Cat sought to explain the rules of the Ouija séance, though Annie and I were too drunk and giggly to maintain the seriousness the situation called for. Julia listened but made her opposition to this game known throughout the entire process with a series of frowns and exaggerated sighs, right up until it was time to touch the planchette and start asking questions of ghosts.
With all the solemnity of a professional psychic, Cat stood up and, in the flickering candlelight, began pacing back and forth in the living room. “What we're looking to tap into is another world—another sphere of existence. The world we know is driven by many energies, and those energies are manipulated by the inhabitants of a world beyond our understanding. We can't control this world, we can't enter it without forfeiting our lives, but we can take a peek behind the curtain, or make a brief connection with it, if we go about it the right way.” I wasn't sure if it was the booze lending her this earnestness and professionalism, or if this was how Cat always set about prefacing her séances.
She continued, combing back her hair and squatting down so that the board was within arm's reach. “The first, and possibly most important step, is to signal a willingness to communicate to the denizens of the other side.” She looked at the three of us in turn, her big eyes seeming all the bigger in the uneven light. “We mustn't go into this with the wrong intentions, or solely for the sake of our amusement. Our hearts and minds must be clear and true. Do you understand?” She spared Annie a severe look. “No messing around, I'm serious.”
“Hey, hey,” I said, nodding emphatically, “we're with you, we're with you. What's next?”
In a voice just above a whisper, Julia asked, “Are you guys really sure this is the best idea?”
The question went completely ignored as Cat started back into her spiel. “So, we'll join hands for a minute and call out to any spirit who might be listening in the other realm. It's very simple. Hold hands and form a circle around the board. I'll handle all of the talking.”
“But there are four of us. Won't it be more like a square in that case?” hiccoughed Annie.
“Don't be a smartass,” I muttered.
The four of us joined hands, giggling a bit like schoolgirls, and Cat joined us, closing her eyes and exhaling theatrically.
“W-who are we going to reach out to?” asked Julia. I could feel her hand in mine; it was already sweaty, and her fingers twitched nervously. “Someone specific, or... are we just going to talk to whoever picks up?”
“We could call to someone specific, if you want,” Cat replied. “It can be much harder to reach a specific individual, but if there's someone you guys have in mind, I'm game.”
“Oh,” blurted Annie, “why don't we call out to your mom, Tori?” She wore a big smile, like she'd just offered a thoughtful suggestion, but catching the sourness in my expression, she shrank back. “I'm sorry, I... I wasn't trying to be silly about it or anything. I just thought...”
“It's all right,” I said, looking down to the carpet.
“Your mother,” began Cat. “She's... she's not alive?” When I shook my head, she went on. “OK, well, that will work, then.” She cleared her throat. “We'll reach out to your mother, if that's all right.”
I felt a spike of discomfort in my gut. Cracking a seasick smile, I tried to dissuade her. “W-well, honestly, I'd rather not.”
“Did you not have a good relationship with her in life?” asked Cat. I couldn't blame her for asking; she barely knew me, and it was, under any other circumstance, a pretty innocent question.
“No, I did. We got along great. It's just that...”
“I'm sorry I said anything,” said Annie, letting go of our hands. “I shouldn't have run my mouth like that.”
“Don't break the circle yet,” warned Cat, grasping Annie's hand tightly. “Not until I give the say-so.” Looking down at the Ouija board, she asked me another question. “Your mother's name. What was it?”
I hesitated before answering. “My mom's name was Michelle.” Then, I stammered, “B-but really, I don't think we have to call out to her, y-you know?”
“Why not?” asked Cat, turning those big, brown eyes on me. They seemed too big for her face, had the chilling effect of a porcelain doll's gaze on me. “Don't you want to reconnect with her?”
