Con Tact, a loose organization of pariahs from the local paranormal society that had stumbled into becoming a business two years ago, occupied two rooms: an office and a parlor. It sat on the bottom floor of a three-family home that they shared with a dentist’s office. Said dentist, Dr. Aileen Minra, owned the building. She let Con Tact rent those two rooms at a quarter of market price.

In another life, as the soft-spoken Dr. Minra put it, her four-year-old son had mysteriously disappeared from the playground. He was missing for two excruciating days. A woman calling herself a clairvoyant convinced Dr. Minra that the boy could be safely recovered from an abandoned factory some eighteen miles from their home. The fruitless search ended with the conwoman spitting out teeth and Dr. Minra swearing never to fall for such a ruse again. Her son was safely recovered hours later.

Twenty-odd years later, when her new patient Birch managed to explain through a mouthful of cleaning instruments that they wanted to teach people how to spot and avoid fraudulent psychics, Dr. Minra offered them half her office on the spot.

In that very spot sat Cam, her little particle board desk pushed up against the window alongside Birch’s. Austin’s desk faced the entryway, its peeling veneer obscured by quartz crystals of various colors. Seo Jun kept himself happily tucked away in the corner.

Old Houdini advertisements found on Pinterest and printed at Staples hung from thumbtacks on every wall. Their low pile blue carpeting needed a wash, so they’d spread a tan and red area rug from Birch’s Mom’s basement over the worst of it.

Such cost saving measures allowed the four of them to go much further with the money earned from seances, lectures, conventions, podcast appearances, and endearingly strange bachelorette parties than they’d ever expected. Enough even to take on a fifth employee, if only part-time, with the hope of expanding into publishing.

Cam wanted to write a middle grade adventure series following the escapades of a 19th century orphan girl who used her knowledge of magic tricks to expose fraudulent mediums. Birch wanted to start a blog detailing the history of Spiritualism in the United States, slowly build an audience, and spin that into a nonfiction book deal. Austin said neither seemed likely to come to fruition; Seo Jun was diligently crafting marketing strategies for both, with no comment of his own on their respective chances.

This was the underlying truth of Con Tact: each of them, Austin, Seo Jun, and Birch alike, knew that it could all come crashing down at any moment- they joked about it regularly- but everyone worked as though such a possibility were the furthest thing from their minds. Cam loved them for it.

Still, full awareness of their precarious position seemed to flash across Birch’s face as they came into the room and caught Cam’s end of the call that had just come in.

“The dead can’t hurt you, but you’ll want to prepare yourself for the experience in order to get the most out of it,” she said. “There are certain steps you can take. Do you have something to write with?

“Give me a sec?”

“Yes, I can wait.”

Birch cocked their head. Cam took a promotional sticky note from under her blue celestite skull, wrote DENNIS, and showed it to Birch.

“Okay,” Dennis said. “Still there?”

“Still here,” Cam resumed. “All right. There are three things you’ll want to achieve in the days before our session. The first is expansion. Learn something new, change your mind about something, experience something you never have before, that kind of thing.”

Austin had wandered over to the window and leaned against its edge, exchanging glances with Birch, as Seo Jun took a seat at his desk.

“Got it,” Dennis replied with a chuckle.

“Good,” Cam said. “The second is balance. After expanding your mind, you’ll want to reset, recenter yourself. Think meditation or meditative activities. Got that?”

“Sure.”

“Ok. Now, the third is the most important. Transgression.”

Seo Jun looked up.

“Do something that goes against your nature. If you’re shy, go up and talk to a stranger. If you hate the outdoors, go camping. That sort of thing.”

Austin turned to Seo Jun, then back to her, mouthing, “What?”

Cam finished up her call with an abrupt string of generic niceties before Dennis could say much more.

“What the fuck was that?” Seo Jun asked.

“An old friend,” Birch answered.

Cam gave them a sweet smile. “He deserves a good scare.” What exactly that would entail, she didn’t know yet, but she was enjoying laying down the foundation.

Seo Jun said, “Okay, so, you do know how scary you are.”

Austin chuckled and moved to his desk. “Where did you get all that expansion and transgression stuff?”

“Some Reddit post, I think.”

“Classic.”

As the others returned to their work, Birch asked, “Woods tonight?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Woods tonight,” Cam confirmed. “I’m picking up snacks after work. Can’t wait to commune with the trees.”

“Do the trees talk to you?” Austin asked without a pause in his typing.

“Trees talk to everyone,” Seo Jun said.

“He gets it.” Cam opened the middle drawer of her desk, took out a bottle of lighter fluid, shook it, and tossed it into the trash can behind Birch. “One of these days, I’ll learn how to forage, and then you’ll never see me again.”

“Why don’t you head out a little early?” Birch suggested.

“You think?”

“Sure. You finished the show room. No more performances today. Why hang around another hour?”

Cam addressed the wider office. “Anyone need anything from me?”

“Get,” Austin said. Seo Jun dismissed her with a wave.

“Thanks!” She grabbed her keys and checked her pocket for its phone bulge. “I’ll come in early next week.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Birch insisted. “Go have fun.”

“Send pics,” Seo Jun said.

“Enjoy the trees. And stay safe,” Austin called after her as she left the office.

Cam decided to leave by the back door, and nearly collided with Dr. Minra, who was having a cigarette next to their shared recycling bin.

