We jump. The planchette and board go flying.
“Just a heron,” she laughs, cocking her head at the window. Sure enough, a large grey bird is picking its way up the crick behind the house. We arrange the board again on our knees.
“Who’s with us?” she whispers.
The fingerboard twitches. My heart whump-whump-whumps in my chest.
[ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Who did that?! Are there ghosts?! Is this real!?—]
Whaaaaaaaat!
We jump. The heron again, his great head now in the window squawking accusingly.
“Poop,” she says. I steel my nerve. We reset.
“What’s your name?”
The planchette slides across the board. I clutch my chest and struggle to breathe.
[ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod Is there a god?! Is there an afterlife?! Can I live on?!—]
Whaaaaaaaat!
Screams the heron flapping through the window and landing atop the ouja as whumps cease and blood drains from my face and I fall.
[Goodbye.]
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