What Lies Within

by Hannah Peterson

Shortly after Lydia arrived at Cece’s, Billie showed up with the Ouija board. This meant that until Mai came, Lydia would have to suffer through Cece’s flirting and Billie’s obliviousness. Lydia supposed she could make an effort to be a part of her friend’s conversation, but she was inert, inactive, and unaffected by most things. Even if her mind felt full and dynamic, none of her thoughts came to action or even inspired her to write, as it once had. Throughout most of her childhood and teenage years, she’d written fiendishly, creating stories for Cece to perform, or to settle Cece’s overactive temperament. But lately, nothing had come to her but the end of September. They were already a full month into their senior year, the summer well over, and the nights were growing steadily longer. The year would pass by faster than most of her life did, and she needed to have something to show for it. Needed to show the colleges she was applying to that she wasn’t a talentless nobody with no thoughts or ideas or feelings. 

She’d agreed to the sleepover because she was still holding onto a past version of herself that could come up with stories, and agreed to the seance in hopes that it would give her something interesting to write about. 

Instead of listening to her friends, Lydia watched the rain outside the sliding glass doors. The storm was bleak and foggy like only a late September rain could be; the sky unsure of whether it was summer or fall, nourishing and fruitful or ominous and ghostly. Again, she thought to listen fully to what Cece and Billie were saying. Writers were supposed to be observant and discerning, able to turn ordinary conversations into dynamic narratives. But the rain was so hypnotic. And the conversation, so boring.

“And then Chris asked me to see the movie, even though he’d already asked Aiden and I’ve never even seen the first one.” Cece poured three glasses of red wine as she spoke. Her parents wouldn’t be home until late that night, not that Lydia thought they’d care either way. 

“Well, the sequel is always better anyway,” said Billie, as if she too, were only half listening. 

“I don’t get why he asked me. Pretty sure Chris is gay, which is why he asked Aiden.” Cece paused, handing Billie a glass and obviously hoping Billie would arrive at her own conclusion. “Would you want to come too? Then it could be the four of us at least.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“Something wrong, Lydia?” Cece asked, her face looked red but that might’ve been from the huge chug of wine she’d gulped down. 

“No.” 

Cece took another long drink, finishing her glass. 

“You can say something if there is.” 

Before Cece had come out, she and Lydia were inseparable. They were the core of the group, the reason there was a group at all. Cece shared with Lydia the truth right where they were now sitting, and they had both cried and laughed and watched Golden Age movie musicals after. Lydia felt sure that Cece’s admission had brought them closer, had pressed the seal on some proverbial contract of friendship, but the opposite had happened. Cece went out of her way to make herself and Billie the new group within the group. 

It was all made worse in Lydia’s mind because Billie wouldn’t even be friends with them if it wasn’t for her. Billie had always been pretty, so much so that many questioned why she would hang out with girls like Lydia, Cece, and Mai. Not that they were ugly; they were normal looking. But normal looking next to Billie might as well have been ugly. 

In sixth grade, Billie saw Lydia’s X-Files themed notebook and enthusiastically professed her love for the show over an entire lunch period. There had been an intensity to Billie that disturbed Lydia, still sometimes alarmed her, but when you're eleven, it doesn’t take much more than a shared X-Files obsession to become friends. Cece had never quite understood the hype, or Billie’s deep affinity for the occult, but she of all people respected passion and dramatics, so she was hosting the seance only to impress Billie. All of this annoyed Lydia, but all of it stayed in her head. 

“Can I have a glass too?” Lydia ignored Cece’s comment, pointing at the glass she had poured but never given her. 

A harsh wind hit the glass panes at the same time the sliding doors opened. Mai quickly shut the door behind her, stomping her boots on the mat and neatly folding her raincoat before setting it on the floor by the door. She smiled at them. 

“I brought iced tea!” 

