Chapter 22
Sawyer
Unfortunately, the strange charge continues to haunt us when we reach Serving Spirits. I had no idea a ghost-themed liquor establishment could possibly feel so…romantic.
What happened to the cobwebs? I want to demand of the genial owner we met in the support group. What happened to the cracked leather? The dusty windows? The scuffed countertop and furniture?
Of course, none of it has changed, except the conspicuously cleaned cobwebs, which I don’t mind.
The rest of the room is very much in the state I remember from our previous visit.
Yet somehow, the details feel richly inviting instead of irritatingly shabby.
Enchantingly gothic instead of cheap horror.
Great.
Fortunately, Zach is with us. It can’t be a date when you have a dead ex-hookup along.
My other consolation is Morgan, who seems similarly conscious of the vibe. When we enter, she quickly veers to order at the bar while I stake out one of the Ouija board tables. Zach lingers with me, passing smoothly through the table to sit next to me in the leather booth.
He clears his throat and runs his hand through his semitransparent sand-colored surfer hair.
“She totally has a crush on you,” he informs me.
I determinedly say nothing, not daring to process those words.
Zach shakes his head insistently. “Uh-uh. No way. Don’t just pretend I’m invisible again because I’m saying stuff you’re afraid to hear.”
“We’re in a public place,” I mutter calmly. “People will stare if I look like I’m talking to myself.”
Zach considers. His expression changes, and I worry when Socratic zeal lights his eyes.
“Good point,” he says. “I can say whatever I want to you without you replying.” While I fight to ignore him, Zach leans forward, resting his chin on his palm with his elbow on the Ouija board.
“It’s okay if you like her, too, you know,” he says.
“You’re allowed to move on. Kennedy is gone. ”
I keep ignoring him.
Part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me wonders whether Zach has some deeper understanding of ghostly comings and goings. Is Kennedy gone? I haven’t seen her ghost since she urged me to go to the support group.
Why is she so absent?
Morgan returns, distracting me from the uneasy questions. Her drink is fuming with ghostly fog from dry ice. I have no doubt it’s monikered with some paranormal pun. Man-haunt-tan or Ghost-hito.
Morgan is welcomely businesslike. Good. When she sits, I unfold the Ouija board. It’s seen better days, its corners dented, some of the letters so worn they’re nearly illegible. It smells like beer.
I don’t care. “Let’s do this,” I say.
Morgan nods. I place one hand on one side of the viewfinder. Morgan does the same. We make sure to position our fingers on opposite edges of the carved wooden pointer, not entertaining the risk of more charged contact.
“Zach, try to tap into your ghostliness,” Morgan instructs.
Zach squints doubtfully at the letters. “And do what?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan says, frustrated. “Follow your…unconscious desires.”
Zach hesitates. “Here goes nothing,” he grumbles. Then, while I hold the viewfinder with Morgan, he rises from his seat, hovering over the tabletop.
He screws his eyes closed. We wait. He emits a very disturbing moan of effort. Seriously, I’m very glad his paranormal presence is not public right now.
Nothing happens.
Finally, Zach’s shoulders sag. He opens his eyes and removes his ephemeral hands from the table. “Dude. It’s not working,” he complains.
“Move your hands over the board,” I recommend gently. For real, whatever does not involve making that noise. “Do any of the letters call to you?”
Zach scrutinizes the faded inscriptions. “The P is missing the top loop and looks like an I. That’s all that stands out to me,” he retorts.
“Please take this seriously,” Morgan reprimands him. Her Man-haunt-tan has expended its ghostly dry ice. Even the fogless vermilion liquid manages to look disappointed in our efforts.
Zach throws his hands up. “I’m trying, but what do you want me to do? I can’t move stuff!”
“Yes, you can,” Morgan insists. “You move that dragon mug all the time.”
“I can’t control it, though,” Zach says. “It just happens.”
“That’s exactly what we need,” I say more gently. There’s no use lecturing him. “Try to put your hands on ours and see if your subconscious takes over.”
Zach’s expression droops. Moan or no moan, I feel for him. I know he wants to do this for us. He’s frustrated with his own limitations.
Ever the good sport, he grudgingly moves his ghostly hands to rest on top of ours. Of course, we feel no sensation of his weightless grip. He closes his eyes. No untoward noises escape him. In fact, he finally looks peaceful. Focused.
The room grows colder.
Instantly, I meet Morgan’s eyes over the Ouija viewfinder. The startled urgency in her expression says I’m not the only one feeling the ghostly chill. Neither one of us speaks, not wanting to disturb Zach.
The jukebox in the corner skips. The lighted display flickers. When the music returns, it’s “Call Me Maybe.”
Now Morgan smiles. Zach continues to concentrate over the Ouija board. The temperature continues to lower, the cold fingers of supernatural concentration prickling palpably over my skin. Showtime. I look down, feeling my fingertips tingling—
The Ouija pointer starts to move.
My heart pounds. Zach’s eyes remain closed, his mouth thin with focus. The pointer inches toward the letters…
“Maybe we should ask a question,” I whisper to Morgan. “That’s how this is usually done, right?”
