SS Halloween Special Ch 12

“What’s your name?” Elsa asks.

The planchette doesn’t move. Seconds go by, and a new song starts playing upstairs.

“Aww,” Colby says after a moment when there’s no response. “Are you still there?”

Nothing. Elsa snorts; whichever one of these goofballs was steering must have lost interest. She’s pretty sure it was Ying.

“Hmm.” Apple takes her hands off, and everyone sits back. “I’ll call that a success.”

“Sure, sweetie. It was fun.” Elsa pats her back and gets up with a grunt, picking up her cup. The others rise.

“Do you want some help to clean up?” Ying asks as Apple starts blowing out candles.

“No, no. It’s my mess. Thank you all for helping,” Apple adds quickly, although Kylie’s already left and Colby’s nearly through the door.

“It was fun,” Colby calls back. “Don’t get possessed, Apple. If you do an Exorcist, I swear to god.” Then she’s gone.

“What is she talking about?” Ying asks as she slips past Elsa.

“The fuck should I know?” Elsa replies, her eyes on the rather pathetic figure of Apple. She’s on her hands and knees in her black dress, putting the candles in a laundry basket and beginning to scrub the spooky symbols off the cement floor.

Elsa sighs and turns on the lights, then goes to help.

“Thanks. You don’t have to do this,” Apple says, scrubbing industriously.

“It’s fine,” Elsa replies, using a broom and dustpan to get the salt. She puts the board into the laundry basket, then bends to pick up the lipstick gleaming among the candles. It’s expensive. “You used this to write on the floor?”

“Something wrong?”

“Nope.” Elsa sighs and tosses the lipstick back into the basket. If Apple can afford stuff like that, what’s she doing here? It doesn’t matter. “Did it go the way that you wanted?”

Apple sits up with a frown. She can’t quite hide her disappointment.

“Dunno,” she admits finally. “Reckon it was Ying?”

Elsa laughs and nods. “I was thinking that.”

Apple sighs and takes off her glasses, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell of the basement. “I’ll ask ChatGPT what went wrong.”

“Good plan. You aren’t Wiccan, are you?”

“Pagan.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dunno. But I expect there is one.”

“Glad we got that cleared up. Want to get drunk?”

“Oh, twist my arm, will ye?” Apple picks herself up and tosses the planchette into the laundry basket. “I’ll take this lot up later.”

“That’s the spirit.” Elsa puts her hand on Apple’s back to guide her toward the door, leaving the stuff behind.

The laptop glows on the stool, the counter reading 45. Beside it, the jar gleams under the overhead lights as 46 flies buzz and crawl inside.