The Game at Carousel: A Horror Movie LitRPG-Chapter 20Book Eight, : The Astralist Part I

Four sets of hands met upon the outer edges of the old wooden planchette at the center of the Ouija board. There were breathy giggles and snorts rising from the group as the small triangular piece of wood moved around the printed alphabet, searching for answers.

“Ask it something already,” Avery Lawson managed to say through laughter. Like all of the guests sitting around the coffee table, she was dressed for a dinner party, and yet none of them could say they were as well-dressed as her. Her strawberry blonde hair was done up, and she was wearing a beautiful necklace that had set her fiancé back a month’s pay.

“If the ghosts have such amazing psychic abilities, why do they need us to ask them the questions? Shouldn’t they already know what we’re going to say?” Logan Maize responded.

He was older than Avery, but every bit as youthful in other ways, with light hair and a devilish smile that made her heart leap every time he looked at her.

“Fine then,” he said. “I’ll gladly ask a question. Oh, great spirits, will I ever be the president of these United States?”

Suddenly, the wooden planchette began to move toward the left until the round hole in the center of the wood hovered over the word “No” on the Ouija board.

The group laughed at the result.

“Maybe it is real after all,” Logan said with a grin.

Avery giggled.

Doctor Andrew Hughes cleared his throat. Avery had never known him to let such nonsense claims go unanswered.

“The phenomenon is interesting, I’ll admit,” he said. “The ideomotor effect, it’s called. The unconscious mind of a subject can create physical movement in response to a thought or idea, and the conscious mind will perceive that movement as being caused by an outside force. Thus, the ghostly apparitions that answer to our banal questioning.”

He was a man of science, and while it was a dinner party, he was dressed as if he were ready to give a lecture to university students. He was tall, thin, and well-groomed. She couldn’t say he was handsome, not in the way Logan was, but he was dignified. He demanded respect with his every gesture and expression.

“Boo!” Avery cried. “That’s not how you’re supposed to play the game. You have to be a true believer, or else it’s no fun.”

“My apologies,” Andrew said. “In that case, I must compliment our ghostly friend for their astute analysis.”

“No, I think the good doctor was right on this one,” Logan said, laughing. “There was no subconscious anything involved. I admit I was steering the planchette, trying to manage my fiancée’s expectations of my ambitions. Here, watch.”

The planchette began to move again, this time toward the right of the board, where it found the word yes.

Avery laughed. She always laughed when Logan hoped she would.

“Very mystical,” the final member of their ghostly communication squad said. His name was Michael Brooks. Avery did not know him very well, but she knew of him—a military man—and if all she knew about him was how reluctant he was to let loose and play a simple board game, that would be enough for her to form an opinion.

He was built sturdy from fighting in the war. His complexion was dark, and so were his eyes. He rose from his seat and walked toward the bar of the parlor to pour himself a drink.

In the distance, thunder roared, and the lights flickered up above.

Halle Castle was certainly beautiful, but on such a gloomy night, Avery found it frightening. The ceilings were high, and everything she saw was old. The very walls had stood for nearly a thousand years, though they had been renovated a time or two. If there were ever a place to find ghosts, this would be it.

Andrew had not found his original explanation sufficient and was continuing to explain how the Ouija board acquired its supposed mystical properties.

“You see, you move the planchette without knowing it,” he explained. “You hear the question, and your brain completes the illusion for you as your fingers move, unbeknownst to you.”

“You’re saying my finger moves itself?” she asked.

“Often, yes,” Andrew said, “and you never even notice.”

“Fascinating,” she responded. “They say idle hands are the devil’s plaything. Maybe science has finally proven it.”

Logan laughed. It was rare that she could make him truly chuckle. He was more prone to ironic or sarcastic forms of humor, whereas she had always found humor in less cynical ways. But occasionally, they managed to meet in the middle.

“Don’t worry, dear,” he said. “I’m sure it’s the ghosts that are subconsciously moving the planchette. They don’t even realize they’re doing it.”

