Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

for it.” She trailed a finger along the feather quill. “Automatic writing. If the
spirits are willing, I give full permission for them to take control of my hands
and write whatever message they deem fit. Isn’t this exciting?”
Squat Man reached into the briefcase and pulled out a device unlike
anything Wallace had ever seen. It was the size and shape of a remote, though
the comparison ended there. Out the top came stiff wires, each ending in a
small bulb. Squat Man turned a switch on the side, and the device burst to
life, lights flashing green. It squealed, a high-pitched mess filled with static.
Squat Man looked down at it with wide eyes. He tapped it against his palm.
The squeal died down, and the lights faded.
“Strange,” he mumbled. “Never had it do that before.”
“You’re ruining the ambiance,” Desdemona hissed out of the side of her
mouth, never looking away from the camera. “Did you charge the damned
thing?”
Squat Man wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I made sure of it.
Battery’s full.” He swung it back and forth around him. Wallace stepped out
of the way. It barely blipped when it came within inches of him.
“What are you doing?” a voice whispered beside him. “Whatever it is,
count me in, especially if it causes trouble.”
He looked over to see Nelson grinning obnoxiously. Wallace couldn’t
help but smile back. “I’m gonna mess with her.”
“Ooh,” Nelson said. “I approve.”
Thin Man frowned. “Did you hear something?”
“Only the sound of your voice, which I despise,” Desdemona said. She
glared at the few remaining customers until they too got up and left. “Less
talking, more focusing.”
Thin Man snapped his mouth closed as Squat Man stood on a chair,
raising the device toward the ceiling.
“Spirits!” Desdemona said shrilly. “I command that you speak with me! I
know you’re here.” She placed her hands on the planchette. “This board will
allow us to communicate with each other. Do you understand? There is
nothing to fear. I only wish to speak with you. I’ll not cause you harm. If you
prefer the pen and paper, make your intentions known. Enter me. Allow me to
be your voice.”
Nothing happened.
Desdemona frowned. “Take your time.”