“They’re everywhere.” Rena said matter-of-factly, and yelpedagain when she removed her hands. “They’re gone.”
“They’re trying to get to the Ouija board. The spell only workswhen your hand is on the pointer.” Abigail reminded her. Rena took a deepbreath, holding it for a moment and exhaling as she placed her hand into theair again.
“Who are you?” asked Abigail.
A young woman rested her hand on the mirage of the pointer. Themoment her hand hovered over the projection, the remaining ghosts stoppedfighting. Almost complacently, they collected themselves and backed away.Tabitha found herself blocked by a line of ghosts, still managing to see thespecter pushing the digital pointer about on the board.
“Megan Faverau,” the computer spoke.
Rena didn’t hesitate. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere dark.”
“We are looking for my mother,” Abigail called out into theauditorium.
Tabitha stopped paying attention to the two girls, insteadtransfixed by a young ghost leaning against a wall in the auditorium. Unlike theothers, the boy had no interest in being near the board. No more than ten, hebacked himself against the wall, his hands firmly planted against the tornsound-proofing.
“Are they trapped here?” asked Rena. “I mean, can they leave?Are they always there?”
“I don’t know,” Abigail answered honestly.
A crash sounded outside, like the crack of lightning. Anotherand another followed. Abigail tapped the spot behind her ear, disconnectingfrom the computer. They searched for the source, but in the dark, only Tabithacould see the crows crashing into the glass, one after another, dying onimpact. Several of the large birds struck their wings against the exterior,determined to break into the auditorium.
As if her heart still beat, the witch grabbed her chest, unsureof what was happening. Abigail clutched her chest in a similar fashion. Decadeswiser than the fledgling witch, Tabitha understood something in the source codehad changed drastically.
The boy.
The wall behind the young ghost had turned black. Creepingthrough the plaster like veins, a disease spreading itself until reaching theceiling. Along the vibrant blue of the boy’s face, black lines carved into hisskin like tattoos. For however long she had resided in the afterlife, she hadnever seen a ghost become a remnant like this.
“Something’s wrong,” Abigail said.
“What?”
“I don’t know, something feels off.”
Rena gasped, loud enough that Abigail met the girl’s eyes.Tabitha turned her attention from the dying child. The ghosts did nothing tostop her as she pulled at them, shoving her way into the center of the circle.The pointer slid about the board.
“Hello.” Even the voice of the computer sounded strained.
“Who moved it?” asked Rena trying to identify the ghost.
The woman who had manipulated the pointer before had sunken intothe crowd. None of the blue ghosts reached out to touch the pointer. Thedesperate need Tabitha witnessed earlier had subsided. Now, they stared,fixated by the Ouija board, waiting for the pointer to move of its own accord.
“Abigail,” said the computer without the aid of any ghost.
“Mom?”
Whispers. Tabitha watched as Rena took Abigail’s hand andsqueezed it gently. Both remained silent, waiting for the computer to speak.The hushed speaking grew louder, filling the room almost to the volume sheexperienced when the girls first arrived. Thousands of tiny voices whisperedfar too quickly for her to make out their hissing. With hands clasped over herears, the elder witch tried to concentrate on the board.
“Is that you?” asked Abigail.
“The wall, Abigail.”
Abigail turned to face the side of the auditorium and the ghostsparted for her, clearing a path to the boy. Tabitha dashed through the crowd,knocking the dead aside and stepped in front of the young witch. The exertionforced the blue to intensify, making her skin pulsate with energy. Holding herhand out to stop the teen, she shook her head, unsure of what trickery was athand.
“Mom?”
“We are Murmur,” said the computer.
Before Tabitha had a chance to process the cryptic words, a crackripped through the room, loud enough that even the girls screamed. Cracked inhalf, the boy’s body peeled away, talons reaching outward, tearing away thechild’s blue skin. As the body split, the disease behind the boy withdrew,pouring into the child’s back. Once it vanished, a leg stepped out, then an armand shoulder. Tabitha recognized the creature the moment it freed itself fromthe boy’s chest cavity. The elongated limbs attached to a torso with exposedribs was only half as terrifying as the dog-like head resting on its shoulders.
“What’s that thing?”
“It’s a demon.” Abigail’s words hung in the air.
“Murmur,” the computer’s voice repeated the single word on aloop.
Tabitha watched in horror as the giant dog-headed beast seizedthe closest ghost, tearing at its neck, vaporizing the poor soul. The remainingghosts fled. The newest of them moved quickly, turning bright blue as theypushed past the oldest ghosts. The demon grabbed a middle-aged man, snappingits gnarly jaws onto his head, tearing until the ghost blinked out ofexistence.
The witch didn’t have time to divine if the demon only existedin the ghostly realm. Her hands surged a bright blue as she ignored the millionwhispering voices and pushed past the carnage. The demon latched onto herwaist, picking her up, its canine maw stretching to snap at her shoulder.Thrusting her hands into the demon’s chest, sinking into the black goo, shejerked at the threads of code making the beast and started deconstructing.
Tabitha slipped into the demon’s memory, eons before she wasborn. She found herself consumed by the sensation of wind whipping past herface. A naked man’s limp body soared through open sky, speeding downward. Boundtightly to his forearm, a small wooden shield with stretched leather bore thesigil for protection. The ground rushed to cradle his falling body. At hisside, wings flailed, trying to slow his descent. A wave of dust spit into theair as he lodged into the dry riverbed.
Tears pooled in his eyes until they spilled over, running downthe sides of his head. The warrior’s fall caused the bedrock to crack, linesstretching outward from his body in a pattern like giant veins. The man archedhis body, forcing himself to sit upright, spitting blood onto his bare chest.Attached to his back mangled wings
