Due To Recent Events

Ouija boards are no longer permitted.

The sign was taped to the glass door leading out to the patio.

DUE TO RECENT EVENTS, OUIJA BOARDS ARE NO LONGER ALLOWED ON THE PATIO.

The man stood there a second longer than most people would. Then he walked over to the bar and took a seat.

La Brisa Cantina kept moving. Plates clattered. Laughter and melody pressed in, thick enough to blur the edges of the room.

The bartender came over, towel thrown over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”

“Beer,” the man said. “Whatever’s cold.”

The bartender turned to the taps, pulled one, and set it down in front of him. The man didn’t touch it. Instead, he signaled toward the patio.

“That sign,” he said. “What happened?”

The bartender mopped the counter slowly. He looked at the door. Didn’t answer.

“You ever see a night go to holy hell in about ten seconds?”

The man’s expression turned from casual to inquisitive, but he didn’t respond.

The bartender gulped nervously and nodded.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “I saw her walk through the door—”

---

The patio echoed with mariachi music. String lights sagged low, glass bulbs fat and warm, turning faces the hue of aged honey.

Lily spotted the group instantly.

“Birthday girl,” Serena called, voice keen enough to split the humid air. Marco wobbled upright, earning a slosh of his margarita onto the tablecloth. Nina’s phone vanished. Carlos lifted his glass in salute, as if they were toasting from across the span of some minor catastrophe.

Lily let herself get pulled in.

Serena’s hand grasped Lily’s forearm. “Sit,” she said, with that tone that made it less an invitation, more a command. “We saved you the best seat.”

She lowered herself onto the edge of the chair, her shoulders hunched, fingers tracing idle circles on her knee.

“So,” said Marco, “you’re a quarter-century ancient. How does it feel?”

“Like everything’s supposed to happen at once,” Lily answered, nodding her head at the picked-over tacos and empty margarita pitchers. Then, more softly: “Like I should have got here sooner.”

Laughter. Drinks passing around. Time slipped past. She let it fill the empty space in her smile.

“Okay, gifts,” Serena declared, reaching down beside her chair and plunking a flat box wrapped in matte black paper onto Lily’s placemat. The ribbon was a tiny noose, snug and carefully knotted. Carlos followed with a lumpy brown-paper parcel, the tape barely holding.

Marco looked at the black-wrapped box. “You really brought that here?”

“It’s from both of us,” Serena said, nudging Nina with her elbow. Nina, caught mid-text, looked up and shrugged.

Lily hooked her nail under the ribbon. Waited for the quiet snap. She took her time. The others leaned in, the moment expanding around her hands and the sound of paper tearing. The box was wood, polished but worn, an engraved sigil catching the light.

She flipped open the latch. Inside: a Ouija board, ancient and elegant, the alphabet scored deep into the grain. The planchette nested beside it, glass window smudged but still intact. The box’s lining was wine velvet, the color so rich it looked wet.

Nina’s grin peeled wide. “Oh, good, now we can finally summon something more exciting than your ex.”

Marco snorted, but his eyes glanced from the board to Lily, a line of worry carving itself above his eyebrow. “You’re not actually into this stuff, right?”

Serena made a show of pouring herself another drink. “It’s authentic. Got it from that antique place in The Heights. They said it was haunted.”

“Oooooo,” Carlos bellows, wiggling his fingers in a spooky gesture. They all laugh at his lame impression.

Lily followed the letters with her thumb. Each groove was shallow, sharp. The wood held the day’s heat. Warmth slid up her arm. “Feels like a dare,” she said.

She looked up. Four faces, all laughing. None met her eyes. The air moved. Overhead bulbs burned brightly, their light swarming with gnats and a few moths.

“Should we try it?” said Serena, her voice pitched low.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Nina reached out, placed two fingers on the planchette, and wagged her eyebrows. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Lily let out a breath and pushed the board to the center. “Let’s find out.”

She pulled two white candles from her bag, the kind that belonged in a church, and pressed them into glasses, fixing them with leftover wax.

Marco arched an eyebrow. “Prepared much?”

“Never leave home without them,” Lily said. She struck a match. Sulfur cut through the sweet air. She lit the candles. Their flames wavered.

Serena pulled her chair closer, the legs shrieking against tile. “This is so extra,” she said, but her fingers rested just above the tabletop, eager despite herself.

Carlos grinned. “Who’s leading?”

Nina had already placed two fingertips on the planchette, her bracelets sliding up her arm. “Lily has to. It’s her party.”

Lily breathed in. Set her hands on it as well. Marco and Serena joined, their fingers barely touching.

“All right,” Lily said, voice steady. “Is there anyone here who wants to say hello?”

Nothing happened at first. The candles glimmered, throwing greasy light over the table. The noise from the street and the patio kept moving around them as they hung in the silence.

Then a tremble. The planchette shivered, so slightly that Lily nearly missed it. It slid to the edge, stopped on Y. Nina’s head jerked up, her eyes large and glassy.

