by Christina Rosso
The woman in the black veil stands in the corner, still and statuesque, as they set up the room. Lace cloth hugs the round table, candles of various heights and widths in bronze holders, their wicks dancing, casting quivering shadows, a ouija board and planchette placed at one end. Her wrist flicks every few seconds as she jumbles the crystals in her grip.
She takes her seat, and with a nod tells the others to join her. She lays the crystals in front of her without a sound. Her hands hover above the planchette before placing her fingers on the wood. Her voice is muffled under the veil, the siblings catching the slurp of an s or the pop of a p. They look at each other, the red veins of their eyes exposed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, the sister says. Maybe we should ask her to stop.
“Madame, could we stop?” the brother says. “Please, can we stop?”
A low growl echoes around the room, piercing their flesh. Goose pimples explode along their arms, legs, and necks. The siblings ask each other where the noise is coming from. “I think it?s coming from her,” the sister says as the candles snuff out, coating everything in darkness.
Lacey follows her brother’s lead, fitting the lace cloth to the round table, placing and lighting the candles of various heights and widths in bronze holders, and laying the ouija board at one end. The woman in the black veil stands in the corner behind her brother, still and ominous like a ghoul from a scary movie. Lacey’s eyes narrow, trying to see past the veil to the woman beneath it. She
wonders if this is a good idea after all.
The woman in black takes her seat, and nods to tell Lacey and Todd to join her at the table. Lacey watched her lay down the crystals she’d been jerking in her hand like Yahztee pieces. The woman hovers her hands above the heart shaped piece of wood on top of the ouija board. When her fingers touch the wood, she begins to speak, a sharp buzzing filling the room.
Lacey’s eyes meet her brother’s. She wants to tell him that she doesn’t need to know where the power came from. That if Mother and Uncle Tomas didn’t tell them maybe that meant they didn’t have it. And if they did, maybe it was better to leave it in the shadows. Instead of all that, she says, Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, without uttering a word. Maybe we should ask her to stop.
Okay, he responds telepathically. He clears the phlegm in his throat and says out loud, “Madame, could we stop?” When she continues as though he hasn’t spoken, he says, “Please, can we stop?”
A low growl echoes around the room, piercing their flesh. Goose pimples explode along their arms, legs, and necks. The siblings ask each other where the noise is coming from. “I think it’s coming from her,” the sister says as the candles snuff out, coating everything in darkness.
The woman in the black veil stands in the corner, still and statuesque, as they set up the room. She watches them place the lace cloth on the table, then candles of various heights and widths in bronze holders, and finally a ouija board and planchette. Her wrist flicks every few seconds as she jumbles the crystals in her grip. She waits for it. A glimmer from her crystals, a faint rush of whispering.
When it happens, she moves to the table, taking her seat. The woman in black nods to tell the siblings to join her. She lays the crystals in front of her without a sound. They shine onyx. Her hands hover above the planchette before placing her fingers on the wood. She watches the twins through the mesh of her veil. Then she begins to chant. She knows her voice is muffled under the veil; she doesn’t want them to hear what she’s saying. Creases flex around her eyes as she watches them look at each other, panicked.
The hue of her crystals lightens to a deep purple. She imagines what the siblings are saying to one another. What have we gotten ourselves into? We should stop. Tell her to stop. No, you tell her to stop. She wonders if they are worried about their secret being discovered. They should be. That kind of knowledge in the wrong hands, in her hands, is dangerous to them, like it was to their mother
and uncle. She ignores the brother’s pleas to stop. They should have been wiser. Didn’t they know twins have been sought after for centuries? The hunger for their magic is insatiable. It drives seekers to all kinds of trickery, even impersonating a spiritualist to help them communicate with deceased loved ones. Anything to harness their powers.
The crystals are almost ready. The woman in the black veil lowers her jaw, and as mimicked during repeated viewings of The Grudge, lets out a low, feral growl. The twins’ bodies ripple in fear. The crystals are pale purple now. Almost there, the woman in black tells herself. “I think it’s coming from her,” the sister says. The woman blows through her veil silently, snuffing the candles out, coating everything in darkness. Just like she practiced.
The twins don’t speak a word out loud, yet she can hear every exchange. She can tap into their power now. The woman grins in triumph behind her veil. The crystals shine a bright white.
Christina Rosso is a writer and bookstore owner living in South Philadelphia with her bearded husband and two rescue pups. Her debut collection, SHE IS A BEAST, is forthcoming from APEP Publications. Her writing has been featured in FIVE:2:ONE Magazine, Digging Through the Fat, Ellipsis Zine, and more. Visit christina-rosso.com or find her on Twitter @Rosso_Christina.