Andrew laughed, but Avery could tell he was frustrated by the silliness of the statement and was fighting the urge to correct it.

“The psychology of ghosts is more the field of our host, wherever he is,” Andrew said.

“What do you mean?” Avery asked. She had never actually met the enigmatic Doctor Simon Halle, and while she knew he was an esteemed expert in one of the sciences, she didn’t know which.

“Don’t you know?” Andrew asked. “Doctor Halle is a predominant astral scientist—or he was, before he left the field to care for his ailing wife. He even had a government research grant to investigate the astral plane.”

Avery didn’t know whether to be impressed or not, but she was certainly interested.

“I’ll tell you, our government shouldn’t be funding research into the astral plane,” Michael said, “given how many souls we’ve sent that way.”

Logan found that funny. Avery found it distasteful, given the ongoing war.

The others had lost interest, but Avery still wished to investigate the strange board game that they had found in the parlor while waiting for their host.

She placed her hands on the planchette and waited for either the direction of a ghost or, perhaps, her subconscious. She felt a subtle pull as she moved the small triangular piece of wood toward the letter H, but before she could go any further, the Halles’ maid entered the room.

“Can I get you folks anything?” Lila asked. She was a delicate figure, so pale she looked like she would be burned by moonlight, with onyx black hair and eyes that averted every gaze.

“We’re all set,” Logan said. “Wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite. Thanks.”

Lila bowed and began leaving the parlor.

“Where are our hosts?” Avery asked.

“They’ll be down in a minute,” Lila answered.

“Lila,” Michael said, “how is my sister? I haven’t seen her in years, regrettably, due to my appointments in Washington. I was hoping she would run down the stairs to see me when I arrived, but maybe that was asking too much.”

Lila pursed her lips, searching for the right answer.

“She’s still delicate,” she answered. “Her health is not yet returned to her, but it has been improving since I came to work for Doctor Halle.”

Before anyone could ask her further questions, footsteps could be heard outside the door on the second-floor landing.

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All five of them moved out of the parlor into the foyer, where they found their hosts at the top of the stairs, Doctor Simon Halle and his wife, Anastasia.

Both were thin. He was handsome, with intelligent eyes and thick black hair. Anastasia, though, was beyond emaciated. She wore her hair wrapped up in a scarf, and even from the top of the stairs, Avery could see that she was wearing copious amounts of makeup.

Anastasia clung to her husband’s arm as he guided her down the steps.

“My friends!” Simon called out when he saw the group.

They descended the stairs slowly and carefully. Simon held on to her with great strength, and he was gentle in a way that almost broke Avery’s heart. She couldn’t imagine the pain they were going through from such a prolonged illness.

“Michael! Oh, Michael!” Anastasia called out once they reached the bottom of the stairs, and she locked eyes with her brother.

She tried her best to let go of Simon and take the three steps it would take to get to Michael, but she wasn’t quite able to, so Michael ran to catch her. He wasn’t as gentle or graceful with her, but he tried his best.

“Hey, sis,” he said quietly. “I made it, finally.”

She embraced him as best she could, but it was clear she had difficulty moving her arms or holding her own weight.

She was skin and bones. So sad, Avery thought.

“Logan,” she said after she had finished embracing her brother, “Andrew, it feels like it’s been forever. Has Lila seen to your needs?”

Despite her sickness, her voice was clear and bright, and she seemed absolutely thrilled to have company. From the way Logan had talked, it would seem neither she nor Simon had done much socializing in the better part of a decade, ever since her illness got bad.

“She’s been great,” Logan said. “I’m glad to see you’re still defying medical odds, Stace.”

Anastasia smiled at him. He could be charming when he was trying.

“It’s good to meet you,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.”

“Logan’s betrothed,” Anastasia said. “Yes, Simon told me you would be here. I am so happy to see you.”

