Copyright © 2025 by Brittany Noelle
CASSIDY
“When there was time, a silent moment, deep where thoughts collected like a puddle in the bottom of my mind, I could see how my errors and wrongs muddied the waters. But siphoning them away proved nothing short of impossible. The water would always be slightly altered, slightly colored, by the sins of my actions and mind.”
by user tea_and_fangs
CANDLELIGHT HALOS THE COSTUMED teens gathered around the coffee table, all reaching for the large planchette settled on top of the spirit board. From the foyer, I can tell how hefty it is, wooden and large as Viking-boy’s meaty hand. How did Chloe get hold of such a thing? Where did it come from? Spirit board horror books flash through my mind. Accidental hauntings. Lowering the gateway between life and death. No one should touch that thing!
“Don’t!” I shout. “It’s evil!”
Viking-boy’s laugh comes out in a wheeze. “You’re still here?” He nods to my bag dragging on the floor and makes a show of wrapping a thick arm around Chloe’s thin shoulders. “Hey, evil demons,” he addresses the board. “Why is Cassidy such a freak?” He moves the planchette around the letters, drawing giggles from Richelle, as he spells out, “P-S-Y-C-H-O.”
Chloe jerks and moves the planchette to the center of the spirit board, everyone’s hands following along. She glances at me, a soft invitation to join lining her eyes. An unspoken apology. It’s just a game, just a tease… Come play, come back to me.
Heart stinging, I cling to the part of me that wants to. To believe this is all a dream.
But the deep truth I’d convinced myself wasn’t real for most of my life manifests before me. I shock back as death-blue frost plays at Chloe’s fingertips, spreads across the planchette, inches up her knuckles. “Chloe—”
Kane rushes down the stairs and finds me. “What’s wrong?”
“The planchette.” I point. “It’s the vessel. He’s in there.”
Kane scans the board to the fingers connected to the wooden device. Now, every fingertip has gone blue-white with icy webs. “Got it. Wes is outside. He’ll take care of you. Go.”
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Viking-boy complains. He goes to stand. But his hand remains iced to the planchette, forcing his tipsy legs to fold back under him. He tugs on his arm, pushes the table, but can’t remove his frosted fingers. He gives a frustrated grunt… then laughs. As does Chloe. As do they all. Cracking, broken laughter all in sync.
A cold wind shifts all the flames of the candles. Swirls around the teens, possessive, trapping. I drop my bag. “Chloe—” Kane catches me before I can try to rip her hands away.
“He has them,” he says. “You need to get out of here. You can’t touch it.” He backs me to the front door, pulling my duffel along.
“What about them?”
“We’re fine where we are,” Viking-boy claims, waving goodbye. “Good riddance, freaks!”
I pull from Kane’s grasp, heart bursting with indignation. “Is this really how you want to make a fucking point?” I shout to the ceiling, the floor, the basement door. I know the Englishman is watching, waiting beyond sight. “Over some silly game?”
Another wind whips my hair to the side. Candle lights shiver. The seance gathering is smiling, drunk and stupid and ignorant. As if possessed. Harsh accented words slither their final icicle message straight through my ear canals.
Silly game? Heh, let’s see how silly we can get, hm, Cassidy?
Electricity buzzes through the old house, changing the summertime music to dark melancholic strings, summoning death and demons. Violins screech. Horns rumble. The candlelight shakes, sending morphing shadows across every wall. Horned devils. Long claws.
The teens laugh at the haunted house effect. Like it is just a game.
“Cassidy, you have to go!” Kane shouts. He tries to direct me out the open door, but suddenly his torso collapses as if punched in the gut. A blizzard wind wraps around us, snatches his body off his feet and flings him out the front door. “Kane!” I try to follow, but the door slams shut. Wind and music and laughter go silent. Candle flames snuff out, smoke spiraling into the dark.
He’s trapped us.
Rick breaks the silence with a giggling, “Well fuck.”
Heart beats and breaths coming too fast, I listen over my panicking body for any hint of the Englishman’s voice or icy presence. His intentions, his location. Then, one by one, Chloe’s crimson candles shimmer to life. The wicks catch tall menacing blue flames.
The indigo glow surrounds Chloe and her friends, outstretched arms like spokes of a wheel. The ice has spread up their arms, over costume tunics, corsets, reaching up exposed necks. They are unmoving through it all. Enthralled. Under its spell. Willing to freeze to death.
