Alexandra Sokoloff - The Harrowing

Robin thought, Taking charge again. What does he want out of this? But she sat slowly in one chair, looking at the shiny, smooth, burn-free new board. Will it work with a modern board? Will Zachary come?

Her skin prickled.

Do I want him to?

Martin pulled out the other chair, looked to where Lisa sat on her box. She ground out her cigarette, stood and crossed to the table, and sat, her limbs heavy, her face set. Martin stood beside them with his phone, ready to film.

How official we are .

Robin looked across the table at Lisa, trying to project calm and reassurance. They both stretched out their hands to the planchette in the center of the board.

The pointer moved immediately, almost before they touched it.

Robin drew in a startled breath. She could feel Lisa flinch through the wood of the planchette.

The board spelled out quickly

Martin read the words aloud dispassionately. For the tape , Robin realized. She and Lisa looked at each other, unnerved, as the indicator kept moving under their hands.

The candles flared, hissing with dripping wax. Martin looked at his watch, made a note on his clipboard. Robin spoke sharply. “Waiting for what?” Under their fingers, the pointer flew across the board.

Patrick exhaled a cloud of smoke from the joint he’d just lighted. “But you’ve been around, haven’t you?” He spoke it flatly, to the air.

Robin could feel Cain behind her, prowling the perimeters of the attic, watching everything like a hawk. She spoke aloud.

“And all these things that have been happening to us…that was you?”

She could feel a peculiar intensity, almost a heat in the energy coming through the planchette under her fingers as it moved.

Robin tensed; she saw Lisa stiffen across from her.

Martin stepped forward, spoke beside her. “Did you write O’Connor’s midterm?”

Robin leaned forward, intent. “Why?”

The pointer hesitated… then skimmed lightly over the letters.

Martin deadpanned the words and everyone laughed, startled at the sudden humor. Patrick did a double take, growled back, mock-insulted. “Hey.”

Robin could feel the others relax. It was a game again, playful and fun, the same easy intimacy they’d had that first night.

Oh no , Robin thought grimly. Not this time. I’m onto you .

Patrick stepped up now. “Were you inside me?” The planchette moved once.

“I’m not sure I like that, pal,” Patrick warned. He was mostly joking, but the planchette moved swiftly, emphatically.

Patrick went rigid. Robin felt cold. The candlelight flickered, and everyone looked at one another uneasily.

Focus , Robin ordered herself. Find out what we need to know. But be careful—draw it out.

“How did you get inside him?” she asked aloud.

Martin read it out, looking at Patrick. Patrick stared back at Martin. “Like hell I did.”

Martin met his gaze levelly. “You did. That first night.” He mimicked Patrick, a remarkably good imitation. “‘How, Zach? You gonna take it for me? Eleven o’clock next Friday…’”

Robin had the fleeting, totally chilling sensation that Martin was speaking for Zachary, continuing the conversation of the board. Then the pointer was moving under her fingers again.

Martin read that aloud, too, and Robin again got an eerie feeling of schizophrenia.

“What do you want, though?” she demanded. The pointer circled slowly, as if considering. It’s playing with us , she thought very clearly, and the thought was terrifying. Not he—it. What is it?

The pointer moved from letter to letter. Martin lifted his head to speak the words. His voice was hoarse.

The attic was deathly silent, candlelight flickering on the dusty walls. Robin could only move her eyes, but from what she could see, everyone had gone as white as ghosts.

Then the pointer leapt to life, spelling quickly.

Then it began racing back and forth between two letters, faster and faster.

Robin jerked her hands away from the planchette. The pointer stopped. Lisa remained with her hands pressed into the wooden piece, as if unable to move. Patrick spoke grimly. “Very funny, Zach.”

“It is not funny.” Robin’s face was set as she put her fingertips back on the pointer. “What do you want? Why are you…bothering Lisa?” The pointer was still.

Then Lisa gasped. Everyone turned to look at her, and Robin gasped, too.

Lisa sat frozen in her chair, her hair floating around her head as if lifted by invisible fingers.

Patrick jerked forward, slashed at the air with his hands. Lisa’s hair dropped to her shoulders again. She hugged herself, staring up into Patrick’s eyes in helpless terror. He put his hands on her shoulders, pressed himself against the back of her chair like a bodyguard. Behind them, Cain looked stunned.

Martin spoke suddenly. “Feel that. Cold.”

Robin realized she was shivering violently. All of their breath showed, white puffs in the freezing air.

Martin angled his phone to film it… and there was a sudden sharp cracking sound. Martin sucked in his breath and dropped the phone. It thudded on the floor.

Everyone jerked around to look at him.

“It broke,” he said faintly, in wonder. “It cracked in my hand.” He held up a hand, and Robin froze. There was a trickle of dark blood between his fingers.

As Patrick and Cain stared at Martin, Robin suddenly leaned across the table and took Lisa’s hands, looking into her face. “We can stop right now.”

Lisa shuddered but shook her head. “Ask him what he wants.” She placed her hands on the pointer, stared, hollow-eyed, into Robin’s gaze.

Robin’s fingers slipped into her pocket; she felt the sharp points of the Star of David.

All right. Now .

Robin put her fingers back on the planchette, asked the question she had been thinking ever since she knelt at Zachary’s grave.

“You’re not Zachary Prince, are you?”

Everyone but Cain looked at her, startled. The pointer was still.

“What are you talking about—” Patrick began.

“Wait,” Robin commanded. She stared down at the board, clenched her jaw. “Answer me.”

She felt the pointer jerk under their fingers, a sharp jolt of angry energy. Lisa’s eyes widened. Then the pointer spelled out the words slowly, almost sullenly.

Robin spoke evenly to the air. “I’m not your girl.”

The pointer leapt to life, scraped across the board in violent jerks.

Robin gasped, realizing what was coming. Martin read the last word through clenched teeth.

Everyone flinched. Lisa pulled her hands away from the planchette as if burned, but Robin remained with her fingers touching it, determined. Beside her, she could feel Martin staring fixedly down at the board, stiff with tension.

Patrick spun to Robin. “Hold the fuck up. What’s goin’ on?”

Robin took her hands off the planchette, a gesture like lowering her voice, as if whatever they were talking to wouldn’t be able to hear if she broke contact with the board.