Mai was the only one in the group who had necessitated any real convincing. She was semi-religious, semi-neurotic, semi-the smartest girl in their grade, and semi-on her way out of the group. All the girls could feel that Mai was slipping away, and that college would sever her from them entirely. That maybe, even more so than Billie, Mai was only friends with them due to happenstance. Her backyard shared a fence with Cece’s backyard, and when you're nine there’s nothing cooler in the world than to be friends with someone who you can crawl to through a hole in a fence. But turning seventeen will change you. It wasn’t that Mai didn’t like them, or didn’t consider them her friends, but she only felt that she understood them less and less as each year went on, and one semester apart would be enough to make strangers of them all.

Though it remained unspoken, each of them felt the same crossroads ahead. Felt that their friendships were slippery and evanescent. That, by some mundane twists of fate, they had each become friends simply because there had been no one else to become friends with. 

With Mai there, the conversation turned to grades and college applications. Cece was itching to start the seance but Billie insisted they wait until dark, even though the storm made it seem like the sun had set a long time ago. Still, what Billie said, Cece abided. Mai willed to push the seance off forever, and Lydia had no opinion. She was feeling less and less sure how to turn any of what was happening into a story. It almost felt to her that she was separate from the action around her in such a way that made it impossible for her to observe it, like she was outside in the rain, watching people she only half knew through the trails of raindrops on the glass. 

At long last, the sky darkened completely, and the girls gathered what candles they could find before descending into the basement. Cece wasn’t sure what time her parents would return, or how long the seance would last, and they thought it best not to be interrupted. Lydia paused at the top of the steps. She had traversed this threshold countless times, but an electric certainty that, should she continue down, she’d never leave again chilled her. Thunder cracked. She stumbled down a step. 

“You okay?” Mai called from the bottom. The single hanging bulb above reflected against her black hair. 

“Hurry up, Lydia! We’re wasting valuable ghost-talkin’ time!” Billie’s voice carried from out of sight. 

Lydia shuffled down the stairs, dismissing her feelings. She couldn’t already be spooked, could she? She even clapped her hands to her face a few times, as if to wake herself up.

The basement, unfinished and crowded with bins and discarded workout equipment, spanned the length of the house. Years ago, to make the space cozier, Lydia and Cece set up a fort against the wall to the right of the stairs. Across a couch and two chairs they draped sheets sewn together and set up Christmas lights underneath. Gathered around a portable DVD player, they’d stay up all night watching movies and sneaking snacks from the kitchen. The fort had long since perished, the Christmas lights burned out. The couch remained, as did the two chairs, with dusty lamps lighting the dingy oasis. Even the DVD player was still there, though it was covered in a thick layer of dust and half hidden beneath the couch. 

There was one window in the entire basement, about two feet in length tucked just below the ceiling above the couch. It was cracked open and Lydia could hear the rain drumming against the sodden grass. Another strike of lightning hit, briefly illuminating the outside and fracturing her vision. 

Billie laid out the Ouija board while Mai and Cece lit candles in a ring around them. The way the light bounced against the concrete floors and walls, only lighting a small diameter before giving way to the depths of the basement, made Lydia feel very small, almost as small as she’d first been when they’d made the fort. 

“Okay, Lydia, turn the stair light off,” Cece ordered as she flicked the lamps off and took a seat beside Billie. 

Lydia did as she was told before seating herself across from Cece. Her back was to the staircase, but she could still see out the window which made her feel good, though she wasn’t sure why. Something about the window felt important to her. But maybe she just liked being able to see the rain. She wondered what it would be like, to be standing outside in the dark looking in, what she would make of these girls and their candles as the rain washed over her. She supposed they’d look a bit ominous, somehow more ominous than this projected version of herself spying on them. 

“Someone will have to record the responses,” explained Billie. “You’re actually not supposed to focus on the letters while touching the planchette. Movies always get that wrong.” She pulled her long hair from her face and artfully twisted it into a bun. 

“I’ll do it,” Lydia said, thinking it would be a good way to force herself to focus. 

Billie handed her a notepad and pen from the same box the board came from. 

“Any other rules we should know?” asked Mai. 

