Cynthia seemed barely able to breathe and Henry hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to upset Imogen too much, but he needed to make contact.
Slowly he moved the planchette. He was feeling rather tired from doing it. It seemed to need all his energy.
The planchette moved to H and then E. Everyone stared in fascinated shock. Henry fancied he could hear their racing hearts.
He thought it would take all night to get a message across if he had to do one letter at a time. They’d still be there this time tomorrow. He really wanted to tell them that he wasn’t dead, at least, not really. He pushed the planchette to Y and fell back exhausted.
‘Henry,’ cried Cynthia. ‘Henry, it’s Cynthia here with Imogen.’
She still treats me like a fool, thought Henry.
Imogen swallowed some wine, her wide eyes not leaving the planchette.
‘Do you have something to tell us, Henry?’ asked Faye.
Henry placed his weary fingers onto the planchette again. Imogen seemed frozen to the spot.
‘I wish John was here,’ said Cynthia.
‘N O T,’ called out Faye as if the others could not see or read. ‘D E A D’
Imogen gasped.
‘Stop it,’ she cried, pulling her hand back as if it had been burnt. ‘Stop it now, Faye. Henry is dead. Everyone knows he is dead.’
Faye looked shaken.
‘I’m honestly not doing anything.’
‘Look,’ cried Cynthia. ‘It’s moving again, and I’ve taken my hand away.’
Henry found it more difficult now that Cynthia and Imogen had moved their fingers. Faye obviously not wanting to be seen to be doing it alone also removed her fingers. Henry struggled to move it on his own, but it was too difficult.
‘What does it mean?’ asked Cynthia.
‘Not dead,’ repeated Faye and then gasped. ‘Oh dear, perhaps he’s stuck. I’ve heard of that.’
She bit her lips the minute the words had left them.
‘Stuck where?’ asked Cynthia.
Imogen screamed and scrambled back on the floor, her hands unable to move as fast as her feet.
‘Get rid of it,’ she shouted. ‘Get it out of my house. Of course he isn’t stuck.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Cynthia. ‘Henry isn’t stuck. This is horrible, quite horrible.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Faye, still shaking. She packed up the board and planchette and quickly pushed it back into her bag.
Cynthia tried to calm Imogen, but she was inconsolable.
‘Is he here? Is he really here?’ she said, her head turning in all directions.
Henry was weary. This wasn’t the reaction he had hoped for. He thought Imogen would phone the police.
‘I thought you would remove all spirits,’ Imogen yelled.
‘I think you need a priest,’ said Faye quietly.
