Written: three guesses where
Powered by: chips & queso
Inspired by: my intense desire for it to be October already
Because no one wanted to purchase a Zoom account, we only had forty-five minutes to conduct the séance. After six months of separation no one really wanted to have another virtual game night, so when J suggested it, we agreed.
A Google search on “how to do a séance” gave us all we needed. C didn’t have a round table in her apartment, so she sat on a the floor with her laptop perched on an overturned circular laundry basket. Candles and food were recommended to entice spirits looking for warmth and sustenance, so A ordered Chinese and T plugged in a strand of Christmas lights. I lit a joint from the flame of a citronella candle I found in my garage.
We tossed around a few possible ghosts for our outreach: T’s grandparents were both dead, and J remembered some kids who died in a drunk driving accident from his high school. I put up a strong case for my childhood goldfish but ultimately we decided on Bob Dylan, because we figured he wouldn’t be mad about it and rip out our guts or anything.
Some resources say that the number of participants should be divisible by three, so we decided A’s cat Johannes should also participate. He protested, but we still counted him. We dimmed the lights, our faces bleached in the glow of our laptops. Everyone put a hand onto their screens, it was the most contact we had had in weeks. We started to chant.
“Our beloved Bob Dylan, we bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us, Bob, and move among us.”
We kept chanting until C said, “I just heard something move. Downstairs.” We asked if the spirit was Bob Dylan, and waited. We asked again. C started to talk, but the connection glitched and her face froze on the screen. T got a little freaked when C dropped the call, but we knew she was the easiest to spook. A few moments later C’s video popped back up.
“Sorry, it was just my dish washer,” she told us. A had started eating some of the spirit’s takeout, so we waited for him to finish his egg roll, and then chanted again.
“Our beloved Bob Dylan, we bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us, Bob, and move among us.”
The knock on my wall was so loud that I was sure they all heard it through the speakers, but they kept chanting. “You guys,” I said, “Something just hit the wall.”
“I don’t hear anything,” T said, “Stop fucking with us.”
“Shut up,” J said, “You’re going to scare him off.”
In the silence we all could hear it. It didn’t sound like the air conditioner kicking on. It didn’t sound like the neighbors moving around. It sounded like Bob was right there on the other side, knocking to let me know he could hear me.
And when Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door started to play, we all just sat and listened.