Morgan nods. “Zach,” she says softly, “was there anything you wanted to do before you died? Anything you left unfinished?”
Zach says nothing. The pointer continues to move…
Our combined direction settles on A. When we reach the stately letter in the left corner, the console stops beneath Morgan’s and my hands.
We pause there. Then, sharply, the pointer sweeps down—Zach’s power is increasing. N. Excitement mounts in me. I feel myself starting to smile. Holy fucking shit. This is working. Ouija boards really work.
Under Zach’s focused direction, our hands continue to move…retracing their path. Coming to end where we started. A.
Zach is really communicating. I start to piece out his message. A-N-A—
The console starts to move to the right—
Morgan withdraws her hands sharply, grimacing in indignation. “Gross, Zach!” she exclaims. “No. Wouldn’t have even happened when you were alive and definitely won’t happen now.”
Zach opens his eyes, seemingly pulled from somewhere deep within. “What?” he asks.
“A-N-A?” Morgan repeats witheringly. “No chance there was an L coming next?”
In earnest contemplation, Zach studies the Ouija lettering while Morgan glares. “Admittedly, I would have liked—”
“No. You did not skip out on eternal rest for anal,” Morgan says loudly.
In this moment, I recall that while Zach’s portion of our discussions remains concealed in the hereafter, everyone can hear Morgan’s and mine.
And there is only one other person she could be speaking to. I sink lower in our booth.
“Maybe I did! You don’t know!” Zach protests while I smile weakly at the patrons now eyeing us. “What if that’s it? Only one way to find out,” Zach ventures.
“No. There’s not,” Morgan says with menacing finality.
Zach laughs. “No, I mean we put our hands back and find out what the rest of the word is,” he clarifies. “Besides. Who says I’d want to have anal with you anyway?”
Morgan straightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I pretend I don’t notice the smirk Zach shoots me. If he keeps up this Morgan-has-a-crush-on-me shit, I’m…well, I will have one more reason to want him to pass peacefully on, his unfinished business finished. Hurriedly, I put my fingers on the viewfinder. “Let’s just see what it says,” I offer.
Morgan drops the point, grudgingly returning her hands to the console. “Please take this seriously,” she warns Zach.
“Hey, the heart wants what the heart wants,” he replies, winking at me.
He closes his eyes. The chill creeps over us. Once more, the Ouija viewfinder starts to move.
Except…now Zach’s supernatural efforts only lead the carved console to the starting place in the center underneath the letters.
Zach opens his eyes, looking confused yet certain. “I…think that’s it,” he says. “A-N-A.”
“Ana,” I say.
“Did I know an Ana?” Zach wonders out loud.
Morgan—looking grateful to pull her fingers from the viewfinder, where her hand was close to mine, and grateful Zach’s haunted message did not involve sexual favors—holds her chin contemplatively.
“Your dad didn’t mention an Ana, and he was pretty detailed in his stories of your family and friends,” she says.
“If you had some secret girlfriend who was your unfinished business, surely you’d be haunting her, right? ”
Zach nods. It’s a good point.
Thinking, I pull out my phone. I open social media, where I type in Zach’s username.
Of course, when we learned Zach’s last name, it was one of the first resources we investigated.
Zach—to his credit, in my curmudgeonly opinion—only posted about a dozen times over the years.
His content was vague, unhelpfully 2010-style posts.
Sunsets, the ocean. Despite Zach’s spare captioning, however, family and friends liked and responded faithfully.
When I scroll past his final beach photo, I notice an Ariana_Scuba87 commented, “Reminds me of our trips when we were kids.”
I click on the name, something Zach’s father said registering in my memory.
Yes—Ariana Harrison is the full name on the profile. Like Harrison’s Hardware. Like Zach Harrison. I remember Mr. Harrison’s proud recollection of Zach’s fondness and protectiveness for his older sister, Ari.
“A-N-A is a pretty unique spelling of Ana. It almost seems like a nickname.” I show Zach the profile. “Your sister, right? Your dad called her Ari, but her full name is Ariana.”
“Ari. Ana.” Morgan pieces it out. “You and she were close. Maybe you had a special nickname for her.”
Zach narrows his gaze. “It’s not jogging any memories, but what else could it be?” he says. The futility of the question seems to frustrate him. The Ouija board rattles, then starts to levitate from the table.
Morgan and I press it downward frantically. We don’t need to deal with patrons suspecting the presence of real ghosts in this ghost bar. “Ari is our best lead,” I point out. “We should at least ask her if you called her Ana.”
Morgan pulls out her phone. Across the table, I see her DM Ariana_Scuba87. “Hopefully she replies quickly,” Morgan says.
“Should we order more drinks while we wait?” Zach’s mood suddenly seems lifted. When he continues, I realize why. “Maybe we can see what both of your subconsciouses are pulled to in the Ouija board.”
“No,” Morgan and I say in unison.
Zach grins. I do not. No, no need to reveal what my subconscious is up to, through occult means or otherwise. Ghosts like Zach should understand perfectly well that some things should stay buried.
Still, when we stand to leave, Morgan having finished her thematic drink, I can’t help myself. I put my hand on the small of her back to guide her from the booth.