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Thunder was all that stopped them on their way to the basement. At the top of the stairs they could see soft light shining somewhere from the bottom; Teddy appeared to trust the glow and proceeded to his secret fortress. Krink was next to go but the others paused. Whatever Mersa’s apprehensions were, they likely didn’t match those of Stan and Oliver. From the ground floor, they could sense energy in the basement that normal people couldn’t detect; it was a sensation that lingered throughout the orphanage but never had they experienced it in such density. Death was down there in some form. Mersa read their idling as uncertainty and made their decision for them when she closed the door, then descended. They followed but gave no warning of their suspicions.

The secret fortress was a pile of odd-fitting furniture draped with canvas. Lit candles within gave the structure the appearance of a haphazardous lantern big enough to seat a gang of troublemakers. Teddy pushed his hand through a split in the fabric to urge them in with a gesture. Krink looked annoyed. In front of him was an Ouija board surrounded by wax sticks and candy; just as Teddy promised, there was no pornography in sight. This would have to be why Krink was upset because no one was about to ask. They sat around what Teddy had been so excited to show everyone – the reason Benzo went missing. Sweat formed on his forehead and worry widened his eyes when the goodies failed to yield the desired reception, then it occurred to him that they didn’t know what they were looking at. There was no telling that Krink recognized the alphabet etched into the wooden board.

“That is a device which speaks for the dead.” He explained, then quietly rejoiced when he got a better reaction from Mersa and Krink. Swept up in his own excitement, he flew higher, “but before we make contact, I have to warn you: we are about to learn what only the dead know.”

The exposition worked on the rivaling two but the other half of his audience were unmoved. Stan and Oliver could see and speak to the dead and were capable of greater things. Not long ago their lives as they knew it had ended.

At the moment he should have perished with his family, Oliver ceased to exist. Or the universe forgot him. There would never be an explanation for what happened; he was sure to die. Then, from a distance, he was watching his siblings and parents pass in a death that was meant for him, too. By contrast, Stan signed his life away in the book of the dead. Losing his family was the undisclosed cost for the knowledge in its forbidden pages; each member had been tempted by the book and, by no coincidence, died or went irreparably insane within a week.

These experiences, their closeness to death altered them into something strange. The page bearing Stan Kirkeby’s signature guaranteed him a life time of black magic at a residual cost. Nothing escaped the void, having already slipped the universal subconsciousness, he was unbecoming by way of his own selection. Forgettable on command, he could bar a person’s path and still go unnoticed. At will he could become absent from matter and all other planes of existence.

Ghosts could be motivated to use the divining board, but the board itself was nothing special, neither were its inscriptions. Paranormal phenomena would occur due to their presence and not as a result of the parlor trick. Something was in the basement with them among the storage. It would make itself known to these Sin-Eaters.

“Now that you’ve been told, you have to see this to the end. Try not to get chocolate on the planchette.” Teddy was ready.

“What do we ask it?” Mersa asked.

“I don’t know. Anything you want.” Teddy was the first to smudge the device, then four more sets of fingers joined his.

“I want to know if my parents are in hell.”

“Maybe don’t ask that.” Interrupted Stan.

“You can’t just ask the board a question like it’s a person.” Teddy instructed. “You have to appeal to the spirits for answers.”

“This is stupid. How do you know that?” Krink was scared and trying to hide it.

“Spirits of the orphanage…”

“…who would know nothing about Mersa’s parents, so…” Oliver inserted this comment based on his concern that Mersa hadn’t reconsidered her line of questioning.

“…answer our call! We offer light, warmth, chocolate for your company!” All eyes were on Teddy. “Do you hear me? Do you accept?”

Feet shuffled outside the tent. Only the Sin-Eaters flinched, the others heard nothing and attributed Stan’s and Oliver’s jumpiness to the planchette hovering over the word ‘yes’. What Krink, Mersa, and Teddy didn’t perceive was a ghost break into the fortress to move the item with its finger, but they assumed that that is what caused the canvas to breeze open and the game-piece to move. Reactions varied. Teddy was bewildered most because he thoroughly doubted the authenticity of the whole package. Mersa gasped and Krink accused them of conspiring against him.

“Ok. I want to ask a question.” Mersa continued, “where did Krink hide Benzo?”

“Damnit! I knew it!” Krink would rather forfeit than be defeated, if only to deprive his enemies the sense of victory. He believed the diviner worked and so he confessed before they could win his game. “Benzo’s in the secret room.”

“There’s a secret room?” Asked Stan, he was bothered as much as anyone by this revelation. “I hate this place. Where is it?”

“I’ll tell you but there are conditions: you can’t tell anyone and you can’t go there without me. Deal?” Krink assumed this was his best chance to minimize his losses.

