I look around the entire room at everyone who’s here. They’ve gathered around close. Body heat makes it easier to want to drink, thinking that it’ll cool me down.
There has to be, like, a hundred people here.
Brad shouts above the noise, “We will attempt to make contact with the presence!”
Brad’s talking in a way that’s not like him. He got it from that investigative haunt show. It’s ridiculous. I want to be like, Brad, are you serious? Instead, I don’t say anything.
“We will bring our collective energies together”—Brad raises his hands—“by bringing our thoughts to the board.”
People focus on the board, the little device that points to different letters, which I hope will be spelling out “Brad you asshole.”
No, I’m not bitter.
I just don’t really feel like I’m a part of this — this event that’s really just about everyone feeling better about themselves, everyone wanting to meet up and feel important.
Brad asks everyone to “hold the hands of those next to you. Let us bind together and begin our discussion with the demon that has chosen our dear friend Hunter as a host.”
“Dear friend.” That’s something to note. Well, I note it at least.
The way he says “friend” makes it sound like it might be an insult, but then again, Brad is an asshole. He can’t help it. I think he’s maybe the only person in this room who might actually believe that we’re friends. So what does that mean when you look at how he treats and talks about me? Yeah, I really don’t know. I’m not so sure it needs to be something I think a lot about.
I’m busy not thinking about what’s going on.
Everyone lowers their chins, looking down at the board.
Brad says, “Now we call out to the presence! We call out in hopes of reaching you!”
Jon-Jon leans in and whispers into my ear, “You’re up.”
Up for what? I didn’t know I needed to do anything else. You got the party. You got them to believe that this will work.
Jon-Jon nudges me with his elbow. “Go sit at the board. Grab the pointer.”
I don’t want to but I do. I sit down and I put my hands on the pointer thing.
I look around at everyone.
They’re mystified by the whole process.
People love these types of things. I know they do because I used to as well. It always makes for a great time. I’m jealous. As I look into the eyes of these strangers, I’m really, really jealous. They will have a good time. They are having a good time. And it’ll get better, the longer this party goes on. I won’t be able to have as much fun as them. I know more about H and what’s happening than they ever could. Even if they did… even if they knew more about what it feels like to be near a demon, they wouldn’t experience it the same way I am. And I keep going back to Nikki, to all the things people have said to me, all the enthusiasm, all the kind words that simply couldn’t sound any weirder and off-putting, like they’re all meant as an insult.
I keep looking at everything as the opposite of the true intention. Someone says that it’s great that I’m haunted and I take it like they’re saying, I don’t really know you or care to know you, but I’m fascinated with the fact that you are being haunted so I’m going to pretend that I really want to get to know you, even though we have nothing in common and I won’t ever try to listen to what you have to say! Wow, that really does sound bitter.
Okay, well, here I am.
Right here and now.
I look down at the board when Brad starts asking H questions.
Fingers on the pointer, waiting for the reply, I think, “Don’t do anything, H. Don’t even bother. Sorry for this. But maybe you understand how I feel.” It makes some sense, you know? What does a demon get but a lot of fear and a lot of curiosity from people? So many people are driven to wanting to know. And, I mean, I’m one of them. I can’t help but want to know more.
But this isn’t the way.
Brad asks, “Are you here, in this room, with us right now?”
Brad says, “Give us a sign that you are here.”
Brad commands, “Move a chair, make a sound…”
Brad asks, “Can you make a noise? Can you turn this room cold?”
I’m repeating it over and over like I have some command over H: Don’t do anything. Don’t do anything. Don’t do anything. Don’t do anything.
I know that I don’t have a clue.
At the same time, though, I kind of want them all to freak out the way I did when the symptoms started showing. I’m thinking it’ll be good to give them a scare.
I’ll move the pointer if you make the room cold. It’s a sauna as it is, everyone stinking the place up with their BO. At least we’ll get a moment of cool air.
I take it back so that when Brad starts repeating the same questions like they do in the show, repeating them until they get a response, I move the pointer so that the answer to “Are you here, in this room, with us right now?” is a definite “Yes.”
There are gasps.
There are sounds of people gagging, freaking out.
Some people laugh.
One guy shouts out, “Holy shit!”
Like they didn’t see this in a movie, on TV, on the news, maybe even at another friend’s or family’s place. Then again, maybe you never get used to it. Priests always look nervous at the start of the exorcism.
When Brad says the next question—“Give us a sign that you are here”—the room goes cold right when I know that it’ll happen. It’s hard to explain but it’s a lot like the conversation at the table in my dream. I didn’t know until I knew, and it was because I knew, at that precise moment, that made all the difference. The room chilled like a meat locker; people are shivering for more than one reason. And I look at them, kind of amused by the whole thing.
They are the ones being used, for my amusement and maybe for H’s.
I know that H did it.
I know that he did. I know, but I cannot confirm because I only know that “H did.” There’s nothing else that comes to mind to support what just happened. If I ask why, there’s only the one answer for when you don’t have anything else to say: “Because.”
I spot Nikki to my left, shivering, more than a little freaked out.
She looks right at me, and I understand that look.
It’s straight-up guilt and regret.
It’s like this one event, a simple sign that H is around and maybe watching, is enough for her to lose her cool.
I can imagine Nikki wanting to apologize, wanting a second chance, but then again, I won’t let her. I won’t give her that second chance, even though I like thinking that she’ll ask.
She would, wouldn’t she?
I know she would.
Brad stutters, “W-will you move this chair?” He points to a chair. He’s losing the audience. He’s not talking in that voice anymore. Brad looks at me and says, “Bro, this is crazy…”
They all just wanted to be near, not directly involved.
Jon-Jon looks happy. Yeah, he’s happy. The fact that it’s cold in here means he probably made a ton of money.
How much of that will I see?
What kind of cut am I going to get?
Part of me cares, but the other part just wants to see the party fall apart.
Brad ends up asking, “So you’re not going to, like, move the chair?”
I watch people exhale all nervous, seeing their breath, which they also see, and because they can see it, some leave the room. Maybe leave the party.
I think, “That’s how it’s going to happen. This is how the party can end.”
I think, “Crash the party.”
Brad’s is the only voice in the room, barely a shout now: “Give us another sign, uh, that you’re here with us.”
Someone can be heard whispering, “Dude, you’re going to piss it off.”