Chapter 15
fifteen
AUTUMN
Autumn: So… you gonna come get this ouija board or what?
Autumn: Zeke.
Autumn: ??
Autumn: Okay. Into the fireplace it goes.
It’s eerie, sitting in my house alone like this since last night.
I hadn’t thought this far ahead when I agreed to let Zeke film here, but now I’m kind of wondering what I was thinking.
Until now, I’ve always been able to tell myself it’s, I don’t know, the wind or something whenever I hear weird noises.
But now that I know for sure someone’s here—and that the someone is horny for my friend’s fiancé’s little brother—every creak of the floorboards has me jumpy.
Hell, I about had a heart attack when the ice machine on the fridge went off.
And of course, Trey couldn’t make it down tonight.
He’ll be here tomorrow night, but his husband, Dustin, has some big event he’s planning in New York tomorrow morning, and Trey needed to be on support duty.
Which means I’m here in my kitchen alone, loading the dishwasher after cleaning up from dinner.
I know I shouldn’t be nervous. The ghost seemed friendly enough—at least with Zeke and his dick—but I think that’s part of what’s bothering me.
As absolutely ridiculous as it sounds to even admit it in my head, I’m a little worried that the ghost girl is going to be, like…
resentful of me. That she’ll think I’m encroaching on her territory.
Because she clearly has a thing for Zeke—and I kissed him right in front of her, for god’s sake.
Of all the dilemmas I ever imagined I’d get into in life, I can honestly say that threesome drama with a ghost was not one I predicted. Fabulous.
If this ghost girl was a human, I wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.
I’d sit her down for a little woman to woman chat over a glass of wine and tell her I’m not out to steal her man.
She’s got dibs. Am I ridiculously attracted to Zeke?
Yes. Did I enjoy kissing him last night?
Yes. But that’s where it stops. He’s way too young for me.
He and I are in entirely different phases of life, and that’s just the way it goes.
It’s cool. I’d explain that to this other girl if I could.
Even though she’s, you know, dead, and that complicates things for her.
I close the dishwasher, wipe my hands on a towel, and scan the room for any dishes I may have missed.
My eyes fall on the spirit board, still on the kitchen counter where I placed it last night after Zeke accidentally left it.
He still hasn’t responded to my texts about when the hell he’s going to come pick it up.
Until this moment, I’ve just wanted it out of my house. But now…
A sudden thought jolts through me.
Maybe… maybe I can tell this girl that everything’s cool.
I mean, I’m no psychic medium and I can’t see ghosts like Zeke and his siblings can, but neither can the majority of people who use spirit boards—right?
I’ll pour us each a glass of wine, pull up two chairs, and invite the ghost to come sit with me. We’ll have ourselves some girl talk.
Pulling two wine glasses down from the cupboard, I pour two glasses of chardonnay and set out a couple bars of dark chocolate.
I make sure to unwrap them first because, even though the ghost was apparently able to unzip Zeke’s jeans last night, I’m really not sure what her motor skills are like and want to make her as comfortable as possible.
Then, closing my eyes, I place my fingers lightly on the planchette.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to draw on all the grounding techniques I’ve learned in yoga classes over the years.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.
“Hey,” I say into the silence, feeling a little ridiculous. Zeke made it look so easy last night, but I have no clue what I’m doing. “I don’t know your name, but… if you’re the girl who was here with us last night, could you come hang out with me for a few minutes? I’ve got wine.”
I wait a minute, barely daring to breathe for fear I’ll miss some slight sound, some flash of movement.
It occurs to me suddenly that I really have no idea how I’m supposed to know if the girl actually shows up.
Like, will she slam a cupboard door or something?
Will the wine glass suddenly start levitating?
And speaking of, if a ghost takes a sip of wine, where does it go?
You’re thinking too hard about this, Autumn. You’re the opposite of grounded, you’re—
The planchette jerks to life beneath my fingers, and my eyes fly open.
I almost can’t believe it when the planchette slides across the board, dragging my fingers along with it, and comes to rest on the YES space.
Like a complete dummy, I’ve already forgotten what it was exactly I asked, but hey—she’s here. She’s responding.
I mean, I hope it’s her.
It’s got to be, right? Zeke didn’t say anything about sensing other spirits in the house. You’d think he’d have at least mentioned something if there were any creepy old man ghosts hanging around.
“Is this… the girl from last night?” I ask tentatively.
The planchette jumps beneath my fingers, landing back on the YES space. Okay, then.
“In that case, hi again.” I really feel like I’m talking to myself, but I try to imagine a twenty-something girl sitting across from me, swirling her glass of wine. “I’m Autumn. I live here. Although I guess you know that. What’s your name?”
The planchette is still for a moment, like the ghost is trying to decide how much she wants to divulge. Then, like a motor sputtering to life, it gives this weird little vibration and starts sliding again, taking my fingers along with it.
As the planchette spells out the name, I read aloud. “L - E - N - A.”
The planchette stills, then slides back to the center space. “Lena. Your name’s Lena?”
