'You rest your index finger -- very lightly, lightly as you can -- on the planchette. Then wait.'
'How does it work?'
'Something called the ideomotor effect: tiny involuntary muscle movements. It'll help you find out what you're really thinking.'
'I'm not sure I want to know what I'm really thinking.'
But Nathan did as instructed. They waited, in the loaded silence.
And then the planchette seemed slowly to rotate beneath their fingertips.
Bob
closed his eyes and licked his lips. 'Okay. Have we got anyone?'
They waited again. Until, with a dry creak on the mirror's surface, the planchette slid to the word YES.
Nathan took his finger from it.
'Fuck off. You're moving it. I can feel you.'
'Afraid not. Now, come on. You don't want to piss them off.'
'Piss who off?'
Bob looked at the ceiling. 'Them.'
Nathan said, 'Christ. You're giving me the horrors.'
Bob implored him with impatient eyes. So Nathan touched the planchette again.
Bob asked the air: 'Do you have a name?'
The planchette slid to the letter D. Then the letter A.
David
'Do you know us, David?'
no
'Then why have you come through?'
can you hear
'Yes. Do you have a message?'
die cunt
'Is that your message?'
die cunt die cu --
'Then goodbye.'
Bob took his finger from the planchette, saying, 'Mate. You're shaking.'
'Fuck me. Tell me you were doing that on purpose.'
'Were you ?'
'No.'
'Me neither. Shall we try again?'
Nathan shook his head; no way.
Bob told him, 'Look. It's nothing. It's coming from inside your head.'
'Or yours.'
'Or mine, yes. Possibly. Now come on.'
Once again -- Nathan much more tentatively -- they placed their fingers on the planchette.
'Now,' said Bob. 'Do we have someone?'
yes
'Who do we have?'
sunny
'Have we met, Sunny?'
'Not here
Nathan removed his finger.
'Fuck that.'
Bob's face had darkened. 'Put your finger back.'
Nathan did.
Then Bob relaxed himself and once again spoke to the air, 'Why are you here, Sunny?' fuks him
'Who fucks who?'
fuks him
fuks him
fuks him
Nathan stood up.
'Really,' he said. 'Fuck that. I mean really. Fuck it.'
He looked down at the mirror. Then he hit the main light switch.
He was dazzled by the sudden, whiter glare. With his foot, he scattered the letters of the Ouija board across the carpet.
Bob was standing up, too. 'What are you doing'
'And fuck you, too.'
'Do you know how dangerous that is?'
'You're cracked in the head, mate.'
Nathan picked up his cigarettes and left the guest bedroom.
Outside, in the dim hallway, he looked at his watch. His eyes wouldn't focus. He leaned against the wall.
Then he strode downstairs, where it was hotter than ever. The bodies and the noise pressed down upon him. He squeezed into the ballroom.
He looked at his watch. An impossible amount of time had passed. Sara was on the dance floor. 'Crocodile Rock' was ending. It was followed by 'He's the Greatest Dancer (That I've Ever Seen)'.
Sara was dancing with Mark Derbyshire. Mark had discarded his jacket. Nathan watched them; Mark was grinding his hips, all but dry-humping her, and Sara was laughing. Mark's shirt was soaked under the armpits and between the shoulder blades.
The dance floor was packed and the music was fast and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Nathan snatched a bottle of Chardonnay from the trestle table, then went to collect his coat and walked out the front door.
The cold and quiet hit him, the skin contracting like cling film across his skull. He clenched his teeth and sat in the spilled light on the stone doorstep, the muffled sounds of the party behind him, and wondered what to do. The big house mocked him. So he went for a walk in the darkness, clasping the bottle by the neck.
Beyond the east wing was a small copse of leafless trees. On the other side was a tennis court. Around the tennis court were arranged some benches. On one of these benches huddled a dark mass. As Nathan approached, the dark mass seemed to bloom, sprouting a white head. It resolved into a girl. Her short hair was glossy black in the starlight. She was bundled up beneath a man's overcoat.
She said, 'Hello.'
'Hello,' said Nathan. 'So what are you doing out here?'
'Getting some air. Y'know.'
He laughed, once. Too loud: a bird erupted from the dark trees behind them. She looked over his shoulder and up, tracking its progress.
'What's that? An owl?'
He squinted into the darkness. The Milky Way spread like a distended contrail across the sky.
'I don't know. I think it was maybe a crow.'
'Whatever. You didn't impress it much.'
'So, how do you know Mark?'
'I don't. Not really. He's a friend of my dad's. Which is lucky, if you think about it.'
'Please explain.'
'Because Mark respects my dad, he technically can't make a pass at me.'
'That is lucky.'
'I did say 'technically'.'
'Oh my God. He didn't.'