Interested in expanding his secret estate, Teddy didn’t leave any room for objection; he took the deal. Krink told him not to get too excited. He explained that getting into the hidden room required some effort and that getting in unnoticed was impossible without help.

“Who are we speaking to?” With that out of the way, Stan wanted the ghost neutralized.

Again, the planchette coasted around the board, but this time the children announced the letters it highlighted until it spelled, “orphan”. Stan and Oliver saw proof of this crouched between them, guiding the game-piece under their fingers. Everybody whispered about the disembodied that haunted the halls. Signs occurred frequent enough to generate widespread belief of a realm beyond the limits of human perception; many of the stories depicted orphans who had died there.

This was sad evidence to the mundane among the group that they could be trapped in the orphanage forever, and this bothered them. For a brief moment, the meaning of existence came under tearful debate. Answers to some of the fears that were shared sat next to them in the form of Oliver and Stan but they produced nothing because there was no good way to explain what came next. All they could offer, what they considered to be the purpose in their second lives, was help to move on.

“What do you want?” Stan pulled them out of introspection and back into the game.

Quietly, patiently, they waited minutes for the response. The ghost in the group left the secret fortress and the Sin-Eaters could hear it whispering, the question Stan asked passed on to another ghost, who could be heard putting it into the ear of another, and so on until the message left the basement. After some delay, susurrus trickled back down the stairs. This time, no one orated the response. It read “help us.” These were desperate graves, they wanted their secrets unearthed. Calling a ghost out was dangerous, but snubbing it off would make matters far worse. They had to go on with the séance.

“How do we help you?”

“Stan, what are you doing?” Mersa wasn’t the only one who was scared.

“I don’t like this one bit.” Teddy spoke what everybody felt.

Krink said nothing, but based on his expression he was furious, entertained, or a troubling combination of both. Again, the ghost left the makeshift fort to consort its fellows, but this time it returned with gusto. A wind broke into the canvas and put the candlelight to flickering, dancing to match the frenzy that took over the planchette. It darted from letter to letter with new determination.

“M – A – R – Y – S!” the orphans shouted as one, minus the Krink.

Perhaps because they gave it hope or because it was determined to make its misery known, the ghost of the orphan boy appeared in greater definition to the Sin-Eaters than it had before, exposing the wounds that had caused his death. Some sharp instrument failed to severe his head before finishing him off. An axe, or a –

“-T-C-H-E-T.”

Darkness conquered candlelight, stinky fumes invaded the air before fear could; Teddy was the first to ask about Mary’s Hatchet and Mersa surprised them with a story. Years ago, not far from the orphanage, there was a nursery managed by a solitary nurse named Mary.

“I’m gonna barf.”

“Cram it, Teddy!” Was Mersa’s response.

“I will murder you if you keep breathing on me, Teddy.” Krink made his presence known with this chilling threat, then froze the little smuggler silent when he added, “your corpse will smell better than your mouth right now.”

Mersa continued her story, detailing events that continued to shake a community. Mary was overwhelmed but refused to let it show. She considered her duty a privilege; it was believed the children were in good care until no one heard from Mary after a few days. A grizzly scene was discovered by a courier who was prompted to make a grocery run a day ahead of schedule. Slaughter had covered the walls, floors, and ceiling with infantile gore. Mary was found in the attic; in her hand was a hatchet, its blade nicked and bloody. Much of her throat and face had been chewed down.

“Not all the kids were found. However!” No one could see the finger Mersa thrust into the air. “Some stories claim that one of those missing kids wound up here at the orphanage.”

Teddy screamed, then shouted, “grah! Krink is a cannibal baby”!

“Don’t be stupid. That happened before I was born, if any of this is real. You probably just made the whole thing up.”

“I can show you where it is.” Mersa assured them. “Getting in is easy. Even you could figure it out, Stink.”

Krink replied with an audible grinding of his teeth. In the dark they could not see his scowl but they could feel it. Knowing the ghosts would harangue the group if they didn’t help (and hoping to deprive Krink the chance of starting a blind fight), Oliver told Mersa to take them there.

“But Benzo…”

“…is safe, like I told you. You don’t want to go because you made all of this up.”

“Let him go first, then.”

“That doesn’t work.” Stan argued. “We have to go now.”

A flash blinded the boys. When their eyes adjusted a second later they saw Mersa lighting a candle with a match. She stared at Krink.

“You promise Benzo is safe?” Mersa asked.

Not that a promise from Krink carried weight anywhere. When he grunted his reassurances, she blew out the candle, then ascended out of the basement. Oliver, Stan, and Krink left Teddy to tend to his items.

“Nudie mags would have been better.” Krink had the last word.