Recognition can be a trigger. It can spur a person from inactivity to response in an instant.

Cassidy leaped forward and grabbed the Ouija board. The planchette spun in the air as it was launched from the wooden square, and he expertly snatched it before it could land and placed it on the table. Taking the board in both hands, he smashed it against his knee.

It broke cleanly in two. When it did, the planchette cracked and separated into two pieces that jumped away from each other.

The screaming ceased, sucking all sounds from the room as it vanished. A vacuum remained that made the siblings' ears pop.

This is your captain speaking. Cabin pressure had now equalised. Snacks and drinks will soon be available from the refreshments trolley. All currencies are welcome. Please enjoy your flight.

Jazz and Ethan dropped their hands. Both were panting. The bleeding had spread to one of Jazz's ears and a bubble of reddened mucus popped in Ethan's nose as he scrambled for breath.

"What the actual fuck was that?" he asked.

"Amy," Cass said quietly.

"We got that, but what the fuck?"

"I... I don't know. She was... we were hurting her."

"Hurting her? She had us trapped! I was shitting myself!"

"I was scared too," Jazz said. "But she seemed to be trapped or something. And in pain."

"Yeah, us too."

"Yes, but we did that to her, somehow."

"She'd dead. She shouldn't be able to feel anything!" Ethan was almost shouting now.

"Fishy, keep your voice down!"

"Why? Why should I?"

"Because I don't want my neighbours to hear me talking about someone being dead, or ghosts or any of that shit. Rein it in."

Ethan slumped in his chair with an exasperated muttering. Jazz shook her head. She thought it might help contain the shaking of her body.

"Is she still here?" she asked Cassidy.

"I don't know," he said. "We don't have, like, a psychic link. I think we'd know if she was still here."

"Yeah, we'd be deaf," Ethan said.

"Funny," Jazz punched his arm to try and get him to stop making stupid jokes.

He didn't take the hint.

"Of course I am. You should know by now."

"You're an idiot," she told him. "So shut up."

"Sorry," he said haughtily. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

"It doesn't need lightening. It needs addressing."

"She's right," said Cassidy. "Look. I don't know what happened, but we hurt her. Where did you find this thing?"

"I've had it years," Jazz told him. "I couldn't even tell you where I got it from."

"Maybe it's not the board." Ethan shrugged. "Maybe it's you, Fucker."

"Me? Why would it be me?"

"Because there's got to be some reason why it was Amy and not..."

"A demon?"

"Yeah. Or something. Got to be."

"But what? She just talks to me through messages. It's not like I conjured her. She was already there."

"That's true," Jazz said. "But why else could it be?"

"Ask her," Ethan said.

"If she'll even speak to me."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't she?"

"'Cos we just nearly ripped her apart!"

"She's a fucking ghost! There's nothing to rip apart!"

"She's not a fucking ghost!"

"She's dead! What else can she be?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm going."

"Cass, ignore him. He's an idiot."

"Loud'n'proud," Ethan said, raising his hand.

"See what I mean?"

"It's fine. I usually do ignore him. I'm going to go, anyway. I need to see if she's OK."

"Fuck Face and Amy, sitting in a tree..."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Cassidy and Jazz had spoken together, their voices joining forces to slap Ethan's face. He recoiled, even though they were only words. He did get the message that time.

Jazz stood and hugged her younger brother. She walked him to the door and hugged him again after telling him to let her know how Amy was. Ethan didn't move.

Cass stood at his front door when he reached home. His key was in his hand, but he couldn't bring himself to push it into the lock.

What if Amy was really hurt? What if she wouldn't speak to him? What if he'd, somehow, killed her?

He took a deep breath. It was the only way he could think to steady himself. It didn't work. His hand was shaking as he unlocked the door. Entering his house, he closed the door quietly and stood in the hallway. He listened intently, knowing it was a waste of time. Amy didn't make any sound.

Apart from the screaming from earlier.

Bobby ran through from the kitchen and circled Cass's legs excitedly, dashing any hopes of a silent entry. Cass picked the dog up, who proceeded to nuzzle into his armpit and relax. He smiled. It had taken no time to create a connection with his new pet. He couldn't have wished for better.

"How have you been, boy?" he said, scratching the scruff of Bobby's neck.

To lengthen the time it would take to go upstairs, he surveyed the rooms downstairs. He wanted to make sure there'd been no 'accidents' from Bobby, either bowel and bladder or ripped cushion related. Everything seemed as it should be and, when he looked outside, he could see the results of fitting the dog flap. A neat little pile waiting for him in the middle of the garden. It looked as if Bobby had placed it there for maximum visibility.

Not like Butch, a dog who couldn't stand still for anything, including bowel evacuations. It meant a random trail could be left anywhere, and Cassidy would have to go hunting, armed with little black bags.

"I'll get that later," he said out loud, though he was speaking to himself. "Let's let it set a bit first."

He walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up.

"Amy?" he called.

The word echoed more than he expected it to, each repeat calling to him, rather than her. She couldn't answer, of course. The scream was brought about by the agony of being called to their séance. Somehow. Prior to that, there'd been nothing. He expected there to be nothing once more.

He was going to call out again and even opened his mouth to do so. He stopped himself, though. It wouldn't change the fact he had to go up to his bedroom, anyway. He had to see.

As he mounted the staircase, Bobby pulled his head from under Cass's arm. He looked expectantly towards the bedroom for a moment, then returned to his previous position. Did he know something? Wouldn't he be more excitable if Amy were present?

Cass steeled himself, briefly, before entering the room. He hoped she was there. She would be. She must be. How would she react to him, though, after what he'd done?

There was only one way to find out.

"Amy?" he said again as he entered.

What he saw on the mirror almost caused him to drop Bobby.

There were no words. No discernible ones, at least. Nor was it clear. The lipstick ants were present, and were moving as if on fire. The glass was a mess of writhing lines. They swirled and squirmed around and across each other, their very movement eliciting the feeling of agony. Across the top of the mirror, untouched by the snake pit, was the smudge. It was thick. Dark. Filthy.

"Amy!" he called.

The thrashing marks stalled for a second, then started moving again. It was less chaotic now. More structured. Were they created words? A message? Please!

Something was off, however. The words looked strange. Out of proportion.

Then he realised. He saw what was actually appearing.

Not words.

A face.

One he recognised from his youth.

Amy.

https://youtu.be/ZJJKVNdQPoE