by Aarsen, Zoe
Telling spirits capable of nearly tossing me out of my bed with sheer force that we were in charge seemed ridiculous. I wished there was a fireplace in the Emorys’ basement like the one at the Richmonds,’ so that if things got out of control, we could toss the game into the flames, which seemed to be a viable method of disposal in horror movies. I followed Trey’s lead by placing my own freezing fingertip alongside his. “We should warm it up first,” he instructed, and used his own force to gently move the planchette around the board in circles. After a minute or so of this, I looked over to him to suggest that he should take the lead.
Trey nodded at me and cleared his throat nervously. “We are trying to reach the spirit that is visiting McKenna’s bedroom on Martha Road,” Trey said in a firm voice. “But only kind, well-meaning spirits are welcome here.”
I felt a very subtle vibrating sensation beneath my fingertip and I couldn’t be certain if Trey was trying to scare me or not, but the planchette seemed to be channeling some kind of faint energy. It circled the board in a wide arc, coming to rest over the word Ouija at the bottom. “We’re supposed to start with easy yes-and-no questions,” Trey informed me. “Is there someone here with us?” he asked the board.
The planchette, in a slow and wobbly trajectory, made its way toward the upper left corner and stopped with its pointer touching the Y in Yes. I shivered. Trey looked over at me for permission to continue, and I reluctantly nodded, sensing that the tip of my nose and my lips were freezing cold. The temperature in the basement seemed to have dropped at least twenty degrees during the last minute.
“Are you the spirit who has been trying to make contact with McKenna Brady?” Trey asked carefully.
My heart skipped a beat as the planchette trembled but didn’t move. “It’s already on yes,” I whispered. “Ask it something else.”
“What can you tell us about Hannah Simmons?”
The planchette dragged our fingertips toward the center of the board, hesitated, and then moved upward toward the No in the upper right corner.
“What does that mean?” Trey asked me under his breath, not directing his question to the board. “No?”
“Maybe it’s too complicated to answer this way,” I suggested, but then the planchette began moving again. First it slowly dragged its way over to the F in the top arc of letters. Then it shifted a little more over to the E and came to a rest.
“E,” Trey said. “I think I might know where this is going.”
The planchette, as expected, then moved its way down to the second arc of letters, and hovered with its pointer touching the “V.”
“Evil. We’ve got it,” Trey assured the spirit. He looked at me and nudged me with his elbow. “Ask it something.”
There was one question on my mind, but it was too terrible to ask. If the answer was what I feared it would be, there could be no turning back time to a place when I believed Jennie was at peace, wherever she was. There would only be the knowledge that her existence persisted past the point at which her body died in the fire, and that she was still trailing me through my life, I feared, with jealousy. I really did not like the notion of leaving Trey’s basement and walking back to my house knowing that Jennie was around me, watching me, after me. After a moment’s hesitation I realized that Trey was studying me, waiting for me to speak, and surely he knew the question on the tip of my tongue.
“I’ll ask,” he assured me. “Are you Jennie?”
The planchette rocketed up to the right corner of the board, and landed on the No.
I breathed a deep sigh of relief, and the air in my lungs rushed out of me with a giant whoosh. It was both an enormous relief and a heart-breaking tragedy that my twin, my other half, wasn’t the spirit trying so hard to reach me.
Which left really only one relevant question: who was trying to reach me?
Reading my mind, Trey asked, “Okay… who are you?”
The planchette slowly, steadily, led our fingers across the board until it came to rest pointing at the letter O.
Trey’s finger flew off of the planchette and he shook his head. “No way. No way,” he muttered.
To remove any possibility that we were misinterpreting the board, the planchette began moving with only my fingertip on it toward the board’s L.
“Let go of it,” Trey commanded.
I raised my fingertip and as soon as I did, the planchette moved rapidly all on its own to the letters L-I-V-I-A. I gasped in horror. How was it moving on its own? I felt like I couldn’t even believe what I was seeing to be real.
“The Lite Brite,” I asked hoarsely, “was that you?” The planchette slid upward and landed on the No.
We both watched the planchette where it had come to rest on the board for a moment, holding our breath for another sign of motion. “Maybe it’s gone,” I suggested. At the sound of my voice, the planchette slid over at the S. I clung to Trey’s left arm, barely breathing, as the planchette spelled out:
S-H-E-K-N-E-W-E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.
“Jesus,” I murmured.
“Will more people die?” Trey finally asked. I could see steam escape through his lips in the frosty air that surrounded us.
The planchette delivered our gaze to the response we both feared most.
Yes.
Goodbye.
That night, hours after I had said goodnight in a stiff voice to Trey’s parents and walked across our yards back to my house, and Trey had crept through the window, I rested my head on his chest and stared at the wall.
“What do we do about Hannah?” I asked, knowing that Trey wouldn’t have an answer. “How do we stop her?”
“I don’t know,” Trey said, holding me protectively close with a grip like an iron clamp.
“How could it all be Olivia? Is she trying to protect us? Is she just out for revenge against Hannah?”
