‘Ask a question,’ Dawn instructed.

Morgan took a deep breath. ‘Grace Harper, are you here?’

The smile evaporated from Dawn’s face as they both stared at the board. Morgan’s shoulders edged upwards. She hated creepy stuff like this. She had come to realise that being a Goth was merely a projection of her own fears. If you can’t beat them, join them. But in reality, it wasn’t for her.

‘How long do we wait?’ she whispered.

‘As long as it takes,’ Dawn replied, not taking her eyes from the board. Slowly, the planchette rolled over the wooden surface, and Morgan held her breath. It rolled to YES.

‘Did you do that?’ Morgan said, double-checking.

‘You’re talking to Grace,’ Dawn swiftly replied. ‘Ask another question.’

Morgan thought about Naomi and what she’d give for some insights into the Harper case.

‘Where are you?’ she said, waiting as the seconds ticked by without a response. ‘Can we finish now?’ She shifted in the hard, unforgiving seat. She thought of all the vicars who must have sat here. Of how mortified they would be to see them consulting a Ouija board in the church. It all felt very wrong.

‘No,’ Dawn replied, seemingly unaffected. ‘You’re asking the wrong questions. Go for yes or no answers.’

But the planchette moved, silencing her words. H . . . E . . . R . . . E

‘Shit.’ Morgan exhaled. ‘She says she’s here.’ Her face scrunched as she considered the question. ‘Does she mean she’s here with us now, or buried here?’

But Dawn responded with a blank look.

‘Are you buried in the graveyard?’ Morgan asked, feeling a shiver encompass her. She waited for the planchette to move, staring at it as she willed a response. Was she actually conversing with the dead?

‘No,’ it said, as it rolled to the word.

She gazed up at Dawn’s face, which was stony with concentration.

‘Were you murdered?’ Morgan continued. She held her breath as the roller slowly moved to YES.

A sudden shriek of wind rattled the vestry door, making Morgan stiffen in her chair.

‘Who killed you?’ Morgan continued, ignoring the advice to go for yes or no answers. Come on, she thought, her finger light on the planchette. What would she do if it revealed the killer? It wasn’t as if anyone would listen to her. But she was caught up in the mystery. She needed to know. The planchette moved, and she was scared to blink in case she missed it. Her heart faltered as it rested on the word GOODBYE.

She exhaled a taut breath. ‘Don’t go,’ she whispered, but the planchette remained still.

‘Who killed you?’ Her question hung in the air.

‘We were so close to answers,’ she groaned, as Dawn released her hand from the planchette. A thought occurred. ‘That wasn’t you, was it?’