Alexandra Sokoloff - The Harrowing

In the doorway, Cain made an exasperated sound. “Oh Christ.” He turned to leave.

The planchette suddenly jumped, spelling quickly, urgently. Robin stared down at the unfamiliar letters. Lisa sounded them out one by one under her breath, groping at the words. Latin , Robin realized. Lisa spoke the whole sentence out.

Cain froze in the doorway.

Robin wondered about the phrase. A legal term? Something about evidence? She remembered that Zachary had been studying law, too.

Patrick snapped his fingers at Cain impatiently. “Well? What’s it mean?”

Cain glanced at him. “Exonerating evidence. I was writing a paper about it—just now.” He looked at Lisa again with blistering suspicion.

She stared back at Cain defiantly. “ He said it. I didn’t.”

Martin spoke up, more to himself than the others. “Telepathy again.” He reached for his legal pad, made a note.

Lisa pressed her fingertips into the pointer, raised her voice. “Zachary, was that you knocking?”

There was a puff and whoosh and a rush of orange light…as a log caught fire in the hearth. Everyone turned toward it startled.

Then the indicator leapt to life. Robin could feel the urgent tug under her hands. Much faster than the night before, and more confident. Almost—cocky.

Robin’s eyes widened; she felt a prickling on her neck. Lisa looked at her from across the board. Robin leaned forward, intense. “Are you Zachary Prince, who died here in 1920?”

The pointer was still for a moment, then spelled more slowly.

“That’s the inscription from the yearbook,” Lisa said softly to the others.

Robin felt a deep chill. There was something wrong here, a creepiness under her fingers, almost heat, like anger. How different it felt from the playful teasing of the night before.

“Zachary, how did you die?” Lisa asked. Robin felt another shock of heat under her fingers as the pointer moved quickly.

Robin flinched, and saw Patrick grimace. “That’s harsh.”

Martin stepped abruptly forward, stared down at the table. He directed his voice toward the board. “If you’re a ghost, what is a ghost?”

The pointer stopped, still now. Robin couldn’t feel a thing under her fingers. She looked across at Lisa.

Martin spoke again, more demanding. “ Explain what you are.”

The pointer was completely still. Martin leaned over the board, agitated. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Shadows danced on the walls from the firelight; then the pointer started to move. Random, teasing circles. Finally, it slid quickly from letter to letter.

Martin colored. Cain looked sharply at Lisa, then at Robin. Robin started to shake her head.

Martin cleared his throat, forced himself to speak politely. “I…would like to talk to you, please.”

Robin flinched as the pointer jerked to life, spelling almost violently.

Martin paled, stunned.

Robin gasped, pulled her hands off the pointer. Cain advanced on the table. “That’s enough, Marlowe.”

Lisa stiffened. “I’m not—”

“I know you’re doing it.”

“ I fucking am not .” Lisa shoved the board away from her.

“She’s not,” Robin protested.

Silence fell in the room. The logs snapped in the fireplace as flames ate at the logs. Patrick and Cain circled the shadows around the table, the board.

Robin bit her nails, stared down at the black letters, focused in on the burn marks along the edge of the board. Charred . There was something ominous about the black now, something that didn’t make sense.

Stop now , she told herself. I don’t like this game .

Cain stopped across from her, met her eyes. He seemed about to say something.

Robin suddenly put her hands back on the indicator. Lisa looked at her, slowly reached out to the wooden piece. A garnet in one of her rings caught the light, glowed briefly like a drop of blood.

Robin drew a breath and asked tightly, “Zachary, why are you angry at Martin?”

The pointer circled, slid almost sullenly from letter to letter. Lisa sounded the words out, frowning.

Robin and Lisa looked across at each other, then at Martin. He stared down at the board as if mesmerized.

“What does that—” Robin began.

The planchette jerked under their hands, scraping violently across the board. Robin and Lisa could barely hold on.

Lisa gasped and stood, pushing herself away from the table. Robin sat frozen, staring down at the board. Martin’s face was very still.

“Master of the Universe? Is this a video game now? What the fuck…” Patrick looked around, bewildered.

“God. It means God.” Martin pulled back Lisa’s chair and sat heavily down, put his hands on the indicator and stared across at Robin. “Let’s go.”

Robin jolted, startled by his vehemence.

Cain stepped closer to the table, behind Robin. “I don’t think—”

Martin glared at Robin, eyes burning. “Let’s go .”

Transfixed, she slowly extended her hands to the planchette. Her fingers touched Martin’s cold ones. Martin spoke through clenched teeth, unfamiliar, grating syllables: “ Haim ata ru-ach o Qlippah? ”

The pointer jumped violently under Robin’s hands and flew off the table, clattered to the stone hearth.

“ Shit ,” Patrick yelped, jolting back.

Robin found she was standing—she’d jumped up so quickly, she hadn’t realized she was on her feet. Everyone was standing except for Martin, all of them frozen in disbelief.

Cain whipped around toward Martin. His voice was strangled. “What the fuck did you say?”

Martin sat back against his chair. He spoke evenly, his face like alabaster in the flickering light. “I said, What are you, you fuck?”

He stood up with eerie calm, crossed to pick up the pointer from the hearth. He put it back on the board and sat, looked up at Robin intensely. “Come on.”

Cain moved forward. “No. That’s enough. You’re too into it.”

Martin nearly shouted over him. “ Come on .”

Robin flinched, blinked back tears, but she felt for the back of the chair and sat, reached to the pointer.

Cain spoke low behind her. “You don’t have to.”

Martin’s voice cut through his. “What are you?” he demanded of the air. All scientific detachment was gone; he’d spoken as if to a real person. He pushed his fingers into the pointer, stared down at the board as if he were alone in the room.

Robin touched the pointer with her fingertips. Immediately, the piece began to move. Robin recoiled. There was something different there, not a new energy, but a change in the energy. So much…loathing. Malice. Fury . The malevolence fairly crackled through her fingers.

But the words the pointer spelled were slow, almost teasing.

Martin jerked forward, his voice raised. “ What are you? “ The planchette scraped, swift and violent, across the board.

Robin gasped and pulled her hands away from the planchette. She felt rather than saw Cain move forward behind her; then his hands were gripping her shoulders. Lisa was hugging herself from the edge of the shadows.

Martin pressed his fingers into the wood, white-faced and shouting. “I’m asking you . Tell me what you are!”