CHAPTER THIRTY-five

Mary Claire’s on board from the moment I say the word séance. The problem is that, according to the Ouija board Aunt Trudy sent me, we need four people.

“What about Landry and Bobby?” I suggest.

“No way,” Mary Claire says.

“Why not?” I ask. It makes the most sense, not to mention that it was my plan all along. Plus, I wouldn’t even have had the idea if it weren’t for Landry. Besides, maybe with Bobby being there, the spirits will talk. Not that I’m sure I believe in this mumbo-jumbo. But anything is worth a shot if it will clear Bobby’s name once and for all.

“It’s too risky,” she says. “Most of all, it doesn’t look good for him to be there.”

I try to think of a comeback, but she has a point.

“Don’t worry, Carly, I’ve already recruited a pair,” she says.

“Really? Who?”

“Karen and Audrey,” she says.

I sigh heavily. I can already picture what this will turn into: a convenient excuse for them to snicker at me and get the rumor mill churning nice and steady.

“Listen to me, Carly.” Her voice grows serious. “It’s better to be friends with them than not. Besides, Karen and Audrey believe in this séance thing. Don’t you think we need four people that actually do? I mean, if you’re serious?”

Mary Claire is right. For all kinds of reasons. Not that I’m happy about it.

My parents know that I’m not only spending the night with Mary Claire, but with Karen and Audrey, as well. That means four different sets of parents know exactly what we’re doing, or believe they know what we’re doing. They believe we’re going to see Journey to the Center of the Earth at the movie theater in Garden City.

I know I vowed not to sneak around anymore. But this is worth it, for all kinds of reasons. There was no way I could tell them we were going to the Clutter farm. It’s not just the best place to hold a séance. It’s the only place.

Mary Claire drives us out in silence. We sit at the end of the long driveway for a good five minutes before we have the courage to go any farther. I try not to think of the gruesome photographs I saw at the courthouse.

Karen and I get out first. We move the police barricade out of the way. We’ll move it back when we leave. We don’t have to worry about Mr. Stoecklein; he moved off the land shortly after my arrest, to a property along the highway. My father told me it was because he couldn’t stand to be so close to the Clutter house anymore. Who can blame him?

Tucked under my arm is the Ouija board. While Aunt Trudy insisted she believes in its powers, she also suggested I could make a game of it with my friends. Her note concluded, It works either way.

This does not feel like a game, and two of the three others don’t feel like friends.

I think of my aunt’s words in the note right after Nancy and her family were murdered: “Things will be back to normal.” And here I am, breaking into the Clutter house to conjure their spirits. Is this what she meant? Maybe. But then “normal” to Aunt Trudy might seem to some Holcomb locals like a direct link to Satan himself.

Mary Claire carries a bag full of candles and a box full of matches. Audrey has a couple of flashlights. None of them work, though, because she forgot to change the batteries. Karen holds a huge blanket that we plan to lay on the hardwood floor.

The front door’s locked. But Mary Claire has planned for this. She remembers where Nancy hid a key just in case she forgot hers.

It’s still there.

Somehow, that gives me the chills. The house is empty. We tiptoe up the stairs and down the hall to Nancy’s bedroom. Karen and Audrey lay the blanket on the floor, and Mary Claire starts to light the candles around the room. Taking the Ouija board out of the box, I place it in the middle of the blanket. My hands tremble. It looks like a game, but spookier: square-shaped, marked with the twenty-six letters of the alphabet, the numbers zero through nine, and the words yes, no, and good-bye.

I read the rules last night so I’d know them by heart.

“It says we should never ask questions about our death or another’s death,” I tell them.

“Nonsense,” Mary Claire says. “We want to talk to Nancy and find out the truth, don’t we?”

“Wait, can we ask her about how she died?” Karen asks.

“Yes,” Audrey chimes in before I can answer. “I read about it in a magazine. I know exactly what I’m doing. We can’t ask how we’re going to die—that’s the rules.”

At least they seem to be taking it seriously, even if they get on my nerves.

“We’ll have to each put our fingers on this to help guide the spirit to speak to us,” I say, holding the movable planchette.

We make a circle.

“Should we say a prayer first?” Audrey asks.

“Like, to God?” Mary Claire asks.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of dark magic?” Karen asks. I see her smiling wickedly in the flickering candlelight. She’s having the time of her life. Maybe that’s what such a strict religious upbringing will do to you.

“Probably. But shouldn’t we cover all our bases?” Audrey says.

Karen rolls her eyes. Audrey mumbles a prayer anyway. Afterward, we hold hands and say in unison, “Let there be no evil forces or demons . . .” Just like the directions say.

“Someone has to be the designated medium,” Karen points out. She must have read the directions, too.

“I volunteer Carly; it is her board,” Mary Claire says.

I scoot closer. When we each put our index and middle fingers on the planchette, my heart beats so fast I think it’s going to jump out of my chest.

Leaning forward in a huddle, we watch the board intently, moving the planchette around in circles to get the board warmed up.

“Be careful,” Audrey whispers.

I take a deep breath and start, “I, Carly, ask for my spiritual guide’s protection. Spirit, please come forward and give us guidance.”

The planchette comes to a complete stop and then forcefully moves to the bottom left-hand corner of the board, spelling out the word H-E-L-L-O.

“Hello.”

Mary Claire laughs.

“This is absurd,” Karen says with delight.

“Shhhh!” I whisper.

“Ask it who it is,” Mary Claire says.

“Who are you?” I ask.

It takes a second, but then it starts to spell Y-O-U-R-F-R-I-E-N-D.

My heart is thumping again. I can hear it in my ears.

“Make sure it’s Nancy,” Audrey says. “It could be a demon for all we know.”

“Are you Nancy?” I ask. The words lodge in my throat.

The planchette moves forcefully to the top of the board and lands on the word yes.

“It’s working! It’s really working!” Audrey cries.

“Shhh!” we hiss at her in unison.

She squeezes her eyes shut and covers them with her hands, shaking her head.

“Do you remember the night of November fourteenth?” I ask the board, fighting back my own fear.

The movable indicator moves to yes.

“Ask her if she knows who killed her,” Mary Claire whispers.

The planchette starts moving at a rapid pace. B-O-B-B-Y-D-I-D-N-O-T-K-I-L-L-M-E. Mary Claire and Karen are barely touching it, and Audrey has taken her fingers off it. The rules say that all participants need to be touching it. I blink at the triangle shape in the uncertain candlelight. Did it move on its own or did I move it? I don’t know anymore, and maybe it doesn’t matter, because I know the truth. Right now I want to prove it. And then I want to leave.

“See, I told you,” I whisper, looking at Karen.

“But you can’t ask that; it says not to ask about their death,” Karen protests, suddenly serious. “Carly, you’re making this up as you go, aren’t you?”

“I am not,” I fire back.

Our fingers linger on the planchette. Without warning—and I swear I don’t move it—it slides abruptly to the bottom of the board.

good-bye

Audrey peers between her fingers and decides to scream.

That seems as good a reason as any to bolt.