This whole séance thing was putting me in a mighty awkward position. What'd begun as a fun little timesink was getting to be rather uncomfortable. My mother's death was a sore spot for me, something I didn't talk about a whole lot. Trotting out my mother's spirit in the name of a little parlor trick seemed in really poor taste. “It's not that, Cat. I mean, of course I'd like to speak to her again. I'm just not... I'm not sure that this is...”
But the die had been cast. Eyes closing, Cat let out a deep breath and said, “We're gathered here today with the intention of contacting spirits. We'd especially like to speak to the spirit of Michelle, if she's available. Michelle, if you can hear us, please stay close. Your daughter is here and would like to speak to you.”
I wanted to let go of everyone's hands, to make Cat put this stupid board away, but as those words hung in the air, nobody moved. No one laughed or joked or anything. The rainy breeze coming in through the window suddenly died out and there was only stillness. Even the lit wicks of the candles seemed to stop flickering, temporarily becoming static columns of orange light. There'd been a sea change in the studio. The darkness in my room no longer felt like empty space, but seemed somehow densely packed, filled with furtive activity. There was something operating in the open spaces, invisible to the naked eye, but which could be felt through the other senses. The hairs on my arms and neck felt it, and were raised like so many tiny antennae to pick up the transmissions of this new sphere.
Perhaps it was just the darkness, or else I was too drunk to know any better, however I no longer recognized my surroundings. We were in my new studio; a cautious pan of the room made me feel secure about that. But we were also somewhere else. Someplace within that studio that I'd never been. Cat had alluded to the existence of another world. Maybe we were caught up between the folds of two worlds, then; suspended in a grey area.
Julia gave a ragged sigh, peering about the room narrowly. “Did it work?” she squeaked.
“We need to wait a moment,” Cat replied. “If her spirit is willing to communicate, then we need to wait a minute. Leave the door open, if you will, so that she can find us. When we've given her a bit of time, she will join us in this room and her finger will be the one guiding the planchette.”
I chewed on my lower lip, staring at the candles. “How will we know when it's time?” I asked. With every passing second, my apprehension only seemed to mount. The thought of sitting here and talking to my mom was proving to be quite upsetting. Going into this, I hadn't believed Ouija boards to be capable of making any real contact with the dead, but when my own mother had been chosen as the target for our communication, I found myself getting nervous. I hoped that it wouldn't work, that in a few minutes' time, we'd all be sitting on the floor, packing the board up because nothing had happened.
I wasn't ready. On the off chance that my dead mother really did turn up—a possibility that I only entertained at all because I was sloppily drunk—I wasn't sure what I would say to her, what questions I might ask. I'd been put on the spot.
Just then, as I sank deeper into my thoughts, one of the candles blew out. There'd been no strong wind to do it, and no one had blown it out as far as I could tell. With a quiet hiss, the wick was put out, smothered, and at seeing this Cat broke the circle. “All right,” she said. “I think we've made contact. Let go of each other's hands and place one finger on the planchette. Preferably a finger on your non-dominant hand.”
We all followed her directions without a word. Julia, having grown two shades paler, touched the plastic triangle gingerly with her pointer finger, as did Annie, whose face had been robbed of its usual mirth. I did it, too, the rain temporarily drowned out by the sound of my hammering pulse.
Why did I go along with it? Why did I take part? It was because I felt like I had no other choice. Cat claimed that some spectral visitor was knocking on our metaphorical door, and in the event that it really was my mother, I couldn't bear the thought of keeping her waiting. A whole slew of emotions coursed through me right then; anger, fright, anticipation. Even though I could have broken the whole spectacle up right then and there, I didn't. I touched the planchette carefully and awaited further orders.
What if this is real? I thought. What if mom is really here?
It was a preposterous thing; crazy, really, but since the day my mother had died, unbeknownst to me up until that very moment in my dark studio, I'd harbored a secret hope. I'd hoped to one day see her again outside of photographs. To speak to her, hear her voice.
Setting aside my annoyance, I sat up and paid attention.
This seemed like the best chance I had of making that desire a reality.