The Seance in Apartment 10

by Ambrose Ibsen

  But the die had been cast. Eyes closing, Cat let out a deep breath and said, “We're gathered here today with the intention of contacting spirits. We'd especially like to speak to the spirit of Michelle, if she's available. Michelle, if you can hear us, please stay close. Your daughter is here and would like to speak to you.”

  I wanted to let go of everyone's hands, to make Cat put this stupid board away, but as those words hung in the air, nobody moved. No one laughed or joked or anything. The rainy breeze coming in through the window suddenly died out and there was only stillness. Even the lit wicks of the candles seemed to stop flickering, temporarily becoming static columns of orange light. There'd been a sea change in the studio. The darkness in my room no longer felt like empty space, but seemed somehow densely packed, filled with furtive activity. There was something operating in the open spaces, invisible to the naked eye, but which could be felt through the other senses. The hairs on my arms and neck felt it, and were raised like so many tiny antennae to pick up the transmissions of this new sphere.

  Perhaps it was just the darkness, or else I was too drunk to know any better, however I no longer recognized my surroundings. We were in my new studio; a cautious pan of the room made me feel secure about that. But we were also somewhere else. Someplace within that studio that I'd never been. Cat had alluded to the existence of another world. Maybe we were caught up between the folds of two worlds, then; suspended in a grey area.

  Julia gave a ragged sigh, peering about the room narrowly. “Did it work?” she squeaked.

  “We need to wait a moment,” Cat replied. “If her spirit is willing to communicate, then we need to wait a minute. Leave the door open, if you will, so that she can find us. When we've given her a bit of time, she will join us in this room and her finger will be the one guiding the planchette.”

  I chewed on my lower lip, staring at the candles. “How will we know when it's time?” I asked. With every passing second, my apprehension only seemed to mount. The thought of sitting here and talking to my mom was proving to be quite upsetting. Going into this, I hadn't believed Ouija boards to be capable of making any real contact with the dead, but when my own mother had been chosen as the target for our communication, I found myself getting nervous. I hoped that it wouldn't work, that in a few minutes' time, we'd all be sitting on the floor, packing the board up because nothing had happened.

  I wasn't ready. On the off chance that my dead mother really did turn up—a possibility that I only entertained at all because I was sloppily drunk—I wasn't sure what I would say to her, what questions I might ask. I'd been put on the spot.

  Just then, as I sank deeper into my thoughts, one of the candles blew out. There'd been no strong wind to do it, and no one had blown it out as far as I could tell. With a quiet hiss, the wick was put out, smothered, and at seeing this Cat broke the circle. “All right,” she said. “I think we've made contact. Let go of each other's hands and place one finger on the planchette. Preferably a finger on your non-dominant hand.”

  We all followed her directions without a word. Julia, having grown two shades paler, touched the plastic triangle gingerly with her pointer finger, as did Annie, whose face had been robbed of its usual mirth. I did it, too, the rain temporarily drowned out by the sound of my hammering pulse.

  Why did I go along with it? Why did I take part? It was because I felt like I had no other choice. Cat claimed that some spectral visitor was knocking on our metaphorical door, and in the event that it really was my mother, I couldn't bear the thought of keeping her waiting. A whole slew of emotions coursed through me right then; anger, fright, anticipation. Even though I could have broken the whole spectacle up right then and there, I didn't. I touched the planchette carefully and awaited further orders.

  What if this is real? I thought. What if mom is really here?

  It was a preposterous thing; crazy, really, but since the day my mother had died, unbeknownst to me up until that very moment in my dark studio, I'd harbored a secret hope. I'd hoped to one day see her again outside of photographs. To speak to her, hear her voice.

  Setting aside my annoyance, I sat up and paid attention.

  This seemed like the best chance I had of making that desire a reality.

  7

  “Hello, Michelle, are you there?” asked Cat.

  The three of us waited with bated breath, fingers on the planchette. Except for Cat, none of us had much experience with this kind of thing, and we weren't sure what to expect. Would the pointer really move around the board of its own accord, or would the four of us, subconsciously, give it a push so that it would just tell us what we wanted to hear?

