I howled, kicked, and cried while Hanson sang “MMMBop.” The bedside table, now toppled over on the floor, was the only thing between me and the doctor. Between panicked breaths, I looked to my hands; their shape was changing. They widened at the knuckles, my fingers elongated, my nails grew sharp as talons. And red—my skin was now blood red. Everywhere.

Mac and Sadie Evers, an interracial couple inspired by Betty and Barney but not based on them, tracked me down in my home office and told me their story.

It was late. Her maroon kitten heels pounded against the sidewalk, her stride tested the limits of her pencil skirt. There was no time to dawdle. She had to get to the oddities shop before it closed. She needed another tarot reading.

Real, live people from other realms come to me. The first time it happened, I was a kid—seventh grade, I think?

I don't even really understand anything I've done until I've done it. What's more I can't see its value until I write about it.

If writers are lucky, their writing will be the seance, their keystrokes—the ouija board.