The Ouija Bored

I remember the smile on her face when she showed me the glossy box. It said "Ouija Board" in big black letters across the top. Then I saw "Parker Brothers" in small print across the bottom. Then I smiled myself.

I remember how we both laughed as we first placed our nervous hands on the planchett. We kept asking questions for hours, the next always a little more ridiculous than the last. Then I remember the first little tug.

I remember all of those afternoons on all of those days, playing for hours. The planchett would fly across the board at breakneck speed, telling us everything we wanted to know. I remember the laughter.

I remember the look on her face when it said that we would be together forever. There was Jasper an innocent child. But there was also Michael, a self proclaimed dark spirit.

I remember a cool and crisp autumn evening just before Halloween. Many were gathered at her house to celebrate the holiday. I remember when we pulled that box from the closet, then dirty and stained from months of use. I remember the two of us, hands firmly on the planchett, waiting for it to move.

I remember the look of amazement on everybody’s faces when it started sliding across the board. Cries of "Y’all are moving it," were quickly silenced when a third party started asking questions with answers that only they would know.

Then I remembered the word it spelled. A-N-N. We turned to look at Ann. I remember the look in her eyes as they remained glued to the board.

"Bobby?" she called out.

I remember the planchett slowly motioning toward the word "Yes."

"Don’t fuck with me," she said to us. I shook my head. She shook hers. Ann looked straight at the board. "What’s your mother’s name?"

I remember the planchett wobbled a little. Then it started moving.

H-E-L-E-N.

Tears poured from Ann’s eyes. "Bobby?" she said again. The planchett moved to "Yes."

I remember Ann talking to the board like Bobby was there with us. Perhaps he was. Bobby was an old boyfriend who died a couple of years earlier in a car accident. Then I remember when the planchett became heavy and unresponsive.

"Bobby?" Ann asked.

I remember as the planchett moved slowly to the word. "No."

"Who is this?" I asked. Heavily, the planchett spelled out M-I-C-H-A-E-L. I looked at my partner. Her face was as white as mine.

"Where’s Bobby?" Ann almost screamed.

"G-O-N-E," the ouija board said again.

I remember how she slammed her hand on the table. "Where is my Bobby? What have you done with my Bobby?" I remember the terror in her face as a friend pulled her out of the room. I remember my partner and I sitting stunned with our hands still on the planchett. "Where is my Bobby?" we heard her scream again.

I remember how we both looked at the board at the same time. Slowly and heavily, it moved to the letters H-E-L-L.

I don’t remember ever using that ouija board again.