The answers that Olivia had provided to us created even more questions. One thing was certain: Olivia wasn’t going to visit us in my room that night, but even knowing that we wouldn’t be troubled by her interruptions wasn’t enough to put either of us in a romantic mood. It seemed to be more and more the case that we were going to have to bring an end to Hannah’s plans before another one of us died. And this time, because Trey and I knew it was coming, if we couldn’t prevent it from happening… we’d be partly responsible.
The staff at the Ortonville Lodge outdid themselves, lavishly decorating their grand ballroom, usually used for hosting sales conference banquets for realtors and lawn equipment retail executives. Flowers had been donated by the same florist in Willow who had supplied most of the arrangements at Olivia's wake, and they had placed clusters of orchids and carnations dyed blue throughout the ballroom, filling the entire space with fragrance. A tacky disco ball dangled overhead, hung from a crystal chandelier, and streamers criss-crossed from one corner of the ceiling to the other. An enormous table had been set up for the DJ, with speakers tucked into all four corners of the room. A photographer had decorated a corner of the hallway leading to the ballroom with a gazebo and backdrop of clouds, and couples posed for pictures, choosing fun props from a box offering flower leis and grass skirts. The theme for the dance, chosen by the senior class, was Tropical Paradise. Given that we were dancing in a ballroom in central Wisconsin to Top 40 hits, hearing the cold autumn wind whistle through the hotel windows, the theme was a bit irreverent. But high school is completely irreverent anyway, so no one seemed to care how absurd it was that we were pretending to hold our school dance in Fiji.
“How authentically Tahitian,” Trey quipped at a snack buffet offering popcorn balls dyed lavender with food coloring, and water chestnuts wrapped in bacon, served on little toothpicks.
The usual suspects were all in attendance at the dance. Coach Stirling surprisingly wore a tea-length gray dress and shoes that were not sneakers. Mr. Dean wore a brown suit with a paisley tie. Principal Nylander brought his wife as his date, as he usually did, and our town was so small that everyone knew she was a
pharmacist at Rennicker’s Drugs and that Katie Wayne from the freshman class was babysitting the Nylanders’ two kids that night. I felt a twinge of embarrassment for my old, former friends, Cheryl, Kelly, and Erica, who had intentionally bought identical dresses. They’d come to the dance together, dateless, as a threesome. I would have been with them, sitting at their table in the far corner giggling over cups of punch in a matching forest green dress, a year earlier.
Mischa wore her hair up and looked like a tiny fairy in her hot pink strapless gown when she entered the ballroom on Matt’s arm, with Candace and Isaac right behind them. Candace looked sedate and serene in a teal gown with spaghetti straps, her hair curled like a movie star’s around her shoulders. The moment I saw them, I felt a twinge of resentment toward Hannah, because I knew they had probably all driven to the dance together with Amanda and Brian. I had to remind myself that I had volunteered to be the one who remained close to Hannah, even if it meant missing out on group fun.
Trey and I lingered to the side of the ballroom, silently watching everyone with our hands locked together tightly beneath the table, where no one could see. A few chaperones had questioned me with their eyes when we entered, clearly indicating that they considered us to be somewhat of an odd pairing. Trey had surprised me with a white rose corsage; I had no idea when he had the time to choose it or pick it up at the florist since we’d walked home from school together, but I suspected his mom had something to do with it. All day long, I’d had a throbbing headache and a suspicion that something significant was going to happen at the dance. Everyone had been rowdy in classes all day in anticipation of the night’s big event, but I’d been lost in day dreams, caught off-guard when I’d been called on to describe the weather using the future tense in Spanish. When I’d arrived home from school, I was annoyed rather than happy to find my mom home from work early, eager to help me to prepare for the big night. I’d snapped at her when she suggested that I curl my hair and allow her to do my makeup, and then had ultimately given in. After all, she had agreed to drive me and Trey to the dance, and to pick us up.
“That’s her?” Trey asked me, trying to be discreet, as he nodded in the direction of the ballroom entrance.
Hannah, looking downright gorgeous, stood nervously in the wide doorway to the ballroom, lit from the bright hallway behind her. Her hair was loose and wavy, and her light blue mini dress fit her perfectly. More than one guy turned his head to check her out, and a moment later she was joined by Tracy and Michael, who looked more handsome than usual. Tracy and Michael had struck up a rather unsurprising partnership since the student election had begun, and they actually looked kind of cute together as a couple, despite their combined annoyingness. Tracy had made an impressive effort with her hair pulled back tightly in a French twist, showing off her long neck. But it was Hannah who, without any real competition, stole the show.
“Yep, that’s her,” I confirmed.
Eventually, after fetching cups of punch and saying hello to other students, both girls made their way over to the table where Trey and I sat, and I did my best to greet them cheerfully.
“Oh my god, McKenna! You look so pretty!”
