Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

WINIFRED CHAPEL

THREE YEARS AGO

" M aybe…maybe we shouldn't be doing this," I say quietly, staring warily at the wooden board spread out between us.

Ophelia huffs from where she sits cross-legged facing me, mirroring my position. "Oh, come on, don't back out now. It probably won't even work," she says teasingly.

Frowning, I lift my gaze to hers, peering over my glasses that have started to slip. Before I can adjust them, she reaches over, nudging them up herself.

My cheeks heat and I roll my lips together to mask my smile.

I secretly love when she does that. Always have. But it's…different now…has been for a while, and that's the secret part.

Though…maybe it's not so much a secret anymore, if the way she quickly glances away, cheeks flushing, hands wringing in her lap are anything to go by.

My pulse speeds up as an awkward, familiar sort of tension fills the space between us.

It's been happening a lot more lately. Rising from seemingly out of nowhere—nowhere, because things like her nudging my glasses up, or throwing an arm over my shoulders, or brushing back my hair and fixing the braids that just won't hold…

It's how it's always been for us.

We've known each other forever. Been the best of friends since the first day of kindergarten when we ended up getting seated together in afternoon Mass. She'd snuck in candy she'd saved from lunch—Twizzlers—and shared them with me. I knew it wasn't allowed, but I loved Twizzlers, and she was the first girl in our class to acknowledge me all day.

We got caught, of course. Nothing ever got past the nuns. And together, side-by-side in the Reverend Mother's office, we endured our punishment—three thwacks of the ruler over each set of knuckles.

We've been inseparable ever since.

Is it possible she's been just as confused as me?

Is it possible I'm not the only one wanting…more?

Now, lightning flickers over Ophelia's room, mingling with the candlelight coming from her nightstand, closely followed by a low rumble of thunder.

It's still raining pretty hard from the sounds of it—slanting against the window in uneven bursts. Occasionally, a tree branch can be heard thwapping against the siding of the house.

The crappy weather only heightens my growing unease as I watch Ophelia put her hands on the rounded, triangular board that the spirits will supposedly guide across the letters to speak with us. A planchette, I remember reading it's called.

This isn't the first time we've tried it since we found it at Yolanda's Antiques last month. The older woman seemed confused when we brought it to her to ring up. Reluctant to sell it. There wasn't even a price sticker on it.

But Ophelia is nothing if not charming when she wants to be.

She may or may not have also paid three times more than what it's probably worth.

"Be careful," Yolanda warned when we went to leave, the board wrapped in paper. "Don't forget to cast out the spirits and say goodbye when you're done. It's imperative that you close the door you open."

Ophelia and I had shared a grin at that, fighting a laugh. We nodded and promised we'd be careful, before taking off and heading straight for the beach. It was an uncharacteristically warm, sunny afternoon for it only being May.

Not surprisingly, nothing happened. Well, it moved, but it had more to do with Ophelia pushing it and pretending she wasn't more than anything.

The second time we played with it was last week. We'd been storing it at the beach, in a small crawl space between the rocks where no one was likely to find it.

Again, the thing didn't move on its own.

That is until we got up to leave…and Ophelia gasped and dropped it like it burned her.

Which is exactly what she claimed to have happened. I didn't believe it, of course. She's a good liar, I'll give her that—always has been. But she has her tells, if you know how to drag them out of her. For one, her eyes get real big and round the longer you stare at her when she's trying not to give anything away. Which is quickly followed by a laugh bursting out.

Case in point…

I rolled my eyes as she broke into a fit of giggles, and picked the thing up off from where it landed in a shrub. Only to nick my fingertip on something sharp. A thorn or nettles, probably.

I didn't think too much about it until we'd made our way over to the crawl space, and I noticed I was bleeding. Not a lot, but it was smudged over the planchette.

With a frown, I wiped it off on my jeans, before shoving it between the rocks, with the board Ophelia had just slid in there.

