A Quarrel Called: Stewards Of The Plane Book 1

by Shannon Wendtland

  “Right,” I said, getting her back. “No Doris here.”

  Tara put the crystal down on the board next to the 'yes' in the upper left corner. She moved it this way and that, until she settled on the more pronounced point facing in, toward the letters. “Okay, Brittney. What do we do next?”

  “It says: To open communication, everyone places their right hands on the planchette - pointer thingy - and closes their eyes and concentrates on being open to communication from the spirit world. Then when the medium - that's you, Tara - is ready, he or she asks for a spirit to come through. It says you can introduce yourself, or you can just ask if anyone is there.”

  Tara nodded at the group, and everyone touching the board closed their eyes. The room was dim, but the candles were bright points of light, illuminating everyone sitting on the loveseats, and pushing the dark back into the corners of the room. Beyond the circle of light, G. looked on with interest, the angles of his face thrown into shadow. He caught my eye and grinned. His hand was resting lightly on the loveseat behind Tara.

  “Hello spirits of the ether, we greet you as students of John McIntyre High School. Please commune with us.”

  G. was now grinning like a maniac, and I had the hardest time not giggling out loud. Sam shifted on the loveseat next to me, and I could tell that he was probably rolling his eyes as he frequently did whenever Tara opened her mouth (and wasn't looking directly at him).

  “Is anyone there?” Tara asked, her voice low and serious sounding. Obviously she wanted the spirits to know that she meant business.

  The planchette vibrated a little and began slowly, haltingly, to slide toward the crystal and the word 'Yes' in the corner. Shelby's sharp intake of breath made me look up at her, and I could see her concentrating very hard on what was happening on the board. Uncertain myself, I couldn't help but hold my breath just a little bit.

  The planchette landed on the word 'Yes' and stayed there.

  “Holy shit,” whispered Tyler.

  “You’re moving it,” Brittany said, wide-eyed.

  “I’m not,” said Tyler, emphatically. “I swear.”

  “Hello, Spirit of the Ether,” Tara said, ignoring them. “We welcome you to our circle. Please tell us your name.”

  Nothing happened for what seemed like a long time, and then the planchette began moving again. I vaguely remembered I had a notepad and pencil in my hand and adjusted so that I could write down whatever was indicated. I still didn't quite believe something was happening, but was nearly mesmerized by the moving planchette anyways.

  “F,” said Tara, breathless. “R,E,D,D,Y. The planchette was moving faster now. “Mel, are you getting this? K, R.”

  I nodded, totally transfixed now. A shadow from across the room caught my eye, and I looked up, notepad forgotten. There was something there. My heart began to thud in my chest, and I lost track of what was happening on the board. There was something there—I knew there was.

  Sam looked from me to the area across the room and got very still.

  The shadow moved just an inch or two, but it was enough to make even Brittney glance over her shoulder, eyes wide. A soft scraping slithered across the room from the corner and Shelby cringed. G. moved closer to her, protective, even as he tried to hover near Tara, who was busy watching the planchette move from letter to letter.

  A picture fell off the wall and crashed to the floor. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I screamed like a little girl, and so did everyone else in the room. Sam surged to his feet and G. was across the room in an instant. Suddenly the lights came on and the sounds of a scuffle and two out-of-focus shapes were taking all of our attention. My eyes tried to adjust to the sudden change in light; I could not interpret what I was seeing.

  “Hey man, cut it out,” said Colton. G. had him pinned to the wall by his shirt, and Colton pushed him off roughly. “It was just a joke. Settle down, dawg.”

  G. took a step back, his hands raised. “Sorry. Guess my fight-or-flight kicked in.”

  Tyler leaned back on the couch and laughed like a maniac.

  Another moment ticked past while everyone realized that Colton and Tyler were just pranking, and suddenly there were peals of laughter. Shelby looked like she was about to bolt, but even she managed a half-assed smile.

  “That was a dick move,” Sam said, glowering at Tyler. Then suddenly he grinned. “But I couldn't have done it better myself.” He leaned over to bump fists with Tyler.