  The smooth, papery face of the board reflected the light of the remaining two candles. There was a sun in one corner, a moon in the other, and both had weird, broad faces with big, eerie smiles and bulging eyes. The letters were laid out across it in flowing script, and in the two corners there appeared also the words “YES” and “NO”. In the space beneath the letters was written: “GOODBYE”.

  We'd waited for almost a full minute when Annie spoke up. “Is it working?”

  Cat didn't reply except to repeat the question. “Michelle, are you there? We'd like to speak to you.”

  She would go on to ask some version of that question a few more times in the next ten minutes. When it started becoming clear that this séance wasn't going to produce the result I wanted, I came to my senses and began cringing every time I heard my mother's name uttered aloud. This all felt so corny and tasteless, and I took my hand off of the planchette. “Look, I think we should wrap it up. Nothing's happening, Cat. There's no one there.” In my head, I thought, Of course there's no one there. This piece of cardboard isn't a direct line into Heaven, for Christ's sake. What a joke.

  Julia agreed, removing her finger from the planchette and holding it in her opposite hand, like she'd singed it on a hot stove. “Yeah, that's enough. It's clearly not real.” The tremor in her voice wasn't the most convincing.

  Cat frowned. “Tori, Julia” she said, “Please, don't take your fingers off of the planchette. Even if we call it quits, we still have to follow a certain protocol. We have to say goodbye and end it properly.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said patronizingly. “We've got to sign off, else Satan himself will walk straight through this board and into my living room, is that about right?”

  Cat ignored my sass and asked, one last time, whether my dead mother was in the room with us and open to a dialogue. I was rolling my eyes at this point, and wasn't sure how we'd pass the remainder of the night, when suddenly I felt the piece of textured plastic move beneath my fingertip.

  It moved suddenly, with purpose. I was momentarily stunned, and looked to the others who appeared similarly shocked. Clearly, someone had moved the thing, made it swing quickly over to the “YES” in the left-hand corner.

  But it hadn't been me.

  The planchette remained pointed at the “YES” as I chuckled uncomfortably. “All right. Fess up. Which one of you was it?”

  Julia, blinking rapidly, kept her lips pursed and shook her head. Annie, mouth agape, met me with only disbelief. Cat, though, was staring at the board, unbothered.

  “Was it you, Cat?” I asked, momentarily taking my finger away.

  “Don't do that,” she snapped. “We've made contact.” Staring me down like a pitbull, she added, “Say hello, Tori. It's your mom.”

  “Sure it is.” I frowned.

  “No, really. We've made contact,” pressed Cat. “Go on, Tori. Talk to her.”

  “This is... this is really just...” I laughed incredulously. My hand quaked as I touched the pointer again. Summoning up my voice, I rolled my eyes and said, “Uh... hi, mom.”

  There was silence. The planchette didn't move in answer to my voice, but the four of us kept our fingers on it all the same.

  “Do you have any questions you'd like to ask her?” Cat looked to me with intensity. Those eyes of hers were wide open again, looking through me
somehow. She really had the dramatic edge to make this whole séance experience seem legitimate, I had to hand it to her. Forget teaching kids English abroad, she'd have been better suited to reading palms and carrying out séances for a living.

  “Do I have any questions?” I asked, feeling suddenly dumb. Well, of course I did. I had a multitude of them. But at that exact moment, I couldn't think of a single one. There was a growing knot in my stomach at the prospect of speaking to my mom, and even though I still suspected Cat may have been moving the planchette, I felt a profound excitement. It was like freeing a genie and having three wishes granted. If actually faced with that possibility, how long would it take you to decide what you wanted? You'd probably be in no rush, would want to word your three wishes very specifically, carefully, to get the most bang for your buck, no?

  Cat made it clear that time was not something we had a whole lot of. “You need to hurry,” she said, snapping me out of my trance. “The spirit can only stick around for so long. If you don't start asking questions, she might leave us.”