As we turned and started to walk away, I don't know what prompted me to pause and glance back. But when I did, I found the planchette laying on the ground in the open, a foot away from where I'd just hidden it, pointed toward us.

Ophelia ooohed when she noticed.

Rushing back toward it, I scooped it up, and was about to shove it back with the spirit board, when Ophelia stopped me. Said we should bring it home with us. "We'll sneak it upstairs. I'll make a diversion while you hide it."

Something niggled at the back of my mind—a warning—but I chalked it up to just being paranoid. It's just a silly game after all. Rationally, I know it's not real. I probably just didn't secure it, and it slid out.

And yet tonight, in the dark, with a storm raging outside, I can't fight this nagging feeling that bringing it back here was a bad idea.

Like we're…tempting fate or something.

You're being ridiculous and you know it .

As if sensing where my thoughts went, Ophelia scoots a little closer, knocking the uneven edge of the board against my shins, and says, "It didn't burn me last time?—"

"Obviously," I say dryly, gesturing at the hand she was holding it with

She sticks her tongue out at me. "Shut up, bitch," she says jokingly.

I mock-gasp. "Rude."

"Anyway…" she says, still smiling, drawing attention to the single dimple in her right cheek. "As I was saying, it didn't burn me. But I swear it did get hot for a second."

"Uh huh."

"I'm serious."

I narrow my eyes, considering her for a long moment. Candlelight flickers over her angular face, sharpening her features. Two low, perfectly woven French braids drape over her shoulders, the ends curling up just below her small breasts.

My throat thickens when I realize what I'm doing, and my gaze springs up to find Ophelia chewing her lip, dark eyes unreadable, almost nervous, as they peer back at me. I quickly glance away, and clear my throat, pasting on a grin as if nothing happened. "Okay then, fine, prove it. Let's make this thing talk."

"Give me your finger."

I turn a frown on her. "Wha—What are you doing?" I whisper-shout, eyes widening when I find her pricking her finger with a safety pin. Where did that even come from?

"You gave me an idea last time, when you cut yourself. So I did some research," she explains.

I watch as a bead of bright red blood forms on the tip of her middle finger.

"Ophie…"

She glances up at me, crooks a small grin. "It's fine. Barely pinched. Your turn." She reaches for my hand, but I quickly take it back, clutching it against my chest.

It hurting is not what I'm worried about.

Again, a surging sense of foreboding has me wanting to throw this thing out the window and forget it exists.

Ophelia rolls her eyes. "Whatever, suit yourself." Dropping the pin on the mattress, she grabs the planchette, and rubs her blood over it, soaking it into the soft, polished wood.

Leaning around the board, I grab the safety pin, careful not to poke myself with it. When I pull back, I briefly debate doing the same as her, before shaking away the stupid idea and snapping the pin closed. Blindly setting it somewhere behind me.

It's not going to work. She hurt herself for nothing, she'll see.

"Ready?" she chirps.

I nod shortly.

Setting the planchette down on the board, she moves her fingers so they rest lightly on the edge. I follow suit, making sure I add no pressure whatsoever. Blowing rogue strands of hair from my eyes, before speaking.

"Hello. Is there anyone here right now, who'd like to say something?"

Seconds pass as we hold our breath, staring down at the board.

My finger twitches, but the thing doesn't move.

"Let me try," Ophelia says, before taking a deep breath. "Hello?" she says, her voice ringing out clear.

"Shh," I say, glancing toward the locked bedroom door. Her parents' room is down the hall. Her mom's on a business trip this weekend—she's one of the few who commute out of Hollow Hill for work. So it's just her dad tonight, and he sleeps like a rock.

Still, the guy's pretty cool and all, but I doubt he'd look too kindly on his daughter and her best friend playing what the church would call a Devil's game.

Ignoring me, Ophelia goes on to say, "Is there anyone here who'd like to speak? The floor is yours. We're listening."

