They knew it wasn’t a hoax when the medium’s voice rose from her theatrical moan to a horrified shriek and Arthur’s ears popped.
A cold wind followed, like the ripples rushing out from a rock dropped in a pond. “The candles have all blown out,” John reported, tense and hushed. “There’s only moonlight through the windows.”
Arthur shoved back from the table, ready to bolt, ready to shout a warning to the rest of the participants. The hands to either side of them stopped them, pinning their wrists to the table.
“Arthur,” John gritted. “They’re all looking at us.”
“Fascinating,” another voice chimed in over top of him, equally inhuman in the discordant tones of its words, issuing from many throats at once around the table.
The grip on their wrists bore them down against the table till Arthur could feel his bones creak. John hissed in pain, receiving the same treatment. As they gathered themselves to wrench away, another set of hands clamped down on their shoulders to keep them in their seat.
“There’s one person here I couldn’t possess,” the voice continued, from mouths next to each of his ears. “You, my dear, seem to already be full.”