YES.
Damn, this is cool. I’m sitting here talking with a ghost, for god’s sake. I can’t see her, but I’m definitely not the one moving the planchette—which means she must be here.
“Nice to meet you, Lena,” I say, taking a sip of wine while keeping one hand on the planchette. “Listen—last night was fun, but I just wanted to tell you that, like…”
God, so much for cool. I feel suddenly ridiculous again. I don’t even know how to word what I’m trying to say, so I take a gulp of wine. Liquid courage and all.
“Well,” I say, beginning again. “It’s pretty obvious you’ve got a thing for Zeke.
And I don’t know how this stuff works—whatever, not my business—but I wanted you to know that I’m not trying to get with him.
Okay? So no hard feelings between us. Zeke’s, like…
a kid. A hot one. But a kid nonetheless.
And my ex was an asshole—you probably witnessed all that, come to think of it—so if I’m going to get involved with a guy again, I’m going to need someone who…
takes care of my heart. So Zeke Holloway’s all yours. We’re good, girl.”
I finish my speech, feeling pretty proud of myself for getting it all out there despite the ridiculousness of the situation—but the planchette doesn’t move.
It’s completely still beneath my fingers.
No sliding, no jumping, no vibrating, no nothing.
Then I think—maybe it only moves if I ask a question?
“Is all that okay? You understand?”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than the planchette jerks to life, skating around the board like it’s going berserk.
It’s all I can do to just keep my fingers on it.
Suddenly, the planchette stops its looping and makes a beeline to the alphabet arc at the top of the board.
It stops at M, then jerks immediately to U.
Maybe she’s going to say something like, “Must be”? As in, “must be okay”?
But no. The planchette slides to R next, and then immediately to D, and a knot forms in my stomach. By the time it moves to E my insides have turned to ice. Oh, no.
R.
The lights go out and a clap of thunder shatters the silence. Tearing my fingers off the planchette, I clap my hands over my mouth to keep from yelping. Unless I’m going crazy—and honestly right now I feel like I could be—this ghost just spelled out murder.
Fuck that.
The kitchen’s still dark, save for the flashes of lightning from the storm that seems to have started up outside.
Just my freaking luck. I sit stock still, my mind whirring.
I’m trying to figure out what to do. My brain is flashing through every single ouija board horror story I’ve ever heard in my life.
How could I have been so dumb? Play with the ouija board, she said.
It’ll be fun, she said. Yeah—no. And who’s to say that whatever showed up is even the same ghost from last night?
What if without meaning to I ended up summoning some kind of evil spirit?
Holy shit. That thought is actually paralyzing.
But I’ve got to keep my head. This is my house for Christ’s sake. It’s not like I can kick this ghost or demon or whatever the hell it is out. I’d need a priest or something for that. Or at least Zeke. I bet he could—
Hold up.
The thought hits me like a chorus of angels descending from the heavens on a beam of celestial light. Zeke lives in my cabin. Zeke is here.
Suddenly, the only thought left in my brain is that I need—need—to be near Zeke.
I don’t care if this ghost is playing mind games with me right now, if she thinks this is some kind of hilarious prank to get back at me for last night.
I’m taking zero chances. In this moment, with the crash of the thunder and the eerie presence I swear I can still feel around me, all I want is Zeke’s strong arms and gloating smile.
And so I run. Before I even know it, I’m out of the house, the screen door crashing shut behind me, and streaking across the dark, moonlit lawn.
The blood is pounding in my ears, the rain pelting my face, as I hurl myself toward the cabin.
I make it to the porch just as another clap of thunder booms overhead and a flash of lightning lights up the entire pitch-black sky.
I pound on the door, the rain pummeling me from all sides.
My tank top is completely soaked, my jeans sticking to my skin.
It suddenly occurs to me that Zeke might not even be here.
I don’t keep track of his coming and going, but if his little key debacle the other night is any indication of how he spends his evenings, he may well be out on a booty call right now.
Even thinking about it makes me livid.
“Zeke!” I bang on the door harder. “It’s me! Please—if you’re there—”
The door cracks open and Zeke sticks his head out, his eyes wide in confusion. “Jesus, Autumn! What the fuck?”
There’s another flash of lightning overhead. Zeke pulls the door wider, and—without even answering, without any explanation as to why I’m suddenly at his doorstep, banging on his door in the middle of a goddamn downpour—I throw myself at him.
As he catches me in his arms, too stunned to even ask again what on earth’s going on, I sling my arms around his waist and pull him close, my rain-soaked cheek pressed up against his bare chest. We stand like that for a minute, the door still open and the lightning still flashing across the sky outside.
And even though I haven’t even said a word to him yet, my panic is ebbing.
With every rise and fall of Zeke’s chest beneath my cheek, my breathing gets a little more even, my heartbeats a little calmer.
Because without even needing an explanation, Zeke’s got his arms around me, his fingers in my hair, stroking delicately. And I feel exactly what I knew I would.
Safe.