I bite back a smile, watching her. Her eyes are closed, her inky lashes fluttering over her cheeks.

Thunder rumbles quietly, and there's a howl caught on the wind.

Ophelia's mouth opens like she's about to say something else, when I feel the faintest movement under my fingers.

Her eyes fly open in surprise, and drop down to the board.

"You did that," I murmur.

She's shaking her head. "Shush. Hello, is someone here? It's okay, you don't have to be?—"

My gaze drops at the same time her voice cuts out.

Eyes widening, I watch as the planchette rattles ever so faintly, my eyes darting between Ophelia's and my fingers, ensuring it's not one of us doing that.

But it's not.

Suddenly, the thing darts across the board, stopping on the word Hello.

We both flinch back, hands spread, hovering over the board. Our eyes lock, our mouths parted. Ophelia gives her head a little shake, wonder slowly replacing some of her shock.

And despite the nerves squeezing my lungs…

I can't deny I'm not fascinated too.

Is this really happening?

"Um, hi," Ophelia says, not taking her eyes off me. "I'm Ophelia. This is Winifred."

We look down when we hear a quiet thump. The planchette twitches on HELLO, like it's telling us it heard us.

"What's your name?" Ophelia asks.

We wait a few seconds.

"Maybe stick to yes and no questions," I whisper.

"Right." A beat, then, "Are you…a man?"

A second passes, before the planchette darts over to settle over the word NO.

There's a smile in Ophelia's voice when she says, "So a woman?"

The thing darts over to YES— no hesitation.

"This is crazy," I whisper.

"Are you from Hollow Hill?"

NO.

"Where are you—sorry, never mind. Um…" Ophelia looks to me for help.

Wetting my lips, I look down at the board and ask, "Is Heaven real?"

Ophelia says nothing as we both wait.

YES.

My heart skips a beat. Is God then? Because he probably wouldn't like this too much. "Is—" I start to say, but Ophelia beats me to it with a question of her own.

"Is Hell real?"

Eyes wide, I dart them up to her, with a little shake of my head. She just shrugs.

Like earlier when it said hello, the thing wobbles a bit, but stays where it's at. YES.

"Well, shit."

"Ophelia!"

She giggles lightly. "You started it."

"I wanted to know if Heaven and God are real, not?—"

The thing doesn't just wobble this time, it spins like a top.

Ophelia's brows spike. "Okay…"

I'm about to tell her maybe we should call it a night. We got our answer. It works.

But with her next question, everything falls away.

"Does Winifred like me?"

I freeze.

Lifting my gaze, I find Ophelia staring intently down at the board, her mouth a hard line. Even in shadow, save for the flickering flame, I can see the way her cheeks darken.

The planchette wobbles, but otherwise stays in place. YES.

Ophelia's lips twist together, and she sits a little straighter, like she's steeling herself. "If I kissed her, would she kiss me back?"

My heart drops somewhere in my stomach, leaving a cavernous space for all the butterflies that surge to my chest, making me feel light-headed.

Despite knowing the answer, I find myself looking down at the board…a plea chanting in my head. It doesn't even occur to me to question how the spirit would even know these answers.

YES.

A breath blows out, and I peek up through my lashes to find Ophelia doing the same. This time, the tension that tugs between us isn't so much as awkward, but stronger than ever. A living, breathing thing.

And I find myself asking the board, "Does Ophelia like me back?"

YES.

I gulp.

"Maybe it's broken," I whisper, not taking my eyes off Ophelia's face.

"Do…do you think it is?"

I'm near-trembling when I give a jerky shake of my head. "You?"

She shakes her head right back.

Then, pushing up onto her knees, she picks up the board, and not taking her eyes off me, carefully sets it to the side, before walking on her knees toward me.

The game is forgotten, right along with my shock and disbelief. All that exists right now is Ophelia—coming to a stop in front of me.

