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PROLOGUE

Ronan

Quincy, Massachusetts, Halloween Night, 1999…

Fourteen-year-old Ronan O’Mara felt like his own man. After begging and pleading, which included multiple promises that Ronan would do the dishes and laundry, without complaint, his mother had finally given in and allowed Ronan to go to Mark Anthony’s Halloween Party.

Instead of going trick or treating, the guests would spend the night at Mark’s house eating their weight in pizza, hot wings, and ice cream, courtesy of Mark’s parents. The house had a finished basement with a big-screen television, stereo system, the latest video game console, and was, according to Mark’s parents, blessedly soundproofed. A nuke could detonate in the basement and no one would hear it. At least that’s what Mark said. Ronan had wanted to point out that they wouldn’t be able to hear the nuke because they’d be instantly liquified into puddles of goo, but he’d kept his mouth shut, for once.

Getting invited to Mark’s party was a big deal for Ronan. He was on the fringe of being in with the popular clique after catching a last second Hail Mary pass to win a football game for the Quincy Independent Hawks. It was only Pee-Wee League football, but to the kids at school, it might well have been the NFL.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Mark asked, after the food had been delivered and inhaled.

“A Nightmare on Elm Street!” Bobby Jones said. “Freddy’s a pussy. I’m not scared of that little bitch!”

Ronan, however, was scared. He’d sneaked downstairs in the middle of the night last Halloween to watch the infamous slasher film and had to use a throw pillow against his mouth to muffle his screams. He’d had to sleep with a light on in his room for two months after that incident. “Yeah, Freddy sucks dick! How about one of the Friday the 13th movies?” Jason Voorhees also scared the fuck out of Ronan, yet one more piece of information he’d keep to himself. Maybe his mother was right and keeping his big mouth shut wasn’t so hard after all.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Justin Marler said, as all eyes turned to him.

Justin was famous for two things: his heavenly blue eyes, which the girls, and Ronan, lost their minds over, and his dumbass ideas. More often than not, Justin was late to football practice because he’d gotten a detention for doing something stupid. Or saying something stupid. Or suggesting something stupid. Ronan had a feeling whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to be stupid too.

“I brought something for us to do.” Justin got off the floor, where he’d been sitting in front of the coffee table and ran toward his sleeping bag, stowed across the room. He came back seconds later, carrying a flat box, which he held up for the other boys to see.

“What the hell is an ohh-u-gah board?” Dalton Summers asked.

“It’s pronounced wee-gee.” Justin rolled his eyes.

“I thought we came here to watch scary movies, not play Candyland like a bunch of babies. Unless you are a fucking baby!” Bobby smirked at Justin.

Ronan had never heard of wee-gee. He was about to ask what it was when Connor Joseph piped up from beside the sofa. “It’s a spirit board, dumbass. You use it to summon ghosts or demons from the other side.” He took the box from Justin. Opening it up, he pulled out the board and held it up for the others to see.

The board was yellowed with age. The letters of the alphabet were written out in a fancy script. Beneath the letters were numbers from zero to nine. The word “YES” was written in the upper left hand corner, while “NO” was on the right. “Goodbye” was written below the numbers. Ronan shivered. The board gave off an insidious feel. He’d much rather watch Freddy Kruger slice and dice his way through dreaming teenagers than touch the game.

Connor moved empty pizza boxes out of the way and set the board on the table. He went back to the game box and pulled out something that looked like a flattened heart with legs. “This is the planchette. It goes on the board and we all put our fingers on it. We ask the ghosts questions and they move it over the letters to answer.

Looking over Connor’s shoulder, Ronan could see there was a clear, plastic window in the center of the heart so you could see what letter or number the ghost was trying to show you. Ronan had never been the greatest student. His least favorite classes had to do with religion, but he knew anything that told the future was evil and a product of the devil. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that very thing, but thought better of it. He’d just gotten in with these guys and didn’t want to be branded a pussy at school on Monday. “Let’s do it!”

Mark grinned at Ronan and got up to shut off the overhead lights. The boys’ faces were bathed in the dim glow of the television, which made them all look like phantoms themselves.

The boys gathered around the coffee table while Justin set the planchette in the center of the board. “Set your fingertips on the planchette.” He demonstrated by putting the first two fingers of each hand on top of the device. The other boys quickly followed suit. “Are there any spirits who want to talk to us?” His voice was pitched low. His tone was serious.

The planchette moved across the board stopping over the word YES.

“Who the hell is doing that?” Mark asked, sounding annoyed.

“Not me,” Ronan said. “It moved by itself.” He would never admit it to anyone, but he was freaked the fuck out. He hadn’t moved the planchette. Ronan would swear upon a stack of bibles that the device moved on its own.

“Spirit, who do you want to speak with?” Justin asked.

The planchette moved more slowly this time. It spelled out R-O-N-A-N.

Ronan’s mouth went dry. Why the hell would a spirit want to talk to him? He looked around the table and each of the other boys wore a smirk. It occurred to Ronan that he was the newest member of this friend group and that the guys were fucking with him. It wasn’t him moving the device, it was the other guys. All he had to do was play along. “Spirit, what do you want to tell me?”

The boys gasped when the planchette spelled out another word. F-U-T-U-R-E.

Ronan laughed. “Am I gonna marry a smoking hot babe with big tits and be a millionaire?” His heart plummeted into his stomach. The last thing he wanted was a wife with big tits, but asking the board if he was going to marry a big dicked cowboy would have turned his new friend group, and possibly his entire high school, against him. All Ronan could do now was cross his fingers and hope the spirit in the room with them didn’t reveal his secret.

As his mind ran away with him, Ronan gasped when the planchette began to move again. It spelled T-E-N.