Zachary. “In that case, at least tell us what you look like.”

Robin could feel a change in the quality of the movement under her hands… a playful sensuality.

Lisa laughed again, harder than was really called for. She vamped, a la Mae West. “Well then, come up and see me sometime.”

Always the tease, aren’t you? Robin thought. Just can’t help yourself.

Lisa caught Robin’s gaze in the yellow light. Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly there was an edge in her voice, a challenge. “You ask something.”

Robin hesitated, torn between desire and distrust.

Lisa gave her no quarter. “Okay, then I will.” She reached for the pointer, raised her voice. “Zachary, tell us. Is Robin a virgin?”

Robin froze. She saw Patrick choke on his beer… and, behind him, Cain rolling his eyes.

She flushed. “All right, just stop.” She started to withdraw her hands from the pointer, but Lisa put her hands firmly on top of Robin’s, holding her there, smiling wickedly.

The planchette began to move. Robin’s face was hot, but somehow she couldn’t make herself let go. She stared at the letters as they materialized.

She jolted, recognizing the bit of poem she had been thinking of as she held the pills in her hand.

Am I doing this? She wondered, disoriented.

Lisa read the sentence out, quirking her eyebrows—whether in mockery or pleased surprise, it was hard to tell.

Patrick murmured from the floor, “Oh, baby.” Robin turned crimson, but through the rush of blood in her ears, she recognized a note in his voice she hadn’t quite heard before: appreciation. Her heart fluttered. Maybe…maybe there is hope .

Lisa widened her eyes at Robin. She raised her voice brightly. “How romantic of you, Zachary. The rest of you clowns should be taking notes.”

Robin was surprised to detect an undertone of grudging jealousy. Jealous of what? Robin stared across at her, her mind racing. Is she spelling things out? Am I?

Lisa caught her eyes, leaned forward slightly. “See, he likes you. Come on.” She held Robin’s eyes, seductive, appeasing.

After a moment, Robin put her hands back on the planchette, by now far too intrigued to stop.

Lisa looked around the room, reenergized. “Anyone? Questions?”

A moment of silence, then Patrick volunteered, without moving from the floor. “Okay, Zach, old man.” He paused portentously. “Will I pass history?”

On the couch, Cain audibly snorted. Robin heard Martin in the back muttering under his breath, “In your dreams.”

They were listening then, just as present as she was.

The indicator jerked slightly under her hands, and she blinked back to the board, staring at the letters as they formed.

Robin was no longer surprised how quickly and smoothly the board was spelling out the messages, it seemed natural, inevitable.

Lisa read out the words, and Cain half-laughed. “The cosmic fortune cookie.”

But Robin noticed that he had been intent on Lisa’s words. His magazine lay forgotten on the floor beside the couch. You’re into it. Not a complete cynic after all.

Patrick was speaking, and she was instantly attentive again as he called out, “How, Zach? You gonna take it for me?”

And Robin realized that something had changed. The tone of Patrick’s voice was easy, companionable; he was talking to the board the way he would talk to a person.

And there was something else, as well. She could feel the house listening. As completely absorbed in and amused by the conversation as the rest of them were.

You’re stoned , she told herself.

The planchette was moving under her hands, and Lisa read with it.

Patrick pointed a little hazily at the board, his words slurred. “You’re on, dude. Eleven o’clock next Friday, right, Rob?”

The pointer jerked simply to

And Robin felt a stab of apprehension.

Across the table, Lisa’s eyes were bright, almost feverish. She saw Robin looking at her, and looked away quickly, as if caught. She turned in her chair to speak to the room. “Someone ask something none of us would know,” she demanded. There was a dark sense of urgency under her words.

Patrick lolled his head back against the edge of the couch, swigged his beer. “What’s my mother’s maiden name?” he offered.

Behind him on the couch, Cain rolled his eyes again. “It’s not an ATM machine.”