“Nice effect, Chloe,” Viking-boy says with a wink. Chloe’s shoulders perk up to her ears as she shivers and laughs. Somehow, they maintain a semblance of their personalities. But the glaze in their eyes, the crispness of their words, is all wrong. “We doing this?” Viking-boy bends over the table just as the planchette moves. They lean to one side in unison, icy grins spreading across each dazed face, frost climbing their drunk-red cheeks.
I can’t believe what’s happening, searching for a camera, a gotcha, anything! The planchette rests on the spirit board, choosing no letter, no number, but the word YES.
Richelle twirls her wigged hair, asking “How does this work?” Tall Tom and Catgirl lean over the board, bewitched with wonder.
“Have you never seen a movie?” Tall Tom tuts. He laughs once, twice, eyes rolling to the ceiling, then back to the board. Along his neck, blue-white ice stretches from the base of his skull, across his jaw. “You ask a question, and the demons answer through this.”
“Demons?” Catgirl asks, skeptical.
Kane is outside, banging on the door. I try to open it, but ice freezes the knob in place, not allowing it to turn even a fraction.
“Open the door!” he shouts.
“I can’t!”
He curses, slams against the wood again and again. Until he ceases. No shouts, no punches, no rescue.
“Kane?” My voice cracks. “Kane, no… please come back!”
No reply. I’m on my own.
“Cass,” Chloe calls. Her giggle is foreign, too rigid, like an icicle stuck in her throat. “Just come play.”
Hearing her voice makes it too real. The danger I’ve run from my whole life is collecting its debts owed. It’s going to hurt her. Betrayal aside, broken friendship aside, I can’t let anything happen. Not to Chloe. My anchor, my foundation. My earlier control is gone, anxiety fueling every move. I need her.
In my panic, through my tears, I charge forward, taking her wrist, ready to rip her arm away from the haunted planchette. But an invisible cold hand tightens around my wrist, spreading its supernatural ice into my palm. I jerk back, hearing a phantom chuckle in both ears.
“God, it’s just a game,” Chloe says. A twinge of a grin meets the corner of her mouth. She believes it. “Not that serious, Miss Witch.”
Chloe straightens her back. She fills the role of horror movie victim so easily. “We are but humble walkers of life, seeking connection,” she recites, dramatic, practiced words. “We are opening a door between our world and yours.” Her voice skates like a blade over a frozen lake. “Will you enter?”
The planchette twitches, then shifts in slow circles. Oooh’s and ahhh’s slip around the group. Then it lands back on YES.
Chloe speaks to the board directly. “Knock twice for entry.”
“Seriously?” Viking boy raises an eyebrow across the table.
“Seriously.” Chloe sticks out her tongue.
For half a second, I spin a mental tale. Everything is normal. It’s a simple birthday party. My writer brain buzzes for a reprieve from the too-difficult reality. A tale so bright and fuzzy yellow. A game. A best friend. A joke only we share…
A dull thud catches in the ceiling, two knocks echoing around us.
I jump out of my fantasy. Danger lurks on the edge of the candles’ blue glow. No warm fuzzies toe be found here.
The planchette moves again.
L-E-T-M-E-I-N
“Should we?” Josh jokes.
“No,” I order.
“Yeah, let ‘im in.” Viking-boy waves a welcoming hand. “Bring it on, oh Satan.”
“Snap out of it!” I step only a foot closer, holding back a shiver in this cold, cold room. The carpet crackles underfoot, snowy crystals spreading out from the group across the floor. “Chloe, we have to leave.”
“You can go. Door’s right there.” Chloe looks as if she doesn’t recognize me at all. No care remains in her stare. She’s fading into the Englishman’s supernatural pull.
A chilling wind hisses around us. Blue flames slide horizontal. Ignorant laughter rises. I freeze in place, watching the huddled shadow of heads around the table shift with the new message sliding across the board.
H-E-L-L-O
“Who the fuck is doing this?” Catgirl sputters out a laugh. “Greg?”
“What, scared?” Viking-boy guffaws.
“That’s enough.” Again, I pull on my friend’s arm. I bite against the cold energy, needing to release her.
But she shoulders me off. “Get out, Cass.”
A string snaps in the middle of my heart.
