The tension broke when Blanco started laughing.
Not nervous laughing.
Real laughing.
The kind that bends your body in half.
“Oh my God, your faces,” he wheezed, holding onto the kitchen counter for support.
Nobody joined him.
Mike frowned. “What’s funny?”
Blanco reached behind the couch and pulled out a dripping wet towel.
Silence.
Then collective groaning exploded through the room.
“You idiot!” Chloe shouted, throwing a pillow at him.
“You all looked like you were about to call a priest,” Blanco laughed.
Eve slapped his arm hard enough to make him yelp. “I genuinely almost cried.”
“You guys are too easy.”
Relief spread through the room so quickly it almost became contagious. The fear dissolved into annoyed laughter, overlapping complaints, and dramatic threats to leave Blanco stranded in the woods.
Even I smiled.
Small. Unwilling. But real.
“You’re actually insane,” Tori told him.
“I’m creative,” Blanco corrected proudly.
“You’re unemployed behavior in human form,” Gabe added.
That nearly killed the room again.
Within minutes the strange atmosphere was gone, buried under noise and movement. Music filled the house. Mike opened the windows. Chloe and Eve disappeared into the kitchen arguing about snacks while Tori forced everyone into helping unpack.
The house didn’t feel haunted anymore.
Just alive.
And maybe that was scarier in its own way.
Night settled slowly around us.
The woods outside darkened first, swallowing the last traces of sunlight until the windows became mirrors reflecting the inside of the house back at us.
By then everyone had loosened up.
Tori sat cross-legged on the floor rolling something that smelled aggressively illegal. Gabe and Mike were arguing over music choices while Eve stole fries off everybody’s plates like a raccoon with no shame.
“You’ve literally eaten your own food already,” Chloe complained.
“And now I’m eating yours,” Eve replied calmly.
Blanco had somehow convinced Terry to help him start a fire outside, which mostly involved them pretending to know what they were doing.
I stayed curled into the corner of the couch watching them all.
Laughing.
Talking over each other.
Existing so normally.
It felt strange seeing life continue after grief. Like everybody secretly agreed the world should keep spinning while you stood there confused that it could.
Tori nudged my leg gently.
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
“I’m literally just sitting here.”
“You always get quiet when your brain starts doing backflips.”
I smiled faintly at that.
“Come outside,” she said. “Before you turn into furniture.”
The cold air hit my face the moment we stepped onto the back porch.
The fire crackled weakly in the distance while Terry argued with Blanco about lighter fluid.
“You two are definitely going to blow yourselves up,” Chloe yelled from the steps.
“We’re men,” Blanco replied proudly. “Danger is our natural habitat.”
“You cried during Toy Story 3,” Gabe reminded him.
“That was emotional danger.”
Laughter burst across the yard again.
For the first time in months, my chest felt lighter.
Not healed.
Just distracted enough to breathe properly.
Tori handed me the blunt she’d been holding.
“You look better.”
“Do I?”
“A little less dead inside.”
“Wow. Beautiful compliment.”
“I try.”
I took a slow drag, letting the smoke settle warmly in my lungs. Above us, the sky stretched endlessly black, scattered with stars barely visible through the trees.
The vacation house felt different at night.
Softer somehow.
The earlier tension had melted into warmth and noise and stupid conversations that probably wouldn’t matter tomorrow.
Maybe that’s why nobody noticed when Terry disappeared inside.
Or when he came back carrying the Ouija board under one arm.
The mood shifted instantly.
Not fear.
Excitement.
“No way,” Eve said immediately, sitting upright.
“You actually brought it?” Chloe asked.
Terry placed the box carefully on the outdoor table. “You thought I was joking?”
Blanco leaned over dramatically. “And tonight we contact demons.”
“We are absolutely not contacting demons,” Tori said.
“Spirits then.”
“Still no.”
Mike looked uncertain. “You guys know these things aren’t real, right?”
“That’s exactly what people in horror movies say before dying,” Gabe replied.
“Can everyone stop manifesting our deaths?” Chloe groaned.
The conversation overlapped quickly after that.
Rules.
Stories.
Fake ghost experiences.
Blanco claiming his aunt got possessed once after visiting a church in Ibadan.
Nobody believed him.
Especially when he admitted halfway through the story that the “possession” turned out to be food poisoning.
Eventually the board ended up sitting in the center of the table untouched.
Waiting.
Tori looked at me carefully. “You still want to do this?”
Everyone went quieter after that.
I stared at the board for longer than I meant to.
My brother’s face slipped into my mind instantly.
His laugh.
His voice.
The way grief keeps a person trapped between memory and obsession until the two become impossible to separate.
“It’s just a game,” Mike said casually.
Maybe.
But games only stay games until someone starts believing in them.
I reached forward first.
“I’m in.”
Tori slowly sat beside me.
Then Eve.
Then Gabe.
The others followed after a few seconds of hesitation until all of us surrounded the table under the weak orange glow of the fire.
The woods around us suddenly felt much darker.
Terry opened the box carefully and placed the board down.
The planchette rested in the center like a sleeping eye.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Everybody put your fingers on it.”
We did.
The plastic felt colder than it should have.
Blanco immediately ruined the tension.
“If a demon kills me, clear my search history first.”
“Shut up,” Chloe whispered.
For a moment nobody spoke.
Only the fire crackling nearby.
Only the wind brushing softly through the trees.
Then Terry cleared his throat.
“Is there anyone here with us tonight?”
Nothing happened.
Blanco snorted instantly.
“I knew this was du-”
The planchette moved.
Tiny.
Slow.
But enough.
Enough for every laugh to die at once.
My heart stopped.
Nobody touched it hard enough to move it.
I knew because I was barely breathing.
The plastic dragged softly across the board.
Yes.
The word sat there quietly beneath the moonlight.
And suddenly...
the night didn’t feel playful anymore.
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