Audience with a Specter

October 27th, 1961 - Marquette, Michigan

On the cold, dimly lit streets of downtown Marquette, two boys ducked into a narrow alleyway between two old buildings. A thick, icy fog had rolled off of Lake Superior into the town, concealing them from prying eyes. They moved quickly towards their target: A decrepit, boarded up door on the side of the leftmost building.

The boys craned their necks to take in the height of the buildings as they slipped into the alley. Though the buildings were only a few stories tall, their rooftops disappeared into the fog, giving the structures an eerie, endless quality.

"Michael. What are we doing?" One of the boys asked as he looked up, his voice gruff.

The other boy shrugged his backpack from one shoulder to the other. "Making things right, Eric. Gimme the crowbar."

Eric opened his own bag and silently handed Michael the tool. With some effort, Michael pried the board covering the door off. It fell to the ground with a thunk that echoed down the empty alleyway. The two boys - Eric, dark-haired and short, his slouched posture shortening his height further, and Michael, with a mess of curled blond hair atop his tall, lanky form - walked into the building together, Michael taking point. He motioned for Eric to follow him down the darkened hallway and up a flight of stairs, into one of the building's many decrepit rooms.

Michael turned as they entered the room, his arms open wide. "Eric Irving. Welcome to casa de occult!" He dramatically gestured at the various features of the room. Not that there was much to show off, for it was small and bare; save for the peeling wallpaper, a few neglected office desks, and a malodorous, out of place mascot suit. The room's lone window let in a dim glow from the streetlamp outside. Michael smacked a nearby desk with his hand, launching a cloud of dust and debris into the air.

Eric looked around the room. "It's....an abandoned storage room," he said, voice flatly sarcastic as his eyes lingered on the mascot suit. He waved away the encroaching dust cloud and the lingering scent of rot from the suit. "You've really outdone yourself, finding this place."

"Well, of course I picked a place like this. Ghosts show up in dark, mysterious places." Michael huffed, his enthusiasm waning slightly. "And I may or may not have dreamt that this is the place we needed to go to."

Eric cringed. "Listen. I've been helping you out for a while now with all your freaky supernatural stuff. It was cool at first but now I'm convinced you've gone absolutely batshit, dude." He said, his voice a harsh whisper. "It's three in the morning. We just broke into private property. You've been freaking out the librarians all week with your occult research. And now you're telling me you're getting psychic dreams!?"

"Hey, calm down!" Michael put a hand up in a placating gesture. "I just wanted to...I dunno. Grandma always talks about this guy she knew named Mordecai. She's pretty sure he's dead but she's never been able to contact him on her own, so I thought...maybe I could? And then when I had that dream, I was sure of it. But I can't use a ouija board on my own..."

"Ugh. Fine. But I still say we could have just sat around in your house's creepy basement instead. Pretty sure that's haunted."

"Maybe, but if we do it my way we're guaranteed to find the ghost we're looking for. And I'm so sure we will that if we don't, I'll do your algebra homework for a month. Scout's honor." Michael handed back the crowbar and held up his hand in a scout's salute.

"I'll hold you to that." Eric sighed, putting away his crowbar.

Michael plopped down on the dusty floor and gestured for Eric to sit across from him. His friend sat down, legs crossed. Michael was quick to begin setting up, pulling the ouija board and planchette from his bag and flanking it with two large candles, as well as a vintage golden wristwatch. The large board's lettering was wood-burnt, lacquered with a glossy finish that shone in the dim light; its accompanying planchette was similarly ornate. A click echoed through the room as Michael flicked his lighter and lit the candles. As the wicks took flame, the room was cast in an eerie reddish glow, the boys' figures casting long shadows against the walls.