Each pair of eyes shines in the dark. The icy power is spreading over all of them, growing stronger. Whatever the voice is doing is working. Eyes dimming. Smiles turning ever so zombie-like. Ice laces across faces, whiskers, fake mustaches, hair.
We have to get out of here.
Their laughter is my soundtrack as I grab a knife from the kitchen and stab at the front door. Snowflake patterns ache over my progress through the wood in seconds, sealing off the splintered hole. So, I find my shoes and kick at the windows, the back patio door. I try to throw the speakers at the glass. I manage a single lightning crack, but again, frost mends the attempt. Every door. Every window. Every wall. I try prying their hands off the planchette with kitchen towels, wrapping it around wrists, pulling with all my might. But the carpet ices over and I slip backwards into the now frozen pizza sauce.
They only laugh. Nasally, high-pitched, strained.
I can’t help them. Kane is gone. We’re going to freeze and die.
The marks behind my ear tingle and itch. An irritating reminder of my connection to their death. I egged the Englishman on, ignored him, fought back. Just like with Viking-boy, I let my selfishness dictate my decisions and actions instead of thinking about the consequences.
I only have one idea left.
Taking a deep breath, I lean forward. I don’t think. If I do, I won’t be able to follow through on this crazy idea. I reach between Chloe and Catgirl to place the tips of my two middle fingers on an exposed corner of the carved wood planchette. Warning signals blare in my mind, including Kane telling me not to touch the vessel, but I can’t leave all these people alone with this horror they will never understand. This is my world. They can make fun of me all they want after they’re safe. After Chloe is safe.
It’s me the Englishman wants. Not them.
I touch down to the cold wood and jerk forward as if caught by a hook around the spine. Icy energy snakes up my arm until it takes on more shape, an icy strong hand, and grips my throat. I choke on the frozen air.
They’re all laughing… except Chloe. She stares up at me, dazed, a shimmer of fear breaking through the spell. Until the planchette moves, rocking us together, back to the top of the board. Ice clanks and frost shivers free from our hair and cheeks.
YES
I close my eyes and claw at the invisible hold on my neck. Curl my fingers around the unseen hand to give myself enough space to suck in a breath and wheeze out, “You need to leave. Now.”
Another supernatural gust whips at us, clattering frozen hair like wind chimes, tearing streamers from the wall, ripping the Happy Halloween decals and my cut-out ghosts in half. I try to move the planchette to the bottom of the board to end the game, over the dark letters of GOODBYE. But it slides back to the top, taking us all with it.
NO
“We don’t want you here. You are not welcome.” I stay firm in my words.
Instead, he spells out, I-N-V-I-T-E-D-I-N
“And now,” I say, tugging on the invisible force on my neck again. “We’re kicking you out.”
NO
“Leave!”
B-O-D-Y
“You’re not taking anyone.” More winds shuffle through us. Only then do I notice all the dead eyes on me, tiny useless moons in the dark.
Y-O-U-R-S
I’m crying frozen tears. I try to keep my breaths as deep as I can. Shiny stares offer no help, no answers. But… their faces are clearer. Not frosty. Almost confused. Is it working? Is the Englishman’s hold loosening?
Behind Richelle and Josh, a streamer falls loose, falling into blue flames. Then another. The paper rolls down the entertainment center like flaming ash. Richelle screams, collapsing against Viking-boy. Pieces of her curly wig snap. Josh leans away from the flames right into Tall Tom’s lap. Both blinking, cheeks and shoulders wet instead of locked in ice cubes.
The fire spreads too fast to be real. Blue, then yellow, then blazing orange. Richelle’s skirt ignites. Tall Tom smothers the flames he can with a sneaker. The lacy patterns of blue-white melt from their cheeks, necks, and arms. Realization creeps over their shadowed faces the less the ice holds them. Confusion twists into grimaces of fear.
We tug on our hands to rip them from the planchette, cough from the growing smoke, but the entity has us locked in place. They don’t understand what’s happening, but they feel the danger, the threat. Even if I don’t know these people, can’t stand these people, I don’t want them dead. I press my fingers harder on the planchette, trying to move it to GOODBYE at the bottom of the board. We’ll all die of smoke inhalation before anything else.
Chloe is crying, pulling on her hand, trying to pry everyone off the board. They all shuffle feet, trying to find any leverage.
The planchette moves with force now, knocking our bodies off balance with each letter.
