Haint Party
Sleep took me with brutal efficiency. I plunged into a terrible, vivid dream. Bex and I were fighting, a real, ugly one, and she was done. She packed her bags and left without a single word of reconciliation.
Then the scene shifted. I was sobbing to Erin, explaining that Rebecca had left me. Erin was only half-listening, nodding vaguely before announcing that she had to pack, too. She was leaving for Ireland to spend more time with her extended family.
Next, I found myself crying again in Lizzie’s bakery. I was detailing Bex’s departure, but Lizzie seemed distracted. Zora was there, and the two of them kept exchanging furtive glances, like they were sharing some enormous secret. I yelled, “What is it with you two?!” They both explained, in unison, that they were getting a place together in the Appalachian Mountains. I stomped out, heartbroken, only to run into Spencer on my way to the car.
He said he’d been looking for me and had great news. I dried my tears and listened as he explained a movie deal for one of his books. He was moving to California indefinitely. Everyone was abandoning me.
I woke up screaming, and the sound of my own voice startled everyone else awake.
Lizzie sat up carefully, Zora’s head lifting gently from her lap. “Did you just scream? Are you okay?”
I was disoriented and gasping for breath. Looking around, I saw that everyone was breathing heavily. “Yes, I’m sorry… I was having a bad dream,” I managed, rolling my neck to work out a terrible kink. I’d been lying with my head lolled back at a painful angle.
“Me too,” Spencer said, looking profoundly shaken. He was draped over the armchair like a broken, expensive doll.
Erin groaned and stretched her arms above her head. She had failed to find a comfortable position in her own chair and looked miserable.
Zora sat up slowly, wiping a trail of drool from her lip. “I dreamed a horrible dream.”
I asked Lizzie if she had, too. She shook her head, her face utterly still. “I don’t dream.”
The air froze. It was terrible, tragic news, and we all knew it. She didn’t deserve that final cruelty of undeath. I quickly apologized for my clueless question, and she assured me it was okay.
Zora immediately took Lizzie’s hand. “That’s why you always ask me about mine.” Lizzie squeezed Zora’s hand and brought it to her lips.
A long, significant silence descended as they looked at each other. When it had stretched past the point of polite observation, I jumped in. “Okay, I’ll go first,” I said, recounting my surreal dream of collective abandonment. “It was awful, losing everyone in one fell swoop. I’ve had similar dreams about Bex, but never all at once. It was surreal.”
Lizzie agreed, then asked gently, “Are you nervous about the wedding?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ve never been more confident.” It wasn’t about the wedding. I turned to Zora. “What was your dream about?”
“My dream?” she asked, looking mortified. When I nodded, she mumbled, eyes fixed on the floor, “I killed Lizzie.”
We strained to hear. “What?” Erin asked.
Zora looked at Lizzie, her regret now clearly audible. “I killed you.” She nodded rapidly, tears instantly welling up. Unable to hold it in, she dove into Lizzie’s arms, sobbing. Lizzie held her tight, stroking her hair.
Lizzie looked up over Zora’s shoulder and met my eye. I almost smiled; she was clearly pleased to be holding Zora. Zora slowly pulled away, wiping her eyes.
I figured Zora needed a minute, so I asked Spencer. He threw his hands up in a gesture of absolute horror. “It was vile. I was overweight, married, and had too many kids. And my wife was cheating on me with my dentist!”
I held back a scoff. The idea of settling down terrified Spencer; he lived his life in perpetual motion. “That sounds truly awful,” I conceded.
Spencer, looking profoundly ill, but asked Erin about her dream.
Erin groaned. “I dreamed the ghost came back. She wanted me to kill everyone.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. The shared sense of dread was palpable. “Do you think we need to call your grandmother again?” I asked, voicing the anxiety we all felt. “You said something didn’t feel right after the banishing spell.”
Erin nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe.” She pulled out her phone and started pacing the kitchen, calling her grandmother. Gran answered quickly, thankfully.
I could hear Erin explaining the terrifying dream and the persistent unease. Then she fell silent, doing the rapid-fire nodding from before.
Lizzie looked at me. “She’s lecturing her about being careful, but she mentioned something about us looking for…”
Spencer cut her off, slack-jawed. “Wait! You can hear her grandmother?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Yes, but just barely. They’re speaking very quietly.”
Spencer shook his head, looking both awed and terrified. “Well, damn. I won’t be whispering around you anymore.”
Lizzie laughed. Erin finished the conversation and returned to the living room, where we were all waiting. “Okay, she thinks the ghost may have been a witch when she was alive. We need to find her spell book. Then call her back.”
