Prologue
“I’m still not sure we should do this,” the woman says.
She bobs in and out of the camera’s view as she climbs the stairs. Her hair hangs down her back in a honey-colored sheet, and her pleated skirt swishes around her knees. She stops, half-turns, revealing a necklace with an amethyst crystal dangling from it. “We should wait for—”
“No.” The voice from behind the camera is feminine as well. “We’ve already talked about this, Robin.”
“I know.” Robin’s shoulders slump, and she turns back to the fore.
They reach a short landing. An ornate door appears briefly in view as Robin’s flashlight crosses it. She pauses, her hand on the doorknob. She looks back, seems about to say something…then presses her lips together and nods.
The camerawoman follows her through the door into a room cloaked in shadows. Three large windows look out onto darkness. There’s a heavy table with a candelabra in the center, a Ouija board sitting at one end.
Robin goes to look out one of the windows, then sighs and turns back to the room, one hand on the crystal around her neck. As if sensing her reluctance, the camerawoman says, “This has to be done. You love me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” Robin looks startled by the question.
“Then can we just get this over with? Please?”
Robin’s answer is to take a lighter from the pocket of her blazer. She sets a flame to each candle in the candelabra, then takes a step back. “She’s already here.”
“Good.”
Robin lets go of the crystal around her neck, takes a breath so deep even the camera catches the rise and fall of her chest. “You don’t belong here.
” She stares at what appears to be an empty spot in the air—but no, a wisp of what might be fog is forming, incongruous inside a house.
“You must cross the veil.” Her back straightens, even as the mist thickens.
“Your time in this world is over. Begone! Leave this place, and trouble the living no more!”
The mist rushes at her. Robin’s eyes widen, and she lets out a startled scream—
Then she flies backward, through the window behind her with the crash of breaking glass.
“Robin!” the camerawoman screams. The camera falls to the floor, its lens focusing on a table leg. Out of shot, footsteps rush across the floor, accompanied by a low moan of horror. “No, no, no, no.”
For a moment, all is silence. Then, slow and unsteady, the footsteps return, closer and closer. A hand picks up the camera, and the recording ends.