C-A-S-S-I-D-Y
Chloe’s cries for me don’t register. She pulls on my arm, then her arm. Nothing she does can change the truth. It wants me. Only me. More geometric patterns of ice lace up my wrist, then sink deep into my bones. The pain numbs my fingertips, then palm, then full arm.
That’s when the first hand comes free. Richelle gasps and tumbles away from the crackling fire consuming the flat screen TV and stereo. Melting metal stings my nose, my survival instincts battling for control of the situation. Then Rick is free. The couple leave us behind, rushing through the smoke to the front door.
“Hey wait!” Viking-boy shouts. Then he is free as well. And ditches just as fast.
Each hand freed sends an icy spike through my fingers, slicing up my arm. I go rigid, fighting the pain to speak, to get myself out of this mess. But I have no strength. It wants me. And with each person it frees, the more influence it has over my body.
Tall Tom, Chloe, and I are the last, our hands locked to the planchette. Everyone else is tugging on doors. Trying to break windows. But the entity has too much power.
“What the hell?” Richelle shrieks and kicks the front door with a heel.
Viking-boy throws glasses, then punches at the frosted windows. Nothing gives. “She’s going all telekinesis prom on us!” He points at me, fist raised high.
My arm is now numb, consumed by layers of blue ice.
The spell lifts from Tom. He falls back, rolling away from the growing fire. “Get the girls,” he instructs Viking-boy. Greg’s angry eyes linger on me one last long moment. Then he turns away as the wall across from us disappears into yellow-bright flames. The teens all gather up the stairs, searching for a window to jump from.
It’s strange to watch flames lick and crack closer and closer but feel none of the heat. I’m consumed with cold, shivering beyond control. The tips of my hair have gone frosty.
Chloe holds my free hand, shaking it, trying to get my attention. “We have to get out of here!”
I pry my frigid jaw wide enough to speak. “Don’t… let… go…”
She doesn’t understand and continues to try to remove our hands from the board. But she can’t. If she does… it will have me. What will happen when it takes me? Am I going to die? I have no strength, no will to fight the cold. I shiver as the fire consumes every wall around us. Soon, we will burn.
I feel Chloe’s release, the entity’s hold on her gone, like a key turning in the lock of her mental prison. The last shot of ice crushes through my arm, tearing muscle, gliding over my shoulder to the base of my skull.
But she keeps her hand in place.
I send her a questioning glare. I can see in her teary eyes she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know what is happening, but she does as I asked. Her teen party mask is gone, melted away from the sheer horror playing out around us. She is my best friend again, clinging to me.
I can’t speak. I hope she can see my expression. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. We’re broken, we’re ruined, but please, don’t let go.
She tries to push the planchette. And for an inch, it moves. Closer to the bottom of the board. She grunts with effort, standing, pushing with all the strength in her tiny body. Say goodbye. End the connection.
The fire slides over the carpet. And she flinches. As anyone would. As any rational person should. She screams and tries to keep her hand on the planchette. Through tears, she gives me one last glance. Eyes filled with memories and regrets. Apology pained and too late. She doesn’t hesitate and leans forward, quiet lips pressing to my frozen cheek. Warm raspberry breaks through the ice, her rosy heat giving me a brief reprieve from the pain. When she pulls away, she sobs, “Goodbye,” and rushes away. Everyone shouts for help, throwing anything at the doors, the windows, the walls. Destroying the furniture against the ice barriers before the fire can consume us all.
The warmth of her kiss fades. I don’t have the energy to be mad.
Yes. Escape. Please. Run away. That was the plan. Not the ending I wanted, but perhaps the one I deserve. Anchor-less. Drowning in ice.
My cold eyes flick toward the planchette. Another hand joins mine there. Blue, made of ice and soul, swirling with energy beneath its translucent skin. I find the Englishman’s voided black eyes across from me, crinkled with the phantom smile of success.
His other hand, still wrapped around my throat, squeezes. Fingers elongating. Scaling. Growing claws. The energy coalesces inside his hand until it shocks through me, blasts through his fingers, to the base of my skull.
My hand slips off the planchette, and I’m knocked back to the burning carpet, body shivering, shaking. Then suddenly calm. Then still as death.
My eyes open. Searching. Taking in the flames and the ice and the cracking ceiling above. And I smile, frost melting off my cheeks. The Englishman’s voice returns. Out loud. His accent foreign on my own lips. It is full and real and my doom. “Hello there, love.”