Page 5 of Scaredy Cat
And really, I’m not pissed.
I’m annoyed. And so verydone.
The walk back to the house isn’t long enough, and Blake’s voice is echoing through the foyer of the old farmhouse. Using it like a lure, I find the dining room already set up with candles and a Ouija board on the table, where Leah and Alice are already sitting with their cameras.
Alice grins and waves, gesturing for me to take the old wooden chair across from her. It’s hard, but I managenotto ask if it’s rigged to shake or creak whenever we ask the Ouija board a question. Instead I give her a smile and sit down gingerly, just to be sure, before scooting myself up to the table and looking down at the expensive-looking piece. If this were mine, I’d use it as art, rather than dragging it around to old houses and letting other people put their grubby fingers on it. While Blake finishes up his explanation, I reach out to the planchette, running my fingers over the engraved wood and smooth curves of the almost teardrop shape with a sigh of appreciation.
Definitely an art piece. Not a prop.
Finally, Blake drags his chair out loudly, not trying to be quiet, and sets the camera down on a tripod on the table. Alice does the same with hers, and when I glance between them, I realize that the cameras have a good view to get the reactions of everyone here and a clear shot of the board.
“You know how this works, right Persy?” Blake asks, smiling and beckoning for my hand. “We all have to touch it.”
“Yeah,” I agree, trying to look appropriately excited, or at least something more than disinterested. Hesitantly, I let him snatch my fingers, and the pads of my digits end up crammed together on the planchette with those of the other three people at the table.
Someone is so excited that the planchette trembles, but I know it isn’t from me. Judging by their faces, I can’t help but wonder if it’s Leah.
“Is anyone here? Anyone who wishes to make themselves known?” Blake’s voice is loud, his tone commanding. Like he really is calling out to someone in the house.
The planchette doesn’t move.
“Anyone at all?” he calls again. “Anyone who wants to?—”
The planchette suddenly jerks forward, but not before I feel Blake’s fingers tense on it. I don’t gasp like the two girls do, but I watch it with interest as the piece slides over to theyeson the board.
Blake needs to work on his subtlety.
I lose interest rapidly as he asks the ‘spirit’ questions, carefully getting a narrative out of the questions and short, words spelled out on the board. Through it all, my eyes stay fixed on it as Blake moves the planchette with subtle nudges from the girls, who only work to steer it when it starts to wobble. I remark occasionally, where it feels appropriate, while giving the cameras looks or a quick word here and there.
I’m still supposed to beentertaining, I remind myself dully. And if I could keep myself polite after getting tackled atScare Factorylast night, I’m sure I can suffer through this fake ‘investigation.’
Still, it drags. By the time Blake announces that the spirits are worn out and our investigation is at an end, I’m having trouble staying awake. He stands up and does a quick circle around the room, thanking sponsors and then his friends.
“Finally…” When I get up he comes to stand beside me, throwing an arm over my shoulders. His cologne is too strong, too sharp, and has the potential to make my eyes water. His arm is heavy, and too familiar, but I share a grin with him. “I want to thank Persy, illustrious host and creator ofScaredy Cat. She’s been so much fun to have along tonight.”
“Thank you so much for having me. This was my first paranormal investigation livestream,” I reply in my enthusiastic streamer voice. The one I use with those sponsorships that don’t interest me to still make it seem like I care. “It’s been a really great experience.”
“I don’t suppose we managed to scare you?” he asks, cracking a toothy smile at me. “Well, I guess if you did get scared, it would be thanks to the ghosts here. We heard about what happened in the shed.”
“Well…” I grimace apologetically, tilting my head side to side. “I don’t think you’ve made a believer out of me just yet.”
“Such a downer!” Blake makes a face at the camera and I give it a hapless shrug. “Just one more question for you.”
“Sure.” I go through the mental list of questions that I’m usually asked by content creators, wondering which it could be. Will he ask about collaborating again? Here on camera, where it’s harder to say no? God, I hope he doesn’t ask about the post I’ll be writing about this, or if I’ll be doing a video.
“Any chance you’ll be going to Miscreant Manor this year? Give all of us what we’ve beenbeggingfor since they first asked?”
My smile falters, wilts, and almost falls. My heart dips too, and when I turn to look at him, my mouth goes dry at his shit eating grin.
What a fucking jackass.
3
All of myindulgence and good humor is gone so fast that it almost feels like internal whiplash. My smile fades, draining from my face like water, and for a moment all I can do is look at Blake as the friendly teasing leaves his expression.
“Thanks so much for having me. But I’m not so sure a livestream is the appropriate place to ambush me about that, are you?” My words are friendly as fuck and not at all genuine, but my smile hitches back into place. I hadn’t planned on letting on that I knew about the shed. I thought I’d let them have their little prank. Now, however, it’s a battle not to admit to what I found on camera. “Unless the ghosts here are dying to know?” I’m careful to avoid an answer, and my smile holds as I stride toward the door with tight and painful steps.
I can’t look like I’m running away…even though that’s sort of what I’m doing. This feels like something I’ll have to address later, and I know that I’m going to take it out in my blog post—no.