Her eyes told the same story as her words; she looked truly thrilled to see Avery. It was like she couldn’t look away. Suddenly, Avery felt self-conscious about how excessive her state of dress was. She didn’t like the idea of outshining her host on such an important night.

Anastasia held out her hand, and Avery took it. She was shocked by how firm the sick woman’s grip was and a little uncomfortable with how long it lasted.

“She remains frail,” Simon said. “Please, be gentle.”

“Simon frets,” Anastasia said. “I’m fine. At this point, I’m not sure an elephant gun could subdue me if my dear husband were around to dress the wounds.”

She looked up at her husband with true adoration, so much so that Avery’s heart melted all over again. She wondered if Logan would be that loyal to her, although when recovering from a rare and deadly disease, having married a doctor was much better than having married a lawyer. Whatever the case, Avery could see that the two hosts shared a great love.

“If Lila’s estimation is correct, dinner should be ready,” Simon said, “Let us feast together in peace before the storm decides otherwise.”

-

The dining hall had more windows than any other part of the castle. Once the storm really began raging, Logan worried that their meal would be a great deal more stressful in such a room—but he could not deny it was a great spread.

How Lila had managed to cook so much food all by herself while also managing everyone in the house, he would never know.

He sank his teeth into roast chicken as the conversation bore on.

“I know it’s been years,” Simon said. “I withdrew more than I intended.”

“We noticed,” Logan said. “I was starting to think you’d lost your love for your old friend.”

Avery subtly elbowed him in the arm. Maybe the alcohol was getting the best of him. That probably was a rude thing to say to old friends in such a pitiable situation.

“I wasn’t well,” Anastasia said. “Simon never left my side. It wasn’t fair to any of you that we would be this reclusive, in hindsight, but there were several years where we feared the worst.”

“I tried to get leave to come see you,” Michael said, “but I was led to believe that you wouldn’t want me seeing you the way you were, anyway.”

“They were wrong,” Anastasia said, “but perhaps it was for the best. Simon knows how social occasions wear on me. Even now, my neck strains under the weight of the makeup I had to apply to look even halfway decent.”

“You look absolutely radiant,” Avery said.

That was one quality that Logan appreciated about Avery, something he didn’t see in himself: the ability to give a compliment without it sounding rehearsed or insincere.

Anastasia, of course, shook her head and blushed, or at least she probably blushed. Logan couldn’t tell under the thick layer of foundation on her face that made her look like a porcelain doll. A very thin porcelain doll.

“No,” she said. “I don’t look radiant. You do. I just cannot believe how beautiful you are.”

Logan couldn’t believe it either. To him, Avery looked like a movie star, like she should be palling around with some of the most beautiful people in the world, not stuck marrying a cynical old lawyer. But she seemed happy to do it.

Simon reached over and held his wife’s hand.

“Your most beautiful years are still ahead of you, dear,” he said. His voice caught in his throat as he said it, like he was holding back tears, but from what Logan could tell, he meant it. Or, at the very least, he had convinced himself of it.

Logan wasn’t so sure. Anastasia had been beautiful once, yes, but her illness took no prisoners. It was a miracle she had managed to survive this long. If what she was doing could be called surviving. He wasn’t sure what kind of devil’s deal Simon had made to keep her alive in this state, but he was sure the woman was living on borrowed time.

He felt genuinely bad for his old friend.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Anastasia said. “You know, you can sue a doctor for making false claims. Isn’t that right, Logan? You are a licensed attorney, correct? Can I sue my husband for being a mendacious sunshine merchant?”

Even though her body was failing her, her spirit was still as lively as ever, Logan thought.

“You can sue anyone for anything,” Logan said, “so long as you can twist words well enough. But I think you’ll have much difficulty finding a jury who will all agree that you aren’t beautiful.”

Avery squeezed his elbow, clearly pleased that he had managed to deliver such a compliment.

“You two are in on this together, aren’t you?” Anastasia asked. “I know I look like a mannequin that undergrads would use to learn the names of all the bones. I won’t abide a flatterer, Mr. Maize.”

