The planchette is still. Too still. Dead. Absent. And that silence permeates the area. Not a sound, not a chirp, not a snap, not a rustle of leaves.

The temperature drops, cool, cooler, cold, until the gathered students can see each breath they take exhaled as a puff of white steam.

"Um, who's Lionel?" comes a voice from everywhere.

And then, the spirit board begins to shake...