Ouija boards have always given me the creeps. Even now, when my work as a shamanic healer routinely brings me in contact with spirits, ghosts, and the occasional evil entity, I avoid Ouija boards. To begin with, I don’t need them. Secondly, I am sensitive to energy, and many of the divination boards contain a bad vibe. But if I dig deeper, I discover the real reason Ouija boards creep me out resides in my early memories.
As a child, I was clueless to the rules and safeguards regarding the spirit realm. As a result, Ouija board encounters opened the door to all sorts of bad entities. I drew upon that unease and innocence when I wrote a Ouija board scene into the second book of my Teen Wytche Saga, Spell Struck. The scene is in the point of view of Salem, the school goth. Salem fears her sister’s next suicide attempt will succeed. She’s desperate to find a Get Well spell, but the writing in the ancient grimoire she possesses has vanished. A schoolmate, Parvani, talks Salem and their friend Evie into trying a Ouija board.
Excerpt from Spell Struck
“What’s a planchette?”
“This.” Parvani handed Evie a heart-shaped plank slightly larger than her palm. “We place our fingertips on it, ask a question, then wait and see what happens.”
“The planchette will move toward yes or no, or spell out an answer,” I added.
“I see.” Evie’s eyebrows furrowed as she handed back the board piece. “What are we going to ask it?”
Parvani placed the planchette on the middle of the board, with the pointy end facing up. “Let’s start with, are there any helpful spirits in the room?”
“Sounds safe enough.” Evie positioned her fingertips opposite Parvani’s on the planchette. She glanced up at me. “Salem?”
I stifled a yawn. “Okay. Fine.” Our fingertips formed a triangle. “Are there any helpful spirits in the room?”
We held our breaths. Baby whined in the hallway. Nothing happened.
I was about to fall back and ask for more pizza when the planchette cruised toward the letter H.
“H,” Parvani said in a low, breathy voice. The planchette ambled to the letter I. “I,” Parvani said.
“Hi?” Evie said.
Before either of us could respond, the little board moved two spaces to the right. “K,” we said in unison. Then back to I, which we all said aloud. Energy swelled around us, building higher and higher as the planchette bobbed twice over the T. Evie’s hand trembled, but she kept her fingers glued to the planchette as it looped up to E then skidded down to N.
“Hi kitten,” I said.
Evie sobbed, and a tear splashed onto her arm.
“It’s her dad!” Parvani explained. “He always called her Kitten.”
I gaped at Evie. She didn’t look as though she had influenced the planchette. Shock, devastation, and elation played across her face like clouds scudding through the sky. “Don’t lift your fingertips,” I warned.
Evie sniffed and nodded.
“Mr. O’Reilly, do you have a message for your daughter?” Parvani asked.
I couldn’t breathe. My heart knocked against my chest so loud I figured the sound alone would waken the dead. I stared down at the planchette. Evie’s fingertips were the color of summer tomatoes. The planchette started to glide.
My throat became sandpaper. “Beware of what?”
Baby barked, loudly, sharply, as if Death was at the door. Evie screamed. I jumped. My phone rang. Evie and Parvani leapt at me and clung to either side of me. Something whooshed to the ceiling.
“We let go!” Evie wailed.
We stared wild-eyed at each other.
Evie’s coffin-shaped clock dove off the desk and thudded on end between Parvani and the divination board. Our screams could have scratched paint off the walls. Baby barked louder. The hair on my nape rose like hackles on a coyote. I sensed a new energy enter the room, something dark and dense and creepy.
“We forgot to set up protection!” I peeled Parvani and Evie off me and stood.
Copyright 2013 Ariella Moon