She swallowed, tried again. “What’s your name?”

The planchette circled, slow, spelling. Y. E. S.

Serena snorted. “Classic.” But her tone was thin, the bravado leached out. “Who’s pushing?”

“Not me,” Carlos said, holding his free hand up in oath.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” said Marco, but his hand quivered.

Lily’s tongue was too dry. She made herself ask, “Are you here for someone at this table?”

The planchette snapped to Y, then E, then S. Again and again, faster each time. The candles wavered. Something cold moved through. From the board came three clear knocks.

Everyone jerked their hands away. The planchette shot off the table and into Lily’s lap. They froze. Lily’s chest constricted. Her eyes focused on the letters, shaking. The lights flickered. Stillness pressed in.

Then she stopped moving.

It wasn’t sudden. Just a small stillness, spreading through her shoulders, down her arms. Fingers going slack against the board.

“Lily?” Serena said, half-laughing. “Okay, not funny—”

She didn’t answer. Her head tilted slightly. Like she was listening to something just behind her.

Then her eyes rolled back. Slow. Deliberate. White showing. No blink.

“Hey—hey—” Marco bent forward, stretching toward her, then hesitated just short of touching her.

A line of red flowed from Lily’s nostril. It ran over her lip. Dropped onto the board. Darkened the carved letters.

“Lily,” Nina said, more pointed now. “Lily, stop—”

Lily’s mouth opened. What came out wasn’t a word. It wasn’t a sound anyone could place. Too thick, too layered. More than one voice trying to come through the same throat. A deep mutter folded over something almost like language.

Serena recoiled so hard her chair shrieked across the tile.

“Jesus Christ—what is she doing?”

Lily’s head moved forward. Her eyes were still wrong. Unfocused. Looking past everyone. Her lips moved again.

“—here—”

The word stretched, broke, doubled over itself. Then her body jerked. Hard.

The board shook underneath her hands. The planchette snapped back onto to the board, skidding across the surface in sharp, violent lines, not following the letters.

“Stop,” Marco uttered, louder now. “Lily, stop—”

A glass on the table slid an inch.

Then another.

She gave a sound. Short, choking. Her head dipped again. Blood streamed freely down over her mouth, her chin.

An instant of calm.

Then it all broke loose.

Cold swept in. Candles’ flames knocked sideways. A bowl of salsa slid off the table, breaking open on the stone. Red and sudden. Serena jerked back, knocking half a pitcher of margaritas in her lap. The liquid soaked her skirt, pooling dark between her knees.

Carlos stumbled back, beer spilling across Marco’s shirt. Marco didn’t flinch. He stared at Lily, eyes alert and empty. Nina screamed and jerked away, tipping the table, sending everything to the floor.

Noise crashed together. Chairs scraping. Glass breaking. People at other tables stood or ducked, unsure whether the chaos was theirs.

Lily’s head dipped forward.

For a second, nothing. Then she sucked in a breath—sharp, desperate—like she’d been underwater too long. Her eyes snapped back down, blinking hard, unfocused at first. The white was gone. The wrongness with it. Just Lily again. Breathing fast. Looking around like she didn’t understand where she was.

“—what—” she started, but it didn’t fully register. Her speech came out thin, scraped raw.

Someone was shouting. Chairs scraping. Glass breaking.

Lily flinched. Her hands were shaking. She looked down at them like they didn’t belong to her, like she didn’t remember putting them there. Then, slowly, her mouth pulled into something that tried to be a smile. It slipped off her face like she’d forgotten what it was for.

“Lily—” Serena’s voice, somewhere close, panicked now.

Lily rapidly blinked again, hard, like she was waking up. The smile was gone. She pushed herself up too fast, the chair skidding back behind her. The world swayed for a second, then caught. She grabbed Marco’s arm without thinking, fingers digging in hard.

Carlos yelled, “Run!”

No one hesitated.

Lily was already moving, pulling Marco with her. Found Serena close, her legs smeared with lime, ice, and something darker. Everyone else scattered in a frenzied mass, running from the restaurant as if it were on fire.

No one stopped to pay.

---

The bartender watched him a little closer now, the towel in his hand going still.

“So if you don’t mind me asking,” he said, in a low voice, “why all the questions? Did something happen?”

The man didn’t answer right away. He finished his beer, set the glass down, and looked at him.

“Yeah,” he said.

The man’s expression turned from casual to serious, as if he’d repeated this a hundred times before.

“Birthday girl murdered two of her friends.”

The bartender didn’t move.

“They found her in her apartment,” the man went on. “Sitting in a pool of blood. Smiling. Eyes black as coal.”

Silence.

“She was holding one of their hearts,” he said. “Just… playing with it.”

The bartender went quiet.

The man reached into his jacket, pulled out a card, and set it on the bar beside the empty glass. He left a few bills with it. “If you remember anything.”

He didn’t wait for an answer and walked out.

T.C. 4.24.26