Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Desdemona gasped, pulling her hands back quickly. “Did … did you see
that?”
Thin Man nodded, eyes wide. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned forward, face inches from the Ouija board.
She then seemed to remember she was being recorded as she looked back up
at the camera and said, “It begins. The spirits have chosen to speak.” She put
her hands back on the planchette. “O, dearly departed. Use me. Use me as
hard as you can. Deliver unto me your message and I will reveal it to the
world.”
Wallace was not a fan of Desdemona Tripplethorne. He pushed against the
planchette, trying to move it, but Desdemona had a firm grip on it. “It’s
moving,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Get ready. This is
going to get us four million views and a TV deal, I swear to god.”
Thin Man nodded and scribbled on the pad of paper.
“What should we say?” Wallace asked Nelson.
Nelson’s face scrunched up before smoothing out, a wicked gleam in his
eyes. “Something terrifying. Skip the yes or no on the board. That’s boring.
Pretend you’re a demon, and you want to harvest her soul as well as her
larynx.”
“No harvesting souls,” Hugo said loudly.
Desdemona, Thin Man, and Squat Man all turned to stare at him. “What
was that?” Desdemona asked.
Hugo blanched. “I said … I’m thinking about offering burrito bowls?”
“Not in my tea shop you won’t!” Mei shouted from the kitchen. She’d
somehow found a second knife, and it was bigger than the first one. She
looked quite the fright through the porthole. Wallace was impressed.
“She’s right,” Desdemona said to Hugo. “That wouldn’t fit with your
menu. Honestly, Hugo, know your consumer base.” She turned back to the
board, the tips of her fingers firmly pressed against the planchette. “Spirits!
Fill me with your ghostly ectoplasm! Leave nothing to chance. Let me be your
incredibly sensual voice. Tell me your secrets. Oooh.”
“You got it, lady,” Wallace said, and began to move the planchette. It took
more concentration than he expected. Clothes were one thing; moving chairs
was another. This was small, and yet it was more difficult than he thought
it’d be. He grunted and if he was still capable of sweating, he was sure it’d