“Don’t worry,” Logan said. “That’s the last kind word you’ll hear from me. I won’t coddle the convalescent.”

She smiled at him, and a bit of her makeup cracked at the corner of her mouth, but he tried his best not to let on that he noticed.

“As a matter of professional curiosity,” Andrew said, “what was your illness? Your husband’s letters were vague.”

“Some suffering is hard to put on paper,” Simon answered quickly, shooting down the subject.

Logan was still working his best not to stare at Anastasia’s cracked makeup. He couldn’t figure out exactly how such a thing could occur. Had there been some sort of varnish or sealant that had been used to create such a smooth porcelain effect that had slowly been worn down by the wine and food and the friction from her moving her lips?

He couldn’t decide.

“We are so happy that we could have you in our home,” Anastasia said. “It has been so long since I’ve spoken to anyone who wasn’t my husband or my employee. However, we asked you here for another reason.”

The table waited for her to elaborate.

“We want to reaffirm our wedding vows,” she continued. “After everything we’ve been through, beginning again feels right.”

“Renewing vows in a castle during a storm is quite a statement to the universe,” Logan said.

He didn’t know what he meant by that, but he felt compelled to say it. The events of the night were painting a picture, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what that picture would end up looking like.

Anastasia completely ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on Avery like she was studying her.

“Is something wrong?” Avery asked, her eye contact so strong it was like she didn’t even notice the chips of makeup falling off Anastasia’s face.

“No,” Anastasia answered. “You’re just very beautiful.”

Avery blushed.

Simon watched on from the side, his face still, his mind elsewhere.

-

After dinner, the men went into the smoking room while Avery and Anastasia moved to the conservatory to listen to records. Lila had been there to help Anastasia walk, but Avery said she would do it.

A fire crackled in the stone fireplace of the smoking room while Logan, Michael, Andrew, and Simon sipped on whiskey and puffed on cigars.

“So, you disappeared from your professional life for a few years,” Logan said. “Did any of your colleagues reach out to you? From what I understand, it was a great loss to the field of astral science.”

“I wasn’t welcome in academia anymore at that point anyway. Anastasia’s illness, in many ways, was a convenient excuse to bow out, as my superior put it.”

Logan could tell that Simon seethed under those words.

“Your research troubled people,” Andrew said.

“They lacked imagination,” Simon replied.

“You had enough imagination for the whole university, if I understood correctly,” Andrew responded.

“Hey, look,” Michael said, “if you taking a break from teaching rich kids helped save Anastasia, I don’t care why you left.”

There was something in Simon’s expression that Logan couldn’t read. Was it shame, or was it his hurt pride? It wasn’t clear.

“Excuse me a moment,” Simon said as he moved toward the washroom and quickly closed the door behind him.

Logan poured himself more whiskey as he looked around the room.

“He’s different,” Logan said.

“He didn’t eat much,” Andrew said. “He’s practically wasting away, too, though not as much as her. He spent the whole dinner watching her instead of doing much of anything else. Poor fellow.”

“All I care about is that she’s happy,” Michael said. “That’s what matters. You know, when I found out she was marrying some rich professor, I was worried she wouldn’t get the attention she deserved. Simon has gone above and beyond. Anastasia looks better now than when I left for the war, but that ain’t saying much.”

The lights in the smoking room flickered as the wind outside howled louder than it had any right to.

“Was that a scream?” Logan asked.

They listened for a moment, but they were answered only by the pitter-patter of rain on the window and silence otherwise.

Moments later, Simon exited the washroom, adjusting his cuffs.

“Plumbing makes some awful ruckus,” he said. “This place complains when overworked.”

“That’s strange,” Logan said. “It sounded like a person.”

Simon laughed. “Perhaps I should eat more roughage,” he said with a sly smile.

He lifted his glass, and the other men followed suit.

They each drank nervously as the storm outside intensified.