It was half past one when Sam arrived at the cabin with Fletcher. Sam totted a backpack filled to the brim with supplies for his grand plan. It took him a few days to get it all together, but he was about to solve the haunting problem directly at the source. Confidently, he marched up to the cabin and grabbed the key out from under the mat. It was an obvious hiding spot, but Sam doubted there was anything worth stealing. Fletcher pulled at the sleeve of his swim team jacket and scanned around them.

“Are you sure we should be here without Roman? Isn’t this breaking in?”

“We have the key; we aren’t breaking anything.” Sam pushed the door open.

Crossing the room, Sam made a beeline for the table. He placed his backpack down carefully and began to pull out a few candles. A small impatient tapping came from Fletcher’s foot, but Sam didn’t pay any mind. Without any instructions, he tried to recall how to set up his plan.

“You still haven’t told me why we are here.”

Sam pulled a Ouija board out of his bag. It was a thin plastic game that he picked up from the toy store, but it would do just as well as the creepy wooden boards they had in the movies. Fletcher stiffened a laugh and paused as if he was waiting for more.

“So, we’re going to talk to ghosts via the Hasbro game board. Fun!” The fake enthusiasm barely reached his eyes.

“It’ll work, trust me. We just need to talk to Davis. Explain that what happened was an accident.”

Fletcher looked like he wanted to say something, but the words died on the tip of his tongue. Lighting each candle, Sam kept his eyes on Fletcher, hoping he would for once say what he meant. The candles didn’t do much considering it was still daylight out, but Sam did his best to close all the blinds and create a dim setting. Apparently, ghosts needed mood lighting.

“So, basically we just put the tips of our fingers on the planchette and then the ghost pushes it around.” Sam explained to an expressionless Fletcher. “There are some more-”

“Dude, it’s not going to work.” Fletcher sounded deflated.

“As I was saying, don’t play alone or in a graveyard and always say goodbye. That’s the gist. So why don’t we get started?” He smiled as he spoke as an attempt to make Fletcher even the tiniest bit more agreeable.

“Why didn’t you grab Ellis or Roman?”

“You know as well as I do that they would whine and complain. More so than you.” Sam pointed at his bag. “Can you grab some paper and a pen? We'll need to write down what they say.”

Defeated, Fletcher did as he was told. The great thing about him was that his lack of backbone made him a reliable accomplice. Light still peaked into the cabin but Sam figured it was dark enough for the spirits. Sam placed the tips of his fingers against the planchette, waiting for Fletcher to follow. Any objections he had he left unsaid. Mirroring Sam’s actions, Fletcher started to play the game.

“Are there any spirits with us?” Sam asked in a somber tone while trying to ignore Fletcher’s eye roll.

Slowly, the planchette started to glide towards yes. His heart fluttered a bit. It was his plan but watching it come together was like magic. Well, it is magic, Sam joked to himself.

“What’s your name?” The planchette glided over to no.

“This is pointless, Samuel.” Ouch, using the full name. “It’s a game.”

“Well, I didn’t move it.” Sam quipped, keeping his fingers on the game.

“You wouldn’t have too. It’s the ideomotor effect. It’s unconscious, involuntary physical movement.” Fletcher replied like the know-it-all he was. “Let’s let Helga deal with this.”

“She isn’t stable.”

“And we are? Do you think anything we say sounds remotely sane?”

The planchette drifted towards the number seven. Circling it for a moment before returning to the center of the board. Sam ran through his mind what it could possibly mean. Was it a hint and an identity or something more? Fletcher huffed but didn’t pull his hands away. Social obligation was one of Fletcher’s weaknesses and Sam was more than happy to take advantage of it.

“What does that even mean?” Fletcher hissed like a street cat before regaining his composure. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Sam.”

“Come on, we’ve barely tried.” The planchette slid across the board again stopping on a few letters. “K…. I…. D…S…. kids? What?”

“So, the ghost wants kids. Oh! Maybe they want seven kids. That’s it. Case closed, Detective Schyler!” The caustic tone in Fletcher’s voice died as the planchette began to move rapidly.

Sam mentally recorded the letters trying to string the phrase together. A wave of pride hit him. He was right. Ghosts can communicate with them which meant there might be an end to his ongoing nightmare. Fletcher’s face turned a sickly pale. He pulled his hands back and kneaded them together. Meekly and almost inaudibly, Fletcher asked the spirits name again. Once again, the spirit answered no but the board began to rattle.

“What did you mean by seven?” Fletcher asked, slowly putting his hands back on the planchette. “R…O…A... D…”

The word meant nothing to Sam but for Fletcher, it was like a light went off in his head. Sam watched Fletcher try to make sense of what they were seeing. In spite of everything he still had his moments of disbelief.

“Are you the woman who went off the road?” Fletcher said. Sam distinctly noticed how he dodged the word suicide in his phrasing

The spirit replied yes and the moment it did, Fletcher pushed the planchette down to the goodbye message and yelled out goodbye. Sam couldn’t fathom why he’d do it. They’d just proven they could speak to the dead and he was acting like it was a personal offence to him.

“Why would you do that? That was a real ghost!”

“Yeah. One who is unaware of the fact she murdered her own children and I really don’t want to be around to see what happens when she realizes that.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever, this is proof of concept though. We can talk to Davis. Just need to figure out a way to get him to play ball.” Sam paused. “Like his grad ring. We could bring it and leave it in the séance circle…or we could go to a place of significance to him”

“Yeah, the dead love that stuff.” Fletcher stood up and walked to the window. Flicking the blinds open, he let the cool light back into the cabin. “Shouldn’t he be here? It’s close to where we…”

“Maybe he’s not attached to that. We could go to his old dorm.”