I blushed, mostly because the lavender dress I’d bought over a month ago hardly seemed suitable now that the night of the dance had finally arrived. I felt like I’d been a different person completely when I’d bought it, and I had cringed at home when I looked in the mirror. Mom had insisted on my wearing her amethyst earrings to match, and while the dangling gems felt extravagant for me, they were nothing in comparison to the excessive jewelry Tracy had piled on. She had jewel encrusted combs in her hair, chandelier earrings almost reaching her shoulders, and an enormous cocktail ring on her left hand. Hannah wore her gold locket, as always, but with a dainty pair of diamond earrings.
We exchanged compliments on each others’ dresses, and gossiped half-heartedly about the dresses worn by some of the more popular senior girls. I nodded but didn’t contribute to the conversation when nasty comments were made about Cheryl, Kelly, and Erica. Amanda Portnoy looked phenomenal in a gold sequined dress that definitely had not been bought at any of the stores near Willow. I couldn’t help but wonder how magnificent Olivia would have looked, had she lived to attend the dance.
It took a while for people to loosen up enough to venture out onto the dance floor, but once they did, they were ready to party hard. Isaac challenged Coach Highland, the boys’ football coach, to a dance-off, and everyone was clutching their guts with laughter. The DJ played Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration,” which no one could resist, other than me and Trey. We remained fixed in our seats, communicating entirely with expressions, watching. Waiting.
“Guys, come on and dance! It’s a party!” Tracy yelled at us, red in the face from jumping up and down during “Rapper’s Delight.” She grabbed me by the hands and attempted to drag me off my chair onto the dance floor.
“Nah, I’m not a good dancer,” I refused.
“Come on, Trey! Tell your girl to get on her feet!” Tracy encouraged Trey, as if they were friends.
Trey was not the kind of guy to welcome false friendliness, even if he looked far less intimidating that night in a suit than he normally did in his plaid shirts and army jacket. “McKenna doesn’t want to dance,” he stated firmly.
“Well, you’re missing out!” Tracy cautioned us, ignoring his bitterness, trotting back out onto the dance floor with a smile, where Michael, clapping his hands, was waiting for her.
Trey nudged me and nodded his head in the direction of where Pete and Hannah had struck up what appeared to be a friendly conversation near the punch bowl. Pete appeared to be telling her that she looked nice, and she was shrugging her bare shoulders bashfully and flirtatiously placing one hand on his forearm. Pete looked handsome as always, wearing a different suit than the one he’d worn to Olivia’s wake. He’d left his jacket on the back of a chair somewhere, and had a pink carnation tucked into the breast pocket of his white button-down shirt. My heart was pounding with fury as I looked around to see if Mischa and Candace were witnessing what I saw; but when my eyes found them in the crowd, they were oblivious, dancing together.
Pete. So maybe snaring Pete was part of Hannah’s motive. Trey raised one eyebrow at me. He was thinking the same thing.
At nearly 10 P.M., Principal Nylander stepped up to a podium carrying two envelopes, and the DJ cut the music after a slow dance ended.
“Attention, everyone! Attention!” Principal Nylander said, tapping the microphone to make sure it was working. The crowd on the dance floor calmed down, and Trey and I shifted our chairs so that we could watch the principal’s speech. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank all of you for joining us tonight and showing some admirable school spirit. Now, I know our school year has already been marred by tragedy, but tonight the good time we’re having in each other’s company shows that the students of Weeping Willow High School have the strength to celebrate the life of our lost friend, Olivia Richmond, and move forward with positivity.”
There was light applause; people were a little surprised that he had chosen to mention Olivia by name.
“After a lot of discussion, the high school faculty decided that it was the right thing for us to do to name a Homecoming King and Queen tonight. All of you cast votes a few weeks ago, and it should come as no surprise to any of us that the junior class voted Olivia Richmond as their queen.”
Whispers filled the ballroom. No one knew exactly what to expect next.
“Now while we all acknowledge that Olivia was very much a beloved member of our high school community, in the interest of moving forward into the future, we’d like to announce this year’s runner up as the Homecoming Queen, and crown her king.”
Now excitement was building. Chatter in the ballroom swelled in volume, and Trey and I exchanged confused looks. How could there be a runner-up? I wondered. Everyone in the junior class would have voted for Olivia. Amanda, who had been the previous year’s Homecomin
g Queen when she was a junior, looked outraged where she stood across the ballroom, saying something directly to Mischa.
Principal Nylander tugged the first envelope open, flanked by Coach Stirling to his left, and Mr. Paulson, the wood shop teacher, to his right. He leaned forward to speak into the microphone again, reading off of the piece of paper that he had removed from the envelope. “This year’s Homecoming Queen is… Hannah Simmons.”
I couldn’t control my reaction, I lurched forward to my feet and my jaw dropped open. Trey stood behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders to keep me from leaving our table. The crowd erupted into jubilant applause, and I had to remind myself that no one but me, Trey, Mischa, Amanda, and Candace really had reason to be upset by Hannah’s win. To everyone else in the junior class, Hannah was just the mysterious new girl who had been close friends with Olivia. For them, it was probably perfectly natural that she had received the most votes after Olivia.