  While I tried to decide what question to ask, Julia spoke up. “H-how do we know... really know that this is Tori's mom?” She wiped at her brow with her free hand and then glanced back at the open window. “I mean, is it possible that the spirit is... lying? What if it's someone—something—else?”

  Cat nodded. “That's true. We can ask for some sort of proof, in that case.” Looking to me, she said aloud, “Spirit, can you give us some sort of sign, so that we know you're really Michelle? Tell us something... something that only Tori here would recognize. Give us proof.”

  I almost jumped out of my skin when the planchette began moving. It'd been at a standstill before that, but almost as though there were an invisible fifth finger nudging it, it began to slide slowly across the board, spelling something out letter by letter. The four of us stared down at the board.

  It was spelling a name.

  When the planchette finally stopped, the other three looked to one another, sounding out the spirit's reply.

  “It spelled... 'Melanie Mouse', I think,” said Annie. Her pink bangs spilled out over her brow and shaded her eyes. “What the heck does that mean?”

  Julia tossed her shoulders. “Is this some kind of joke? Of all the things to spell, why that?”

  Cat looked up at me. “Well, Tori? Does this mean something to you?”

  The knot that'd been born in my stomach was now wedged in my throat and it was all I could do to keep myself from crying. I sat back, barely keeping my finger against the pointer, and grit my teeth.

  The spirit, supposedly my dead mother, had spelled out the name “Melanie Mouse”.

  Melanie Mouse was the name of a character in an old picture book I'd adored as a kid. A book that my mother had read to me a hundred times, till the pages were creased and the stitching threadbare.

  That this name had shown up on the Ouija board was no coincidence; it had real significance between me and my mother. But how? How was it possible? No one else knew about my childhood fascination with that story. I'd never told anyone. Hell, I didn't even own a copy of it anymore.

  And yet, the board had known somehow.

  “Tori?” asked Julia, touching my shoulder with her free hand. “You OK?”

  My mind was reeling. How? How could the board have known about Melanie Mouse? There's no one else in the world, except for my dad, who would remember that. Did I... did I tell Annie or Julia about that old book?

  No, I knew I hadn't.

  Tough though it was to admit, there was only one possibility, to my mind.

  My God. It's her. It's really her moving the planchette.

  Wiping a stray tear from my cheek, I nodded and gave a sudden laugh. “It's, uh... I think it's really her.”

  “What's Melanie Mouse?” asked Annie.

  “It's from an old book we used to read, when I was a kid,” I replied. “We used to read it together all the time. It was my favorite. The first book I was able to read on my own.” Clearing my throat, I cast my teary eyes on Cat. “I think... I think it's really her. No one else would know that.”

  Cat nodded solemnly. “OK, then. It seems we've really got Michelle here with us.” Bowing her head in reverence, she continued. “We're gathered here tonight because we want to speak to you, Michelle. Tori has some questions she'd like to ask. Will you answer them for us?”

  Slowly, the pointer edged towards “YES”.

  The floor was mine. Barely able to contain myself, I started considering what questions to ask her. I hadn't seen my mother for two years. Two long years. There was so much I wanted to say to her, so many things I'd have loved to ask, but as I sat there in the candlelight I was too overcome with emotion to form a cohesive thought.

  “I don't... I don't believe it,” said Julia. She took her hand off of the planchette and crossed her arms, despite Cat's scolding. “Someone in this room—one of you—knew that name and spelled it out. Maybe Tori did it herself, for that matter. I don't... I don't buy it, guys.” Gulping, she looked down at the board and said, “If there's really a spirit in this room with us, then... then give us a sign. A real sign. Don't spell anything, but... but s-show us you're real. Do something.”

  “Julia, shut the hell up,” warned Cat. “Don't... don't you dare provoke the spirit. You never ask it to manifest—to 'prove' itself in that way, you understand me? You're playing with fire. Now hurry up and put your hand on the planchette.”