“You’re leaving early. Camping again?” Dr. Minra crossed her arms, cigarette resting dangerously close to her elbow.

Leaning into the familiarity of a conversation she’d had many times, Cam stuffed her hands into her sweater pocket. “I am.”

“It’s not safe going alone.”

“It’s a very safe area, I promise. My mom used to take me there all the time when I was a little kid.” At Dr. Minra’s frown, Cam tried adding a funny detail. “We roasted marshmallows on pens from her office because she’d always forget the skewers, and she thought the sticks around us were dirty. Imagine. Those pens were definitely filthy. And the plastic- that was probably the most dangerous part of the whole thing.”

“You only have to be unlucky once,” Dr. Minra said.

“I’m bringing my pocket knife.” This did nothing to change her disapproval. “I’ll have my phone.” Still no improvement. “I’m learning pyrotechnics.”

Dr. Minra finally cracked a smile. “Don’t burn the forest down.”

With a scrunched up smile, Cam took her leave.

It looked like rain, though the forecast didn’t call for it. Cam made a mental note to grab her raincoat. Maybe she’d even be lucky enough to catch a storm, the perfect background for whiling away the evening in her waterproof single-person tent with a pile of blankets, snacks, books, and a hot water bottle. Her solar-powered lamp had spent the day charging on the windowsill. Her favorite socks were clean and already packed. And yes, she had remembered to tuck her pocket knife into her shorts.

Cam popped into a corner store and wiggled her fingers at the cashier. “Hey Spencer!”

“Hey! New hair? I love it.”

She framed her face with her hands, eyes askance, and said, “Why, thank you. I picked it up a couple weeks ago.”

Cam skimmed the aisles, shoving mixed nuts, powdered donuts, potato chips, and a bag of yogurt covered pretzels into the crook of her arm. She dumped her supplies on the counter while still looking around.

“Find everything?” Spencer asked.

“You sell lighter fluid?”

“I got you.” Spencer loped over to the cigarettes behind the other side of the counter and fished a bottle from one of the lower shelves.

“Lifesaver.” Cam reached for her wallet. “Oh. Shit.”

“What’s up?”

“Uh… I think…” She had many pockets, and checked them all repeatedly. Her wallet must have been at home with her camping supplies.

“You forget your money?” Spencer’s voice rose with excitement. It wasn’t the first time Cam had done this.

“Can you spot me?” she asked, embarrassed.

“Dinner’s on me,” he agreed.

“Thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you as soon as I’m back from camping, and I’ll have something really special cooked up. I promise.”

Cam had always repaid Spencer’s kindnesses- be they borrowed money, expired chips he was supposed to throw away, or a quick hit from his joint- with magic tricks.

“Can’t wait,” he said, bagging her items as he paid for them out of his own pocket. “I’m hoping for pyrotechnics.”

“And you shall have them.” Cam collected her bag and took Spencer’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “You’re the best.”

“Hey, stay safe out there!” He called after her as she hurried from the store.

A seven minute wait in the subway, a thirteen minute ride on the train, and an eleven minute walk brought Cam to her front door. More clouds gathered in the east- a good sign for a pluviophile. She slipped her headphones into her pocket with the music still playing, wiped her shoes on the mat, and dropped her snacks by the hat rack as she went inside.

Like the Con Tact office, her studio apartment was a collection of hand-me-downs and scavenged goods, except Cam had not bothered to find matching furniture to fill her four hundred square feet. She’d inherited a coffee-stained bearskin rug- reportedly but not credibly real- from the cafe where she’d met Birch. The antique chest that served as her coffee table had been rescued from an aunt’s basement. Her deep-set sofa came from the curb of an apartment building nearby, its left side bearing cat scratches.

A collection of thrift shop cast iron pans hung above the gas range oven and below the single row of cabinets tucked into the front left corner. These, along with a generous two bay sink, three feet of counter space, and an off-white fridge, which sighed and groaned as if it were a human transformed into an appliance in the 1990s and left to its decline in the space ever since, made up the kitchen.

In the back right corner, a burgundy hammock hung on a metal stand held over half a dozen blankets. As many sat folded underneath it. A modest dresser hauled from across the street on trash day stored most of Cam’s clothes. Her bluetooth speaker sat on top, fully charged, chirping to indicate that it had connected with her phone, though her headphones were keeping it from playing her music.

The rest of the available space was taken up by secondhand bookshelves filled with the spoils of years spent browsing library sales.

The lemon oil scent of Cam’s homemade potpourri usually dominated her apartment, but there was something else today- a musty smell that made her wonder if she’d missed something when taking out the trash. She’d handle it when she got back from the woods.

Cam used the bathroom, a cramped and fastidiously clean greyscale kennel of a room, and considered showering as she washed her hands. The weather was too warm for the sweater she’d been wearing all day, but Cam hadn’t wanted to lose her giant pocket. There’d be no one around to take offense at the smell. She would wait. Next, she considered the fireproof gloves and burn gel in her medicine cabinet. There wouldn’t be much opportunity to practice in the rain. It could also wait until she got home.

Tapping the ceramic pig next to her soap dish, she said, “Watch the house for me, Hammond.”

Cam grabbed her fully charged lantern from the window, doubled back to check she’d turned out the bathroom light, and at last headed for the closet next to her sofa where she’d stashed her camping gear.

A man stood inside.