“You open the session by moving the planchette to ‘hello,’ after that you just keep your fingers lightly touching it, ask questions, and allow the spirit to guide you as it spells out its answers. Lydia will write the letters. When we’re done, we have to say ‘goodbye,’”—she pointed to the word on the board,—“or the connection will be left open.” 

“And that’s bad?” Mai asked. 

“That’s bad.” 

“Okay, enough rules! Let’s get started!” Cece beamed, placing her hands on the planchette. Billie did the same, but Mai’s hands hovered in place. 

“Nothing bad can actually happen, right?” 

“You scared, Mai?” Cece needled. 

“I just don’t want to be cursed for all eternity, you know? Is that so wrong?” 

“It’s no different than praying in church,” offered Billie. “You talk to a ghost then.”

 “I don’t think God is a ghost,” said Lydia. 

“Isn’t there a holy ghost or something?” 

“Come on!” Cece pulled Mai’s hands to the planchette and forcefully guided it to “hello.”

After that, the planchette remained still, despite Cece asking a litany of decreasingly serious questions. Is there anyone here with us? How did you die? Do you like death? Do you seek revenge? On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the afterlife? It was hard not to laugh, but Lydia kept her pen and pad at the ready, wondering if she should use the time to write something if not some mysterious message from beyond the grave, when the planchette inched across the board. 

It started slow, but once it reached its first letter, A, Lydia almost missed the rest for how fast it jerked from letter to letter. F-R-A-I-D. Then it stopped as Mai snatched her hands away and recoiled against the chair behind her. She held her hands to her chest, wide-eyed and affronted. Lydia waited to see if more would come, but the planchette did not move. She looked to Billie for instruction but, to her surprise, Billie wasn’t paying attention to the board. Her gaze was fixed on the window and a frown pulled at her lips. 

“Did you guys hear that?” 

“That’s not funny, Billie,” said Mai, her nostrils flared. “None of this is! Aren’t you not supposed to push the thingy?” 

“We didn’t push it!” Cece snapped. “C’mon, let’s keep going. It was just getting good.” 

“Don’t lie. Why would a ghost spell out ‘afraid?’” Mai pulled her knees inward, shuffling closer to Lydia. “Isn’t that a little too on the nose?” 

“On the nose?” 

“It’s too obvious!” 

“We didn’t push it, Mai!” 

Mai and Cece went back and forth. Lydia watched Billie, who still had not turned away from the window. Lydia wanted to ask if she was okay, wanted to know what she had heard—but no. No, she didn’t really. The frown Billie wore, paired with her intense concentration, created deep lines across her face. In the candlelight, they casted unnatural shadows, giving her skin an almost mask-like quality, like a grotesque caricature of herself. Lydia squirmed. 

And then, Lydia heard it too. A thump from outside. Something just beyond the window. It’s just the rain. It’s just the rain. It’s just the rain, she thought over and over and over until the thumping stopped and the planchette moved again. 

“Stop it, Cece!” Mai half cried. 

“I’m not—” 

The planchette moved to W but then a howl, unlike any the girls had ever heard before, drowned out their every thought. The walls shook. Dust fell from the ceiling and snuffed the candles out. The lights flickered. The howl turned into a wail that carried as though they were in the deepest of ravines, and not a suburban neighborhood. Sound and sight lost boundaries as their own cries melded together and the noise ripped their skulls apart. And Lydia, not knowing what else to do, watched the planchette as it moved without hands to guide it. After W came H, she missed the third letter, then caught an R-E. Mai bumped into Lydia, causing her to miss another letter. She saw an M, and then Cece stood and kicked the board across the room. 

“Cece!” Lydia shouted, only for her voice to echo into silence. The howling ceased. The lights stopped flickering but the candles did not relight. They sat in darkness. Mai stifled cries. 

“What the fuck was that!” Cece sounded breathless and hoarse. 

“Where's the planchette!?” Billie demanded, panicked. Her form moved through the dark, searching.

Lydia couldn’t see her notes, but she passed her hand across the indentation of the letters. She memorized them. Her eyes darted to where she knew the window waited. Thunder rolled but she never saw the light. 

