by Ania Ahlborn
“Yeah, like the girl in the graveyard,” Hope repeated. “You know, the girl who’s your friend.”
Arlen slowly turned to look at Maggie from the front seat, her face nothing short of aghast.
Maggie said nothing. She looked out the window instead, trying not to scream.
. . .
When they pulled up to the mortuary, the double doors were open. A few people fiddled with umbrellas they no longer needed. There were still a few clouds overhead, but by afternoon, the sky would be a bright and pristine blue.
“Will you put this in the trunk?” Arlen asked, handing Maggie Hayden’s blanket from the front seat, crumpled and smelling of smoke. “It stinks. I don’t want to take it in.”
Howie parked the car and the family climbed out. Maggie stayed behind, clutching Hayden’s blanket to her chest as she peered at the clouds that were now a faint gray rather than an ominous black. Finally, she turned back to the car and moved around to the trunk, popping it open, only to stop short.
Because there was Brynn’s old porcelain doll—one hand shattered, its glass faced cracked.
“Hey, you found it,” Hope said, nearly making Maggie jump. “Sorry I said it didn’t belong to you before, Auntie. I was wrong.”
“Wrong?” Maggie choked on the word, her eyes never wavering from the doll that stared dead-eyed up at her from the trunk of the car.
“I said it wasn’t yours. But the little girl told me the truth.”
“The truth,” Maggie whispered.
“Uh-huh.”
“And . . . what’s the truth?” Maggie asked, feeling the tremor in her hands start to quake, suppressing the shrieking that was inching its way up her throat.
“That it’s always been yours to begin with,” Hope said. “Ever since you brought it home with you. You promised, remember? You said you’d be her friend.”
Hope ran away then, skipping across the parking lot as though her house hadn’t just vanished, as though her aunt hadn’t died.
It was then that Maggie felt it, the pain making its return. Except this time, the dull anguish in her neck was punctuated by something new, something sharp and digging in. Her gaze jumped to the side-view mirror of Brynn’s old car. And then she saw it.
Soot-black.
Clawing into her shoulder’s curve.
Five bony fingers, refusing to ever let her go.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I was a girl, about eleven years old, I walked into a Toys R Us with a twenty-dollar bill crushed into the palm of my hand. I found myself in front of a wall of board games, and out of all those games, I chose one that I would never forget; or, perhaps, the one that would never let me forget I chose it.
The real-life Ouija board that haunted me through my childhood is gone. I don’t know where it went or how in the world it could have been misplaced. But the furniture of my childhood room, where I had used the board, remained long after the board had disappeared. Once I was ready to move on to something more adult in my teenage years, my mother decided not to get rid of my canopy bed or dresser, or even my desk or the white steamer trunk that sat at the foot of my bed. Instead, she transported it to a cabin my father had built in the woods, resolving to use it for guests whenever they might arrive. I loved that cabin, but I hated walking down that upstairs hallway. The room that held my old furniture was at the hallway’s end, and there was always a feeling . . . like something was off. I stepped inside that room only once and immediately left. It felt cooler than the rest of the house, almost damp somehow. There was a smell, too; one I couldn’t place.
That house burned down, engulfed in a fire that left much of the land surrounding it strangely untouched. The fire wasn’t paranormal, and yet, despite knowing all the details, I still think back to that room, that furniture, the fact that its energy, post-board, had always felt dangerous somehow. I still think back to the ghost of my childhood and wonder, had the board somehow made it up to the woods? Had it been in that room? Had I abandoned it, and was it angry? Is it possible to haunt yourself, and what would happen if you did?
I Call Upon Thee is a work of fiction, but it’s the closest thing I’ll get to an autobiography of how my “strangeness” came to be. The board was real. The cemetery, real. The night I watched The Exorcist, real as well. And the part where twelve-year-old Maggie suddenly realizes she’s in over her head? Yeah, that too. Of course, there’s embellishment and exaggeration, but it’s cobbled together from true events, odd memories, and the occasional nightmare.
And that, my friends, is why I’ll never contact the dead again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to David Hale Smith, all the folks at InkWell Management, Ed Schlesinger and the Gallery Books team, and Jen Bergstrom—your confidence in me is what keeps me truckin’. My husband, Will, and wonder-dogo Sulley—you guys! Mwah! My bestie, Dani, who always lets me vent . . . and I vent a lot. My pals Mike and Jodi, who are always interested no matter how boring I am in real life. And of course (and most important, as always), my readers and pals of the interwebs. You guys are awesome. A million thank-yous for your continued enthusiasm and support. And now, on to the next . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANIA AHLBORN is the bestselling author of the acclaimed horror thrillers The Devil Crept In, Brother, The Pretty Ones, Within These Walls, The Bird Eater, The Shuddering, The Neighbors, and Seed. Born in Ciechanów, Poland, she lives in South Carolina with her husband and their dog. Visit www.aniaahlborn
.com or follow the author on Facebook and Twitter.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Ania-Ahlborn
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Also by ANIA AHLBORN
The Devil Crept In
Brother
The Pretty Ones (novella)
Within These Walls
The Bird Eater
The Shuddering
The Neighbors
Seed
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Pocket Star Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Ania Ahlborn
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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition August 2017
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ISBN 978-1-4767-8377-2