Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity) by Anabell Martin Page B

the ancient plastic tree?”
    “We bought this separate, smart ass. Michelle broke the glass one that came with it.”
    “Hey! It fell out of the bag onto the pavement.”
    “Yeah, because  –”
    “So, we’re not doing this?” Lindsey interjected.
    “Yes, we’re still a-go. Why? You getting cold feet? I mean, you want to know who’s playing tricks on you, right?”
    Lindsey was hesitant. She had only heard bad things about these boards and was a little scared that she might find out something she didn’t really want to know. Then again, this thing looked more like an innocuous game than something sinister. She sighed and placed her fingers on the marker like Michelle had done.  What the hell , she thought. It’s not like Michelle knows what she’s doing anyway .
    “Greetings, spirits! We are talking only to the spirit or spirits that call Retreat House home. Can you please come forth and speak with us?” Michelle projected loudly to be heard over the churning weather outside.
    Nothing.
    “We come in peace; we do not wish to harm you. We would just like to know why you are lingering here.”
    Nothing.
    “See. This is stupid. We should – ” Lindsey started. But the planchette under their fingers began to glide around the board slowly, making a slow figure eight. Her fingertips tingled as if an electrical impulse was radiating from the plastic under them.
    “Alright. Ha, ha. Why are you moving it?” Lindsey asked, her voice quivering.
    “Lindsey, I’m barely touching it!” Michelle whispered, obviously shocked as much as Lindsey was.
    “Look! It’s spelling something! Quick, Maddie! Write this down! S – A – M – B – O… Sambo? Your name is Sambo?”
    The planchette slowly slid to the word “Yes.”
    “How old are you, Sambo?”
    The planchette stopped over the number four.
    “You’re four? Really?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is there anyone else here?”
    “Yes,” the board said.
    “Who?”
    The planchette moved in a figure-eight pattern again before spelling out the name Tom. Their fingers were moved swiftly around the board as Sambo told the girls that he and Tom, his younger brother, had died in the house “a long time ago” when their momma hurt them to save them from the “angry masser man.” Sambo said that the man had hurt his momma, too. Everything was better now, he reassured them, because their momma was there with them in the house and that the mean man was finally gone. He said that they liked to play with Lindsey by moving her stuff and jumping on her bed. They weren’t trying to scare her, they had been lonely in the house for a long time so it was nice to have someone else around again. Lindsey asked why they had never done anything to Aimee.
    “We did, but she ignored us,” he answered.
    “Yeah, that sounds like Mom. She thinks in the concrete, so she had an explanation.”
    The girls asked if the old lady who died in the kitchen was still there, but Sambo said she wasn't, that she went “into the light” when it shone down on her. He said she never paid them much attention, though, so he was glad that she wasn't there with them now.  The other lady, he said, was nice and acknowledged them at least, but she wasn’t there either. Lindsey assumed they were talking about Angela. After this, the planchette moved in a figure eight several times and stopped.
    “Wow, it’s really chilly in here all of a sudden,” Lindsey rubbed her forearms where goose bumps had popped up.
    The girls waited a couple of moments, but when it was obvious that Sambo wasn't going to talk anymore, Maddie said, “See, it’s just a couple of kids. They don’t mean to scare you. It’s like you have your own little Caspers!”
    “Thank you, Sambo. We will now leave you and Tom in peace. Good – ” Michelle was saying when the windows slammed open and wind gusted through the room, blowing out the candles. A bolt of lightning forked violently across the sky as the curtains danced on the wet