The stair light came on. 

“I’m leaving,” Mai said, already half way up, the light cord swinging in her wake. 

“Mai, wait!” Billie scrambled to her feet, followed by Cece, then Lydia. 

Back in the kitchen, Billie pushed Mai aside and blocked the sliding door before she could get ahold of it. 

“Are you stupid? You heard that thing! You can’t go out there!” 

Mai held herself together as best she could, but her whole body shook, her skin looked green, and every word threatened that vomit would follow. 

“I didn’t hear anything. I’m going home!” 

Billie didn’t move. 

“Something has crossed over. Anything could be out there!” 

“Cross over?” Mai’s fear snapped into anger. “Do you hear yourself?” 

“Yes, Mai. We opened a gateway somehow, and something has crossed over from the other side either by accident or on purpose and now it's in Cece’s yard and it doesn’t sound happy!” 

“Shut up, Billie! Don’t act like you know what you’re talking about! Just because you stay up all night watching conspiracy theories doesn’t mean you know jack shit about what's happening!” 

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that,” Cece cut in. “Let’s just calm down,” she added, speaking louder and shaking more violently than any of them.

“Fuck you, Cece, you don’t even want Lydia or me here anyway.” Mai, using her whole body, shoved Billie aside and slid the door open. Billie fought her back to close it. They struggled halfway in and out. Cece tried to get between them, screaming and pulling and pushing. 

“Lydia!” Cece begged. “Do something!” 

Lydia watched helplessly, distracted by the letters and the howl echoing in her head. “What do you want me to do?” 

“God, you’re useless!” 

The lightning came again just as one of them slipped, pulling the rest with her. Even as they fell to the wet deck, all heads turned to see the crack of light illuminate the yard. It only lasted a second, but a second was long enough to make out the large mass of shadow crouched against the fence. The same fence that Mai would have to pass through. 

Fear made them heavy. The rain soaked through their clothes, plastering their skin and blurring their vision. Only Lydia found herself moving, her legs carrying her trance-like through the open door, across the deck, into the grass. She gritted her teeth as her socks sank into the dirt. The light from the kitchen spilled out from behind her but, like a drop-off in the ocean floor, the glow stopped a few feet into the yard. Only darkness lay ahead, with no way to tell what waited even a foot beyond its edge. Even with all the neighboring houses, even with Mai’s own house within sight across the way, nothing penetrated the oblivion before her. 

“Lydia stop!” Mai hissed. 

Lydia halted, surprised to find herself at the very edge of the light. She heard labored breathing not from behind her, but from whatever lurked beyond.

“Is someone there?” Billie appeared beside her, her question echoing into the void. She and Lydia made eye contact. Lydia had never seen Billie look so afraid. Her lips quivered and the same lines from earlier pulled at her features. It gave the impression of desire turned sour. The look of someone who had gotten exactly what she’d wanted, whose wildest dreams had come true, only to find that those dreams were nightmares and she was naive and defenseless. Lydia searched for her own fear. Whatever was out there was real and tangible and did not scare Lydia the way the passivity of her own mind did. No, she didn’t feel afraid, but the entity wanted her to…Or, maybe, it was stating its own feelings. She saw the letters of the second message in her mind's eye. 

Then the howl came again, different this time. Quiet, low, and shaped. Like it was trying to form words from the unholy, guttural, moans it was making. 

“Whe-re-m,” Lydia sounded out along with the howl. 

Billie turned to her. Turned to ask what she had said. But from the darkness it came. Lumbering and clumsy. Quick and desperate. Lydia heard screams. The thing leapt at her, knocking her to the ground. The cold grass shocked her. Billie kicked the monster but slipped. Lydia remained still, though her heart pounded so heavy she could feel it in her eyes. She lost all sense of Billie, Cece, or Mai. The monster continued to howl and moan as its chest vibrated and Lydia’s own chest and ears felt as though they’d burst from the weight of it all. But the monster did not eat her, though it had rows and rows of teeth close enough to her face that she could see her reflection. It did not maul her, though its paws, or hands, or claws, were thick enough, and sharp enough, and pressing into her shoulders hard enough, that it would take very little effort to sever her limbs. Its breath stank like rot, its fur was matted and slimy, and its eyes were too big for its face, with small dots for pupils.