  Still, Julia remained unconvinced. “No, if it's really a ghost then it should be able to show me something. Otherwise, one of you is just lying, stringing us all along.”

  “Julia, don't start this shit,” muttered Annie, taking her hand away from the pointer and massaging her temples. “It spelled that name, what more do you want? You want it to reach out and grab you?”

  “Guys, that's enough!” shouted Cat. “Put your hands back on the planchette! Stop talking like that, or--”

  I watched in silence as the two remaining candles began to flicker. Their wicks were put out, one after another, and the whole room was plunged into uncomfortable darkness. The arguing stopped at once, and I heard the planchette clatter against the board as everyone let go of it at once.

  No one spoke, no one breathed.

  Turning to the window, I watched the rainfall for an instant, the black skies lit up briefly in a flash of thunder. Though it was hard to be sure, there looked to be something strange about that rain, which had been falling without pause for quite a while now. The drops were running against the windowpanes, but they seemed to be doing so in the wrong direction.

  I squinted at the scene outside the window and felt my heart writhe in my chest. Is... is the rain falling upward?

  Suddenly, the lights in the apartment came back on. The light above us, as well as the television and the light in the kitchen, were activated as if some master switch had been flipped. We all jumped for the sudden deluge of light, and I reared back, my eyes smarting in the brightness.

  “What... what the hell?” asked Annie. “The lights, they're...” She wiped at her eyes, blinked till her surroundings entered back into focus.

  She was the one who noticed it first.

  Julia and Annie had backed up against the edge of the futon beside me, and were staring straight ahead at Cat. Sometime in the last few moments, in the chaos, Cat had turned to look outside the window, at the rainfall. She wasn't moving, and her mouth had fallen open in some kind of sustained gasp. Every trace of color had fled her complexion. She looked like a porcelain doll.

  Something was wrong.

  “C-cat?” I asked, reaching out towards her.

  Before I could touch her sweat-slick shoulder, she collapsed onto her side, a torrent of blood gushing out of her nose and soaking both the Ouija board and the carpet beneath.

  The three of us sprang to our feet, screaming and backing away. Annie covered her mouth and gave such a terrible cry that I thought she might tear open her throat, while Julia held onto
the edge of the futon and tried not to pass out.

  Standing before Cat, I looked down at her face. It was a face frozen in abject terror the likes of which I'd only ever seen in movies. Her mouth was open so wide that her jaw was askew. I could see her fillings. Her eyes were big and vacant, and no utterance of her name could get her to close them. The stream of blood that rushed out of her nostrils was welcomed by the dingy old carpet, which soaked it up like a sponge. Her limbs twitched, and her chest moved in a show of feeble breathing, but even as I reached out and tried to rouse her there was no response.

  I felt Cat's blood all over the soles of my feet as I rushed across the room and picked up my cell phone. I don't even remember what I told the dispatcher, and it's a small miracle that I could even recite my address with any accuracy.

  In the five minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive, Cat remained on her side, pouring a few liters of blood across my floor. The Ouija board was almost completely covered in it, the letters no longer visible beneath the gore.

  “D-do something,” Julia urged me. Tugging feebly on my arm, she looked up at me, sobbing. “Do something.” Annie, meanwhile, staggered towards the door and fell on her ass, hyperventilating and dazed.

  My major in nursing, all of the classes I'd taken, meant nothing. Like the two of them, I stood by the door and stared till the paramedics arrived, my mind addled with terror.

  8

  We spent the night in the waiting room of the Moorlake Health Center's ER. It was there that, despite all of the privacy policies in place, I was able to get some information from one of the nurses. Cat had suffered a massive cerebral aneurysm, and was now comatose. It was uncertain, the nurse added, whether Cat would awaken from it. She didn't want to put words in the doctor's mouth or give false hope, but it was rather clear from the dour expression she wore that things weren't looking up. A call was made to Cat's parents in Toledo, and they drove down in a hurry to sit at her bedside. The three of us waited in the cramped waiting area till sunrise, too worried and frightened to sleep.