Mouth twitching, she darts her eyes all around my face. Lower… "This hair," she murmurs, reaching up and fingering the long wispy strands that curl down toward my chest. Her eyes search between mine as she releases them to slide her hands around my cheeks, cupping them gently.

My mouth dries, anticipation licking a thrill up my spine, making me tremble..

Angling my head back, she leans down, pausing just over my lips. "This okay?"

"I—" My breath hitches.

Wrong.

I know this is wrong.

Her brow knits as she pulls back slightly, her grip on my cheeks tightening, as if more certain than a moment ago.

My nerves—my hesitance…

It doesn't scare her off.

It emboldens her.

"I want to kiss you, Winnie. And I know you want to kiss me too. I've seen the way you've been looking at me."

My swallow goes down hard. I don't deny it. How could I, when this is all that I've been secretly wishing for for months now, maybe years? How could I when she's looking back at me like she too has been waiting for this moment, agonizing over how I'd react…if it would jeopardize our friendship?

How could I think there's anything wrong or unnatural about kissing my best friend, my other half, the girl who tests me and tempts me and makes me feel more alive than anyone else in the universe?

How could I ever say no to this?

The spirit board knew I wouldn't be able to. It said as much.

And as absurd as it may be, it's that final thread of reasoning that has me nodding into the smooth, warm hands cradling my face.

And when Ophelia bridges the gap, gently sealing her lips to mine?—

When hesitant, shy brushes of the mouth give way to deepening sips, tongue-curling ecstasy, and the world goes sideways, and we're rolling around, hands grappling at shoulders and backs—the wet smacking sounds of our lips, mingling with gasps and suppressed sounds as we feel our bodies molding together through our clothes in the most sinful of ways, the only storm to be heard?—

I pray, Please don't let tonight be a dream.

At some point, Ophelia removes my glasses, setting them on the nightstand. Meanwhile, I take the moment to grab the forgotten Ouija board, and set it on the floor next to the bed. Just before we come back together, Ophelia blows out the candle, plummeting us into darkness.

"We never said goodbye," I murmur against her mouth when we find each other once more, feeling blindly with our bodies and lips in the dark as we get under the covers.

Humming around my bottom lip, she releases it to say, "I'm sure she understands. We'll apologize tomorrow."

My quiet laugh hitches when she slams her lips back against mine with bruising force.

We make out for what feels like hours, braving touches over clothing, and taking turns driving each other crazy with shivery neck kisses.

And when exhaustion finally wins out, dragging us down, I catch myself praying again?—

Please don't let tonight be a dream.

I wake up to a nightmare.

"Winnie! Winifred, wake up!" Someone's shaking me.

Behind my heavy eyes, flickers of light dance, warring with dense black spots.

I feel…funny.

Like I'm sinking.

"WINNIE!"

The shout is followed by a slap ringing out, and my head whips to the side, a dull numb ache quickly giving way to a needling sensation.

Ow.

My eyes flutter open, brows knitted with a combination of pain and confusion as I bring a heavy hand to my face. I look around wildly, but between my foggy vision, and the bleariness of a deep sleep clinging to me, I can't make out anything more than orange and gray blobs.

And then I realize it's not my eyes.

It's smoke.

My heart jackknifes with panic, and next thing I know, I'm being heaved up to a seated position. Turning my head, I cough harshly, blinking rapidly against the stinging in my eyes and nostrils as I try to catch my bearings.

"Come on!" My glasses are suddenly shoved in my hand, and I quickly put them on just as my arm is thrown around slim shoulders, and I'm dragged to a stand. "We have to get out of here."

Ophelia…

"Wh-what?—"

"I don't know, I don't know," she cries..

The smoke filling her bedroom is so dense, save for where flames climb up her curtains and walls, singing them black, lifting the corners of her wallpaper.

When we reach the door, I twist around to look over my shoulder.

There, on the ground is a candle on its side, pointed toward the curtains.