“Wheeeeerrrrrreeeee ammmmmm—” It vomited a coarse, black ooze that spilled onto Lydia's chest. 

Lydia shrieked, but did not try to escape. The bile was hot and steamed as it pooled onto the grass. A putrid, metallic smell burned her nose. But it did not hurt her. And the beast never broke eye contact with her. 

She saw the letters in her mind. WHERE AM. The monster was trying to give her the final letter. But it panted and whined in confusion. Barred its many teeth in fear. And Lydia understood. She reached her hand out. But before she could rest her palm on the creature, it reared its head back. That hideous wail followed. Amplified. Torturous. And now Lydia could see the being as it writhed in pain. She scurried out from beneath it, but instead of covering her ears, her hands trembled at her chest. Billie stood over the creature, using all her weight and height to drive a long kitchen knife into the monster’s side. Lydia couldn’t look away. When moments ago her heart had raced with fear, now it slowed with the beast’s anguish. Slowed as she imagined the beast's own heart slowed. It keened into a night sky that it did not know. And then it fell. 

“Billie,” Lydia’s chest heaved as she tried to hold back sobs. “Why did you do that?” 

“It was going to kill you!” Billie released the knife and staggered back. Her hair had fallen from its bun and hung in wet stringy strands around her face. Like in the basement, and just before the beast attacked, the light hit the creases in Billie’s face in a monstrous way, like a gargoyle, and reflected something deeply crazed in her eyes; fear turned to savagery. It scared Lydia like nothing else had. 

Lydia shook her head, unable to find the words to protest. Cece appeared beside her, helping her to her feet. Mai stood at the edge of the deck. Lydia looked to them for understanding, for outrage. But listlessness had taken over, and they all did nothing but stare at the thing that crossed over. That they brought over. That cried and trembled and asked for help the only way it knew. And they killed it. No, Lydia had not driven the knife into it, but what if she had figured the message out sooner? Would it have changed anything? Or would she have stood there, or laid there, and done nothing, like she always did? Like her friends did now. 

“It was asking for help,” she choked out. 

“It didn’t belong here,” said Mai. 

“What should we have done?” Cece whispered. “How could we ever have explained? Would it have even understood?” 

Lydia strained to understand their reasoning, but instead found the fear she could not before. She was afraid of Billie’s action, frightened by Cece’s and Mai’s apathy, and unnerved by their ability to justify it in equal measure. 

“We need to close the session,” said Billie, not a hint of remorse in her voice. None wanted to be left with the thing, in the rain, in the dark, so they followed her inside and into the basement. With the lights on, it was easy to find the board and planchette. As Lydia watched, Billie, Cece, and Mai placed their fingers on the planchette and moved it to “goodbye.” 

After that, Mai left, saying she’d see them at school. Billie left too, leaving the unwashed knife in the kitchen sink. Cece and Lydia stood in the kitchen. The body had disappeared and they both stared at the spot where it died. 

“Lydia,” Cece breathed. “Tell me a story. I don’t think I can sleep without one.” 

“Okay.”

They lay side by side in Cece’s bed, as they so often had. Many nights during their sleepovers, when Cece couldn’t fall asleep, Lydia would make up stories, and tell them to her until her voice went hoarse. So Lydia, somehow, found stories to tell. In her desire to comfort herself, and more so, her desire to comfort her friend, her words poured forth as they once had, until, somehow, they fell asleep. But in their nightmares, it was impossible to tell if their shared visions of monsters were real, waiting for them in some other world, or if they had only dreamt them up from somewhere deep within themselves.

Hannah Peterson holds a BA in Theatre Arts from SUNY New Paltz and is the recipient of a Silver Honorable Mention from the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest. She currently manages an indie bookstore in upstate New York.

Twitter: @hannahVpeterson
Instagram: hannahvpeterson