Page 68 of Love at First Fright

His brow furrowed. Confusion flickered across his face, then irritation. “Workout playlists. Dance remixes. What the hell does that matter right now?”

“Just making conversation.” I nudged him again. “We’ve been sitting here for ages. Nothing’s happening.”

“That’s not how this works.” His fingers pressed harder against the planchette. “You can’t just chat during a séance like we’re at a coffee shop.”

“Why not? Maybe the ghost appreciates small talk.”

“Jesus Christ.” Brad pulled one hand back to rub his eyes. “This isn’t a social call, Charlie. We’re here to do a job.”

“Right. The job where we sit in silence while absolutely nothing happens.”

“We need to focus.” He replaced his fingers on the board. “Concentrate. Create the right atmosphere.”

“The right atmosphere,” I repeated. “Like playing music, maybe? Since that worked before?”

“We’re using the board first. Protocol.”

“Protocol. Got it.”

We sat there another five minutes. Ten. The planchette remained stubbornly immobile.

My butt went completely numb. Brad’s breathing took on that measured quality of someone actively restraining their temper.

A floorboard creaked somewhere behind me.

The planchette jerked.

“Don’t push,” Brad hissed.

“I’m not pushing.”

It moved again. Deliberate. Sliding across the board with purpose.

My heart kicked into high gear. “Holy shit.”

The planchette circled once, twice, gathering momentum. Then stopped.

“B”

“It’s working,” Brad breathed. Actual excitement crept into his voice.

The planchette glided to the next letter.

“R”

Then “A”

Then “D”

Brad’s eyes narrowed. “What—”

The plastic disc completed its journey. Letter by letter.

“B-R-A-D”

Space.

“S-M-E-L-L-S”