"Alright, h-hold on," Griffin stuttered. He raised his hands into the air, as if directing traffic. "J-j-just explain this to me... one more time,"

Layla bit her lip impatiently and gestured to the Ouija board in her hand. "I'm making contact with the phantoms. Tonight. And you're coming with me," she informed her best friend, obviously not for the first time.

"Alright, h-hold on," he held up his hands again, touching his temple and squeezing his eyes shut. "J-j-just explain this to... me. One more time,"

"I've already explained it fifteen times," Layla snapped.

"And I'm going to keep a-asking until I get an answer that isn't i-insane," Griffin replied grimly.

Layla watched his hands shake, from her spot on the floor of the attic. Not that it was anything out of the ordinary, Griffin always shook and stuttered. At least, he had as long as she'd known him.

The first day they met, he took an hour trying to explain to her that he was a "psychogenic stutterer". Which meant that he fidgeted and rambled when he was anxious or afraid.

Which was all the time. Griffin wasn't just afraid of his own shadow. He was afraid of the idea of his own shadow. The dead jellyfish you find on the seashore generally have more backbone than Griffin ever did.

Layla rolled her eyes and lifted herself off of the ground. "What part of my idea sounds insane to you?"

"Just the part that I h-have to be there,"

"I need to make contact, Griffin," she grabbed her friend's shoulder with her unoccupied hand.

"Yeah b-but..."

Layla waited for him to finish his statement until it became clear that he didn't actually intend to. "But what?"

"But... it's a Friday," he finished lamely.

"Griffin!" She snapped.

"What?"

"There are paranormal entities out there. And I'm going to prove it. And I want you to be there when I do!" Layla insisted. "I need everyone to see that I'm not crazy,"

"Funny you should say that," Griffin frowned. "Since you, a-always call Whynn crazy for trying to prove the same th-thing,"

Layla waved off his comment. The hand motion nearly batted Griffin's nose, causing his head to jerk back animatedly.

"Whynn is crazy," she insisted. "She's trying to prove the existence of the wrong undead. There's no such thing as zombies," she stressed the final word in disgust.

"She'll be p-pissed if you call them zombies. They're 'Homo Necrosis Z-zombifis'," Griffin corrected her, taking several steps backward, in case she decided to ignore his comment again.

"It doesn't matter what you call them, because they're not real,"

Griffin raised his eyebrows. "A-and ghosts are?"

"They're not ghosts! They're spirits," Layla snapped, slapping the Ouija board against his chest.

"Now I know why you two h-hate each other," Griffin rolled his eyes. He carefully crossed both arms over the board, simultaneously afraid of touching it, and of dropping it.

"There are so many different kinds of spirits," Layla smiled, going into full-scale lecture mode.

"I know, I kn-know. Phantoms, banshees, wraiths. I g-get it,"

"And demons," Layla added. She clicked on and off the flashlight on the ground, to make sure it still had juice.

"But you said th-there's no way to be sure those exist," Griffin pointed out, then he smacked himself. "What am I s-saying?"

"I'm glad you're getting into the spirit of things," she carelessly snatched the Ouija board out of Griffin's arms. Then she tossed it into her backpack and zipped it up. "Now come on. We're going to Mr. Harrison's house,"

"Mr. Harrison?" Griffin echoed. "Our s-s-science teacher?"

"Do you know another Mr. Harrison?"

"But we're already in y-your attic,"

Layla sighed, exasperated, and grabbed her friend's arm. "To find a spirit we need to be somewhere that somebody has died before. Nobody died in my house,"

"And you think Mr. Harrison has l-literal skeletons in his closet?"

"I don't know. I'm kind of banking on the idea that he's a million years old, and maybe he'll croak while we're there," she pointed the flashlight at Griffin's face and flicked it on a few times. "Come on Griffin, use your brain,"

Griffin gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. He immediately attempted to rub away the spots in his vision, with very little success.

"I am," Griffin assured her, weakly. "And my b-brain is telling me that your plan ends with us being charged for m-murder,"

Layla thought about that. Then shrugged in response.

"You brought me into your creepy a-ass attic, so you could tell m-me about your creepy ass ghosts, hit me with a creepy ass pizza box, just to drag me to our creepy ass teacher's c-creepy ass house," he began slowly, blinking in Layla's general direction. "Remind me why we're s-still friends,"