A horrible feeling bottoms out my gut.

We blew that out…

Didn't we? I could've sworn…

Oh God.

The house creaks threateningly.

Ophelia yelps when she throws open the door, and I turn to face ahead, eyes rounding as I look around. How did it spread this far already if it started in her room?

"Come on," I hear her yell over the roaring flames that seem to be climbing over every wall.

Slipping out from under Ophelia, I turn toward her and give her a nod as I bring the collar of my shirt up to my face, covering my nose and mouth. She does the same, and then we carefully descend the stairs to the first level.

The smoke is even thicker down here. The fire has spread everywhere.

The front door lays straight ahead, currently unobstructed, and I could cry in relief.

Grabbing Ophelia by the arm, I start tugging her toward safety. I can hear muffled yelling as she tries to say something—call something out—but it's impossible to make sense of it under the whooshing of the fire and the ringing in my ears.

Why aren't the smoke detectors going off?

We stumble outside, down her porch steps, and fall to our knees in the grass. It's only then that I realize what Ophelia was yelling inside.

"Dad!"

Pushing to an unsteady stand, she staggers around, yelling out for her dad in between harsh, wet coughs. While I heave into the lawn, blinking bleary-eyed around their front yard.

In the distance, I catch flickers of red and blue—hear sirens drawing closer. With the St. Maud manor being right at the edge of town where Main Street ends, it's only a matter of time before people start gathering to watch the scene, if they aren't there already.

Wouldn't they be helping us though?

"Dad! DAD!"

I turn and scramble to a stand, all but tackling Ophelia to the ground just before she reaches the porch steps.

She shoves me off her, crab-crawling away from me.

"What are you doing?" I shout, triggering another cough attack.

"My dad!" she cries, tears streaking down her soot-covered face. Is that what I look like too? "I have to get him." She goes to stand again, and pushes me off when I try to yank her back down.

Tripping over herself, she manages to reach the porch just as a wooden beam comes swinging down from the overhang. She jumps back at the same time I lunge for her, grabbing her around the waist, pulling her away from where sparks explode into the smoky night.

There's more creaking, and the roar of flames seems to be growing louder. They've all but swallowed up the house in record time. If her dad's still in there…

I choke back tears, squeezing Ophelia to me, burying my face in her shoulder.

"Let me go!" she screams, clawing at my arms.

The strength it takes me to keep her from running into a burning building seconds from collapsing in on itself is nothing short of inhuman.

"LET ME GO! DAD! DAD, PLEASE!"

Her heart-wrenching screams echo into the night. Over the flames. Over the crackling structure. Over the sirens and shouts that come from the street.

"DAD!"

And still, I somehow manage to hold her back.

All I can think is, I can't lose you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me.

When exhaustion inevitably steals her fight, we fall to the ground, with me wrapped around her, holding her as tight as I can. As if that can somehow make it better. As if that can somehow make up for her loss.

Her house…

Her dad…

Just before firefighters drag us back, and paramedics converge on us, another beam falls across the porch, sending up more sparks.

My gaze lifts, drifting past the open door, and into the flames that have now consumed the interior of the house. And I swear, for a moment, I see something that shouldn't be there…

Some one.

A tall shadowy figure flickering in and out between the wild orange flames.

It almost looks as if it's reaching toward me.

No, toward us.

Blackness edges along my vision, narrowing it to a single point just as someone starts tugging us back.

Not once do I take my eyes off the house.

And when it collapses in on itself a second later, I swear I heard a woman's high-pitched scream in the midst of the crashing rubble and roaring whoosh of flames..

Just as everything goes black, the ground rushing toward my face, I hear Yolanda's voice from weeks ago when we bought the Ouija board from her—her warning.

"Don't forget to cast out the spirits and say goodbye when you're done."

And all I can think, as unconsciousness devours me whole…

What did we do?

What the fuck did we do?