The Ishbane Conspiracy by Randy Alcorn

Author:Randy Alcorn [Karina, Angela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-58860-111-7
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2011-11-01T16:00:00+00:00

26

MAY 17, 1:26 A.M.

We’ve done this three times and it’s never been like you said,” Daniel complained. “You swore you and Jillian and Brittany had contact with a spirit.”

“We did. Or something,” Ian said to Daniel, negotiating his way through the wet fog as he drove. “We just need to set the mood better.”

“I still can’t believe my sister did this.”

“It was before she got so … religious, you know. Are you getting cold feet?”

“No way. I’ve done it with my friends. But nothing much ever happens.”

“Well, it happened with us. And to make it more likely, we’re going to the graveyard. Okay, we’re both wearing black, that’s good. We’ve got the CD player. If Nine Inch Nails doesn’t do it, we’ve got Helloween on deck.”

“What if we get caught?”

“Who else will be in a cemetery this time of night? Igor digging up graves for Dr. Frankenstein?”

“But we have to use our flashlights to see where we’re going. And somebody could hear the music.”

“We’ll go way back from the streets. I scoped it out by daylight, remember? We’ll go all the way in, under the big trees. But listen, Daniel, if you’re too scared, let’s back off. I don’t want you wetting your pants.”

“I’m not scared! I just don’t think it’ll work.”

“If you don’t have faith, maybe it won’t.”

“Okay, okay. I want it to work. I want to see the spirit move the pointer.”

“Planchette.”

“Whatever.”

Ian pulled the car over, got out, and pulled up the hood on his black sweatshirt.

“It’s cold,” Daniel said. Dad’s old black leather jacket wasn’t as thick as he’d have liked.

“There’s no wind,” Ian said, holding up his hand in the deathly stillness. “That’s good for the candles.” He took out the black duffel bag and locked the car. They walked into the graveyard over the grass, ignoring the pathways.

“Should we be walking over the graves like this?” Daniel asked.

“Afraid somebody’s going to reach up and pull you under?”

“No.”

Ian felt something on the left side of his face. He stepped away. Something touched his nose. He swatted at it and jumped back.

“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.

“Uh … nothing. Just a branch or something. Let’s keep moving.”

They walked up a hill and down the other side, disappearing into the shadows.

“Nobody’ll see us here. Let’s set it up … there.”

“Right in front of the tombstone?”

“On the tombstone.”

“What?”

“Help me push it over.” They struggled to loosen it in the dirt, finally wiggling it back and forth until it was on the ground. Grunting, they pulled it out of the loose dirt and laid it flat.

“We could get in trouble for this,” Daniel said.

Ian pointed the flashlight at the headstone engraving.

“Roger Banish,” Ian said. “Died 1978.”

“Born 1959. That means he was just …”

“Nineteen.”

“How old are you?” Daniel asked.

“Nineteen,” Ian said, numbly. He opened the duffel bag, laid out a dark blanket, set up the candles, and took out the board. Ian set it carefully on the headstone. In the soft flickering aura of candlelight, the board took on a different feel.

“Turn on the music,” Ian said.

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