“Is that the spell book?” I asked, pointing at the book with the Vèvè symbol.
Erin shook her head. “No, I asked Gran. She said if it were easy to find, then it wouldn’t be her spell book.”
“Oh no, I am not going through any more books,” Spencer interjected, crossing his arms.
Zora, now completely calm, gestured toward the chaotic scene. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve been through all the books.” Every single book was off the shelves and stacked in small, haphazard piles.
Lizzie agreed. “Are there any more?”
Spencer frowned, looking exhausted. It was nearly four in the morning. “No, that’s all of them, but…” He let his voice trail off, recalling something.
“What is it, Spencer?” I urged.
“There’s a trunk at the foot of the bed that Mom kept. She thought it fit the aesthetic. No one has been able to open it; it has one of those big, rusted padlocks.”
Erin’s eyes lit up. “Maybe Lizzie can.”
Lizzie nodded, willing. “I’ll try.”
We all followed Spencer into the bedroom. The old, rusted, yet strangely well-preserved trunk sat at the foot of the bed. “There you go,” Spencer said.
Lizzie bent to examine the lock, but Zora placed a hand on her shoulder. “Be careful. We don’t know what’s inside.”
I agreed. “She’s right, Lizzie.”
Lizzie gave the lock a tug. It was completely rusted over. With a quick, downward yank, she broke the padlock clean off. She seemed utterly unfazed by the feat, but we were stunned.
“Damn,” Erin commented. “Now we have to open it.”
Lizzie placed her hands on the trunk lid. “Okay, I want everyone to back up away from the trunk.”
“Good idea,” Spencer and Erin retreated almost to the windows. Zora and I lingered.
“Go on, I’m the best person to try this,” Lizzie argued before I could speak. I knew she was right, but I hated putting her in danger. I took Zora’s arm and pulled her back to the windows, leaving a good eight feet between us and the trunk.
Lizzie stood up, gripped the latch, and lifted it a crack. Nothing happened. Taking that as a good sign, she lifted the lid halfway, chanced a look inside, paused, and then lifted it all the way. “There’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” I asked, incredulous.
“Nothing,” Lizzie confirmed, pushing the lid back and stepping aside. We crept forward carefully, looking at one another in confusion as we peered into the empty trunk.
Lizzie sat down on the bed. “Shit. Now what?”
Zora walked forward, bent down over the trunk, and ran her hands along the bottom. “My grandfather owned a trunk like this,” she explained, still running her hands along the wood, “but there was a secret compartment.” Zora tapped the bottom, and the hollow sound was unmistakable.
Lizzie jumped up and bent beside her. “Let me—” Before Lizzie could help, Zora found a latch, and the bottom popped open. A small cloud of dust shot out, causing Zora to cough violently, covering her mouth. Lizzie immediately put a hand on Zora’s back, her eyes wide with worry. Zora coughed a few more times, then stopped. She sat up, dusted her hands and face, and reached back into the compartment.
“Wait! Are you okay?” Lizzie asked, genuine fear in her voice.
Zora cleared her throat, then lifted a book for us all to see. “I’m fine. Just dust.”
Lizzie sank back onto her heels, almost in tears of relief. Zora watched her carefully, then lifted her hand to Lizzie’s face. A single tear slid from Lizzie’s eye, and Zora caught it on her fingertip. She held her hand there as they looked at one another, leaning ever so slightly forward.
We were about to witness a repeat performance when Spencer approached. “Get a room already,” Spencer said with a bright smile, breaking the tension.
Lizzie grinned, but Zora flushed crimson.
“Here you go,” Zora said, offering the book.
“Wow,” Erin whispered. It was a well-loved, navy-colored, leather-bound book. She was right to be impressed. We were all excited but knew we had to proceed with caution.
“Now what?” Lizzie asked, looking over the book at Erin.
“I have to call my granny back,” Erin said, holding out her hand for the book. “Let’s go back to the table.”
We followed her back into the dining area and sat down. Erin put her phone on speakerphone, and it rang and rang and rang. Her granny did not answer. She tried again, and then a third time. “I don’t understand. She said to call back,” Erin said, pacing again.
“Are you dialing the right number?” Spencer asked. Erin shot him an angry, tired look, but she checked her phone again.
“Yes, it’s the right number.” She tried one more time to call.
The doors to the sunroom burst open violently. From the room’s absolute darkness, a sound grew steadily louder: laughter. An impossibly icy wind whipped around the table, extinguishing every single candle. We were plunged into suffocating darkness, where the scraping of chairs across the floor and the echoing laughter amplified sickeningly. I reached out blindly, frantic, but couldn’t find anyone.
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