  “Guys, Guys, guys... GUYS!” Tara was waving her hands frantically for everyone to shut up, her gaze fixated on the board. The planchette was vibrating again, only this time no one was touching it.

  “Holy shit,” Sam breathed.

  My heart was pounding so loud it drowned everything out. The planchette skittered across the board, haltingly, as if it were heavy and hard to move. It stopped on a letter.

  “O,” said Tara.

  It scraped along a few inches and stopped again. “R,” she said. We watched as it moved, by itself, and halted over the L. Tara licked her lips, her voice horse. “L.”

  The sound of the plastic sliding over the cardboard game board was dry and raspy. It seemed to take forever to come to rest, finally, on the last letter before it stopped moving for good.

  “A,” said Sam, turning to look at me, a wild, primal fear in his eyes. “Orla,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

  Another crash across the room, this time in the opposite corner, nearest to where Sam and I were sitting. A photo frame slid to the floor, silver splinters of glass spidering out from the frame like a small explosion. The color drained from my face. It was a photo of Matthew and I.

  “No way,” said Shelby, drained of color, scrunching her face to hold back a sob of fear. “No way. I told you this was devil worship stuff. No way am I sticking around to see what comes next. Screw you guys!” She threw a look of fear and loathing over her shoulder as she fled the clubhouse.

  I stood there and watched her flee and wondered if I should do the same myself. But my feet were rooted to the floor, and the room was closing in around me. Why did everyone sound so far away?

  “Melody!” someone shouted, I think it was Sam, as I slid into darkness.

  09. G.

  “I feel terrible.” Tara sat across from me in the back corner booth at The Blossom. “We had an argument after you guys left, you know? The whole thing with the picture of her and her brother crashing to the ground; I think it brought it all back to her. I didn't mean to. I thought I knew what I was doing, using the crystal. But turns out, I remembered what I read wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, reaching across to put my hand in hers. Even though this wasn't a romantic moment, just my skin on hers made my heart skip a beat. I tried to concentrate on what she was saying instead of what it might be like to kiss her. She was wearing shimmery pink lip gloss today, and it made her lips look extra ripe.

  WTF, G.? Concentrate.

  She squeezed my hand back and gave me a half-hearted smile. “After I left, I went home and did a search on the Internet about using the crystal on the board like that. It turns out that it's not protective. Instead it makes it easier for the spirits to communicate. If I hadn't put the stupid thing out there, we might just have had a good time with Colton and Tyler's prank, but instead... God, I'm dumb.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She shook her head, cutting me off. “I should have thought about it before we tried it in the clubhouse. Of course that was a bad idea. Maybe we shouldn’t have tried it at all. Sometimes… I just don’t think.”

  I was out of my depth. I didn't know anything about the occult or whatever, being more of a facts versus fiction kind of guy, but I did know one thing for sure. The only thing on my mind when Colton was fooling around was keeping Tara safe. It felt good and weird at the same time, to have that surge of adrenaline pumping through my system. I wondered why I never felt that way back at my old school, when douchebag Dixon harassed me.

  “Don't worry ab
out it,” I said. “Melody won't stay mad forever. I'm sure she just has to get over the shock.”

  “Right?” she said, looking up at me, hoping.

  “Anyways, I was thinking, maybe we could go see a movie tomorrow night? I've got hot dog night with Dad tonight, but tomorrow that new horror movie is opening--”

  “How about we go see a regular movie instead? Maybe not horror.”

  “Deal,” I said. “Pick you up at eight?”

  “Deal.”

  10. SAM

  I held the door open for Melody as we exited Smitty’s. The morning was already too warm to see the steam from her coffee in the air; summer was definitely here. “I can't believe I am sticking up for her,” I said, feeling like a traitor to myself, “But you should probably get over it already and forgive her.”

  “Sam, she brought a Spirit Board into my brother's room and conjured up some dark entity that smashed up his picture.” I should have trusted my gut.