“You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?” Fletcher signed. “Get the others on board and we can go from there.

***

Sam parked the truck right behind the Rolls Royce, half surprised Ellis was at Roman’s, but Ellis always was running to Roman. Any problem he had would always end up becoming conversation fodder for the two later, leaving everyone else out of it. It was almost like an exclusive club just for the two of them.

He left Fletcher in the passenger seat of the truck. It was clear that Fletcher and Roman had some sort of spat over something that was more than likely insignificant, but Sam also didn’t care enough to play therapist for them.

Without so much as a knock, Sam sauntered into the Davenport house. There was an overwhelming sitcom look to the design, but he could stomach it. On the musty looking couch was a boy-like shape wrapped up in some blankets.

“Roman.” Sam called as he walked deeper into the house.

The boy-like shape sat up revealing more baby fat, and blonder hair then Sam anticipated. Declan was a carbon copy of Roman at his age save for the hair and the squeaky voice. In truth, Sam found Declan to be insufferable. He spent far too much of his time trying to live up to the annoying little brother trope rather than develop a tangible personality. In short, he was a discount Roman and lacked any of the redeemable traits.

“Where’s Roman?” Sam strained his neck looking around the room.

“He isn’t home.” Declan lied as well as a toddler.

“And why would Ellis be here if Roman isn’t?”

“Who?” Declan knew damn well who Ellis was. Anyone who went to Holloway Academy knew his name. Not only that, the four boys had spent a fair bit of their childhood picking on him. “Why didn’t you knock?”

“Why didn’t you lock the door? I don’t have time for you, just tell me where Roman is.”

“I told you he isn’t here.”

“Whose car is in the driveway? Cause I highly doubt someone here suddenly got the exact same make and model as Ellis.” Giving up, Sam turned back to the stairs. It would be faster if he just looked for himself. “Roman!”

He could hear a muffled reply that led him up to Roman’s room. When he entered, he noticed the two boys sitting awkwardly close on the bed with a few towels strewn around them. Roman sat at the foot of his bed while Ellis laid out beside him with a pure white towel pressed to his face. Roman gnawed at his nails, not even bothering to say anything to Sam. Sickening thoughts passed through Sam’s mind. Had Roman hurt Ellis? Pulling the towel away from his face, Ellis revealed his delicate, petite feature covered in a faint shimmery gold.

“What did you do?” Sam didn’t mean to sound so accusatory but, in his defense, it usually was Roman’s fault.

“He didn’t do anything. It just happened.” Ellis answered.

Roman’s face held a rare pained expression. He kept his arms crossed tightly but even that couldn’t hide the fact he was shaking. Roman was absolutely afraid. Sam pulled Ellis up so that he was sitting directly in front of him. He tilted Ellis’s head back and started to clean the rest of the gold away. It was thin like water, but it appeared like actual gold. Once the gold was gone, Sam smiled and said,

“See you’re fine, you just needed to stop crying.”

“Normal people don’t cry gold” Ellis chirped back.

“And normal people also aren’t haunted but here we are.” Sam plopped down beside them. “Speaking of, I think I’ve found a solution to our little ghost problem. Turns out Ouija boards work. So, Fletcher and I are going to go out to Davis’s old dorm and see if we can talk to him.”

“Wildes dorm is closed.” Ellis said suspiciously fast. Why did he know Davis’s dorm right off?

“Could you steal the keys?”

“I like being alive, thanks.”

“Well, what if we convinced the school to let us hold an event in it? Like we could make up some memorial fundraiser garbage for Davis. We say it has to be held in his dorm because he loved it so much. We could do a wake-a-thon like we did when we were kids.” Roman proposed suddenly gaining his leaderlike demeanor back.

“My mom may go for that.” Ellis paused. “What ghost did you talk to?”

“I don’t know her name, she drove off suicide seven couple years back.” Sam waved off Ellis’s curiosities. “Point being, it works, and we just need to get Davis to respond. And before one of you says some witty reply about it, we literally have nothing to lose. It cannot possibly get worse than it is right now.”

“Famous last words.” Roman quipped.

Ellis had no viable arguments against his plan. Satisfaction hit Sam as it dawned on him that it was him that would solve the problem. He knew Ellis thought he was stupid but that didn’t matter now. He was the leader for once and in the moment, he started to understand Roman’s brazen attitude. Everything was coming back together, all they needed to do was to put actions in motions.

“Ellis, you have dinner plans tonight?” Roman crawled off the bed.

“Yes. With my family.” Ellis said hesitantly.

“Perfect, I’ll come too.”

Ellis's face fell, contorting into an expression he rarely wore. In seconds, his fair skin became almost translucent, his mouth hung open and he squinted as if he misheard. His horror was more than fair. Seeing Roman willingly attending a dinner party was about as likely as seeing a cryptid. Roman having any sense of poise and grace was even less likely.

“Come on, I’m a great liar. Your mom is going to eat up whatever I say.” Roman said confidently as he looked through his closest. “I got this.”

Every bone in Sam’s body disagreed with Roman but the alternative was worse. From what he remembered the Holloway family were intense, peculiar people who acted as if they were living in some gothic novel. No way in hell would Sam take Roman’s place.

“Fine but I’m picking what you wear. You dress about as well as a toddler.” Ellis made no effort to get up from Roman’s bed. “You know this isn’t going to work right?”

“Bet.”