Light as a Feather, Silent as the Grave

Chapter 34

"It was a chilly, sunny day in mid-spring," I began, watching the whistle from Laguna Beach move in lazy clockwise circles as it dangled from my neck. I was as surprised by the words that left my mouth as if I hadn't said them myself because they sounded far too serious and calm to have been the output of the chaos inside my head . There was no other way for me, Trey, and Mischa to leave this room with any kind of futures ahead of us worth living unless I followed through with the one and only risky plan that had occurred to me. "Mischa Portnoy was a world class gymnast and was training to compete in the Olympic trials in Long Beach, California. Taking a break from her training, she had accompanied her friends McKenna Brady and Trey Emory back to her hometown of Weeping Willow, Wisconsin aboard a private jet provided by the father of a girl they knew from school."

I hesitated, paranoid that if the spell wasn't working-and Mischa was actually hearing the words I was saying-she might react at any second. It wasn't exactly Mischa's style to lie still while someone suggested she was about to die in a matter of minutes. But where her head rested against my knees, her eyelids flickered with slight movement. The flame dancing atop Laura's black candle was strong, giving me every reason to believe that the game was working as expected. The only other person in the room who seemed to think it was odd that I was commencing the story of Mischa's death with events that had occurred mere hours ago was Trey, who suspiciously glanced at me with a poker face expression.

"The group traveled to the rectory of St. Monica's, the church where Mischa had been both baptized and confirmed. They intended to meet with Father Fahey, a priest who had assisted Ann Simmons, a patron of his parish, almost eighteen years earlier in casting a spell to protect Mrs. Simmons' unborn grandchild. The group descended into the basement of the rectory to play a round of Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, a paranormal game that Mischa, McKenna, and Violet had played at the birthday party of their friend Olivia several months earlier."

At the mention of Olivia's name, Henry lifted his head and his eyes sought out mine. A hint of alarm in his eyes made me instantly realize that Henry was much more aware of what was unfolding around him than I typically gave him credit for being. Since Olivia's death, Henry had always been two woeful steps behind the rest of us, learning about the game we'd played with Violet far too late to do anything to save his sister. But now I could tell that he knew what it meant that I was including details about the game we were playing, right at that very moment, as I told the story of Mischa's death. With an almost imperceptible nod, I discouraged him from interrupting the process. Henry was simply going to have to trust that I knew what I was doing, which had become an unfortunate routine since last fall.

In the distance, I heard tornado sirens. Long ago, when I was a very little girl, tornados had touched down in Weeping Willow and tore the roof off the old high school. The town had installed an alarm system to make residents aware of inclement weather. In school, we learned that when we heard the sirens we were supposed to get under our desks and tuck our heads between our knees. It should have come as no surprise that strong winds had reached Wisconsin considering the weather through which we'd flow overnight. But from within the windowless secret room in the rectory basement, it was difficult to tell if a storm was raging outside.

Reassured by the uninterrupted spinning of the whistle hanging from around my neck, I continued telling my prediction of Mischa's death. "The group agreed that the story of Mischa's death would be told as a means of capturing the evil curse that had been transferred to her from Violet Simmons because Mischa had evaded the original death story that was predicted for her at Olivia's party. She stretched out on the floor with the others in the group surrounding her, ready to raise her toward the ceiling as McKenna Brady told the story of how she would die," I said. I kept watch on Mr. Simmons, and my blood ran cold when he boldly looked over at me. Even from across the room I could practically smell his adrenaline as he geared up to carry out what he'd brought us here this morning to do.