  “It's not your brother's room, and it hasn't been for a long time. You know that. And besides, none of us actually thought it would work, least of all Tara -- you know how she is about that stuff.” I was torn between wanting to hug her, which she would not like, and wanting to snap at her for being so stubborn. “You're ruining our ‘three musketeers’ thing over something stupid.”

  Melody was a tempest brewing; thunder and lightning threatened our walk. “Sometimes you’re really an asshole. Fine, then. If it's not her fault then it's yours.”

  Shit. Even I had considered that possibility. I waited a moment before responding. What was the right thing to say here? The truth, with Melody, always the truth. “Maybe it is,” I admitted softly. “Maybe that crazy weird-ass dream I had brought it through. Orla. What the hell does that even mean?”

  “I don't know,” Melody said, her head of steam finally run out. She looped her arm in mine as we walked. “But if you have any more crazy-ass dreams late at night like that? You'd better call, not text.”

  I nodded. I hoped I never had another dream like that again.

  11. MELODY

  Three days of silence from Tara and I was convinced I was right. A week of silence from Tara and I knew Sam was right -- I was being stupid. I knocked on the door to her house and stood there, uncertainly, on the porch. Maybe she was still mad at me? Did I deserve it?

  The door swung open. “Mel! Hey!” Tara stood there grinning like a dolt.

  “Uh, hey Tara. I just wanted to say I was sorry...”

  “Oh forget it, I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset. I mean, I never thought it would actually, you know, work. Much less bring your brother through. Who knew stupid parlor tricks weren't stupid?”

  “Wait, what?” I asked, suddenly feeling off-center. My stomach fell. Could Tara really be that insensitive?

  “Oh, no! I mean, here, come in, and I'll just show you. Then you can see for yourself.” Tara pulled the door open the rest of the way. Her Mom shouted from the interior of the house, clearly annoyed.

  “In or out, Tara. The AC is on.”

  “Okay, Mom! It's just Melody.”

  “Oh, Hi, Mel. Soda's in the fridge.”

  Tara grinned nervously at me as she slammed the door and dashed upstairs to her room. “Come ON, Mel. You are not going to believe this.”

  Seated on her bed, her laptop between us, Tara brought up first one web page, then another.

  “See here on this one, they talk about photos falling over, like it's a sign from a loved one beyond. Sometimes they just find them lying flat on the table or something, but then this other page here says that if they fall over while you are in the room, it’s a message from your loved one that you are supposed to pay attention to.” She paused, meaningfully, and looked into my eyes. “And then this forum post over here, by this lady named WizCat325, says that if it falls over and breaks, then the message is urgent. Urgent, Mel. It was Matthew, trying to communicate with you, trying to tell you something really important.”

  I leaned back against her headboard, stopped to adjust the pillows, and closed my eyes. Could it be true, or was this just more new age crap? I saw the planchette move with my own eyes. I was practically next to the picture when it fell off the wall. Both Sam and I knew there was something about Orla, whoever that was -- a dream and what happened with the Spirit Board game seemed too strong to be coincidence. I exhaled through my nose, opened my eyes and said. “It's convincing but... how do you know the message is from Matthew and not some spirit named Orla?”

  “Because I haven't shown you everything yet. And I can't, not until G. gets off work.”

  “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it's better if we wait. We can call Sam to come over too, and then G. and I can show you both at the same time.”

  Aargh. “Fine. But you're killing me, you know.”

  Tara nodded, suddenly serious. “I know, but I really think it's important. And it will be worth the wait, I promise.”

  Both Sam and G. got off of work around the same time, so we decided to watch a movie while we waited. It only took about an hour for things to feel normal between us, and before long, Tara had practically abandoned the movie watching to fill me in on everything G.-related. G. this, G. that, G. said. It was kind of a relief actually, to hear about a guy she was actually almost dating (they had held hands, but not kissed yet) instead of her droning on and on about Sam, stoic Sam, if only Sam, yadda yadda yadda.

