Chapter One Seance of Shadows （Ezra）
The first shot of tequila had been a mistake. I knew it then, but I’d rationalized. The rule was I don’t drink tequila unsupervised. But tonight I was supervised. My whole party was here.
The second shot of tequila was a bigger mistake. That was when everyone who was supposed to be supervising me started taking shots of tequila with me.
The third shot was when it all went sideways, and I stopped counting the number of shots I’d taken.
Now I’m staring into the bag of tortilla chips as if it holds the secrets to the universe, listening as Ben and my other Dungeons & Dragons party members argue over the morality of robbing the dead guy we accidentally launched off a cliff.
“I maintain,” Ben speaks as if addressing a jury, “that gravity is at fault, not us.”
“You pushed him,” Mike says flatly.
“I encouraged him to embark on a quest for self-discovery.”
“Again, you pushed him.”
“He said he needed a little push,” Ben shrugs.
Everyone groans.
Mike flails his arms dramatically. "Metaphorically!"
Ben shrugs and snatches the bag of tortilla chips from my hands.
“How was I supposed to know he’d lose his balance and tumble over the cliff?
I couldn’t have predicted gravity would intervene.
The point is, the party should not suffer or waste an opportunity to gain weapons and potential food supplies. ”
I snatch the bag back and laugh, “So are we corpse robbing or honoring the dead?”
“Why don’t we ask?” Jenna asks.
Clearly, I was not the only one feeling the effects of the tequila.
“‘Cause he’s dead?” I state as I pour another round of tequila shots and pass them around.
Jenna gets up and walks to the antique buffet I inherited from my grandparents. When I host, we decorate it with props and fun D&D items. From the center, she plucks the Ouija board and planchet.
“Lucky for us, I brought a Ouija board. Who’s up for a little communing with the dearly departed via the Seance of Shadows?” she asks with a mischievous grin.
Mike claps his hands and begins clearing a space in the center of the table. “Let’s do it!”
Ben, Randall, Bea, and I all agree and help clear space.
Once there’s enough room, Jenna sets the board down and places the planchet in the center.
“I think there’s only supposed to be four people, each placing two fingers from each hand on the planchet. Since there are more of us, why don’t we all do two fingers of one hand," she suggests.
After some difficulty, we all manage to get at least two fingers on the planchet.
“Now what?” Randall asks.
“We need a summoning spell to bring the spirit forward,” Bea says.
“Ezra?”
I sputter, “ME? Why me?”
“You’re a level 15 wizard, duh,” Ben says.
Ah, that.
“Right,” I say, trying to think of a spell. “I cast summon at the ninth level. Let the veil part so that we may speak to those who dwell in the other realm,” I say confidently.
“Fancy,” Jenna says in her sassy Jenna voice.
“He’s fancy, but my arm is cramping, so I’ll cut to the chase. My bad on the cliff incident, bro. Gravity is a real bitch. Is it cool if we, like, take your supplies? For the sake of the party.”
“Jeez, Ben, the depth of your remorse is staggering,” Jenna deadpans.
Mike opens his mouth, but the planchet moves. We all startle slightly, then laugh it off.
“Who moved?”
“Jenna.”
“I did not!”
It lazily drifts towards yes.
“Okay, if it wasn’t Jenna, it was for sure Ben,” Bea says.
“I’m not even touching it!” he protests.
“Bullshit,” Mike says.
When it settles over yes, we all go silent for a beat.
“Thanks, bro. You’ll be missed. Peace out.” Ben says, removing his hand from the planchet.
Grumbles from the rest of the party follow suit. I grab the board and planchet and set them back on the buffet. Several bags of chips, numerous tequila shots, and one corpse robbery later, we call it for the night.
As we clean up and wait for ride shares to arrive, conversation turns to summer plans.
“What are you up to this summer, Ezra?” Bea asks while placing the leftover guacamole into the fridge.
What are my summer plans? Damn tequila brain fog.
“Not a lot. I’m teaching an online college writing course, and I’m looking into baby swim lessons for Gideon. Other than that, a whole lot of reading.”
Bea makes that soft sighing noise she always makes when we talk about my infant son. “I can’t believe he’s old enough to take baby swim lessons. It seems like we just had our first D&D night with him newly home from the hospital.”
“Bea, he’s four months old, not graduating high school. You make him sound like he aged overnight,” Ben scoffs, coming out of the pantry.
She throws a nearby towel at him, which he catches and tosses back. “I’m just saying, he’s growing!” she hisses at him. “So with all this free time, will you be joining me on the meat market?”
Randall snorts, “You said meat market.”
Bea levels him with death ray eyes, but before she can eviscerate him, I interject, “It would be nice to go out on a date, get back out there. I’ve thought about it, but Gideon keeps me busy. Maybe after he turns one, I’ll get serious about it.”
She gives me a look that screams yeah, right but doesn’t push it. When her phone chimes, she looks and announces the ride share has arrived. I walk everyone out, making sure they get off okay, then head back into the house.
With Gideon at my parents' house, the house is oddly quiet. Or it should be...I swear I can hear someone saying hello. I walk back through the house, curious if I’ve left my phone connected to a speaker. The voice gets progressively louder when I enter the dining room.
“Hello?!” the voice screams.
“Hello?” I ask, head whipping around wildly.
“Fucking finally!” it says as I walk toward the buffet, from where the voice rings out loud and clear.
“I’ve only been screaming for the last three fucking hours!” the irate voice says...from the ouija board.
I lift the board up, expecting to find a cell phone, and discover nothing. “Hello? Motherfucker, did you leave again?”
The board nearly drops out of my hand. “Uh, no,” I say, extremely confused. “I’m still here. And clearly drunk if I’m having a conversation with a Ouija board.” As the voice, a smoky, sexy, feminine voice, carries on about shouting for hours, I walk to the hall closet.
If hallucinating a voice coming out of a Ouija board wasn’t proof enough that I was drunk, the fact that I find the disembodied voice attractive certainly is. I open the closet door, set the ouija board on the shelf, and close the door. Then I head up the stairs.
“No more tequila, Ezra,” I mutter to myself as I reach my bedroom, decidedly ignoring the muffled shouts from the downstairs closet.