  By the time the boys arrived, we had finished Practical Magic and were halfway through The Craft. I had asked Tara why the sudden spate of witchy movies, and she had just shrugged and said she thought they were appropriate. I was glad she hadn't decided to put on The Conjuring, because that would have appropriated me right out of the house after last weekend's events.

  Tara's house didn't have a basement or game room, so we moved to her Dad's den. It was dark and smoky smelling from all the cigars he smoked whenever he watched sports on TV, but it was also out of the way and quiet. No worries about getting interrupted in the middle of whatever Tara and G. were about to reveal.

  We settled on the overstuffed couch and loveseat, and Tara closed the door to the den until it was barely cracked. Her dad had a rule: no being in rooms with boys with the door shut; I guess she figured that almost shut was just bending the rules a little bit. “Did you bring it?” she asked, looking at G.

  He nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to Tara.

  Tara hooked the phone up to her laptop and opened the media player. She let G. thumb through the screens to find the right media file to play, and when he pressed the green arrow, the screen to the laptop lit up with a scene from the interior of the clubhouse.

  I recognized everyone in the room; it was a replay of the other night, from the point of view of the window ledge over the tiny kitchen sink. I could barely see the corner where Colton was messing with us, and as soon as Shelby rushed across to turn on the lights, the room stopped being fuzzy and I could clearly see the boys laughing, and the rest of us taking a moment to realize we weren't going to die. The screams and ensuing laughter sounded slightly tinny and staticky coming from the laptop's speakers. My eyes were glued to the coffee table where the Spirit Board sat. When the planchette started moving on its own, I felt myself get shaky all over again.

  Sam reached over to hold my hand, and for once, I didn't think about how weird it would be to touch him and threaded my fingers in his and held tight. I was holding my breath, waiting for the photo to fall from the wall, and when it did, I jumped practically out of my skin. It had really happened. It wasn't my imagination—it was real.

  “There, did you see it?” Tara said, pointing at the upper right corner of the screen.

  “See what?” asked Sam. “The photo? How could we miss it?”

  “No,” said G. slow and full of meaning, “the smudge.”

  Smudge?

  “Where? Show me.” I leaned in toward the screen and G. replayed the last
few seconds. Sure enough, there was a sort of smudge in front of the photo just before it fell.

  “Holy shit,” Sam said.

  “And that's not all,” Tara said. She turned the laptop toward her and started digging through the menus on the screen. “I contacted that WizCat325 lady, and she told me to try running the footage through this software to see what else we get. There,” she said, turning the laptop toward us again. She clicked the volume icon to turn the speakers up to max, and then clicked some other little checkbox that said “isolate” next to it. “Close your eyes maybe—I think that helps—and listen again.”

  My heart was thumping in my chest, my hand sweaty in Sam’s firm grip. Flashes of Matthew's blood all over the garage and his tools dumped on the floor swam behind my eyes, and my throat felt closed and dry. I tried to swallow. I heard Tara click the play button.

  The typical sounds from the scene played out again, but this time they were muted, as if I were listening to them from far away, or through a thick wall. Instead I heard sharp crackles and pops of static come out over the top. It reminded me of a really dry day, walking across Gram's wool rug in the foyer. On a day like that, everything I touched made the same dry, crackling sound.

  And then suddenly there was no static at all. “Melody,” said a gravelly, faint voice. “Melody,” said Matthew.

  “Oh my God!” I opened my eyes and threw my hands out in front of me as I tried to push away from the rest of the group. I had let go of Sam's hand but he was trying to grab me and keep me from scrambling away to the other end of the couch. My heart was pounding, ready to burst from my chest. And then I began to cry.

  12. SAM

  I sat there on my bed, staring at my phone. I had the EVP recorder app pulled up and stared at the recording I had taken that night in the clubhouse. I had completely forgotten about it until Tara and G. had shown us the video from G.’s phone. I didn’t bring it up then, not with Melody crying hysterically, but one thing was for certain, there was no way I was going to play that recording now, by myself, in the dark. It could wait until morning. I had my DJ rig set up on my desk, surely I could scrub the audio with my primo software and get something…