You’ve just moved into an empty, back-lot apartment accessible only by a dumpster-laden alley and neither of your roommates will arrive for a few weeks. What could you possibly do to entertain yourself on a Tuesday night?
If you’re me, apparently the answer is make like a 13-year-old summer camper and whip out the ol’ Ouija board to see if you are truly the only person (or otherwise) home.
We’ve all seen the séance sequences in the not-scary-until-you’re-alone-in-the-dark-later movies involving ancient lettered Ouija boards and their ability to channel communication with spirits. I’ve brushed so many of these depictions off with an eye roll. Puh-lease. One of the characters is totally moving the plastic indicator across the board to freak the other ones out, right? And yet a tiny ember of curiosity always remains, mostly due to weird online forums stoking the flames. With REAL HARROWING ACCOUNTS on sketchy sites such as “Great-Grandmother Was Possessed By A Ouija Board” and “Is My Life A Demonic Love Story?” It’s possible to think there’s a fraction of a chance of getting mixed up in some weird business if you work hard and believe in yourself. That was enough for my friend and me; we went halfsies on a new board and raced to my dark, furnitureless apartment to try.
The following is a real-time transcription of the events that occurred that night:
11:00 p.m. I light two Seafoam Ocean Paradise Breeze candles. We take a moment to revel in the ambiance. If we are going to sit pretzel-legged on the floor for an hour and not make eye contact so we don’t have to acknowledge that yes, this is kind of awkward, then we are going to smell classy doing it.
11:05 p.m. We place our fingers on the little plastic indicator and agree upon a question. It’s terribly uncreative: “Has anyone ever died in this house?” Let’s cut to the chase (hopefully not a ghost chase, though).
11:09 p.m. I realize I was supposed to be concentrating very deeply on our question the entire time, according to the tiny paper directions. After about 30 seconds of “meditating,” I start to think about how much I want pizza. I don’t even remember the original question at this point. I peek across at my friend with one eye. He may or may not be squinting back at me with a blank expression.
11:11 p.m. Make a wish! I wish we wouldn’t have spent five minutes in forced silence trying to will a plastic toy to move.
12:00 a.m. The earth does not open up into a portal to the underworld. Sam and Dean Winchester do not come busting through the door with salt and holy water. Ugh.
12:05 a.m. We turn the lights on and try to massage the blood back into our crossed legs. That’s when IT happens—
12:06 a.m. A demon centipede appears. I promptly scream and slam my own body into the wall. I make my friend use my rolled up Sex Pistols poster and a flip-flop to beat it down. Turns out it was just a normal centipede.
12:07 a.m. Once my breathing returns to normal, we mutually agree that, “maybe, like, the third time we tried it kind of moved to the left a little?” But probably not.
Upon reflection, I think our non-haunting stemmed from a few key mistakes. One, we bought the board at Toys ‘R’ Us for $20. If I were a ghost or spirit, I’d probably look at it and think it wasn’t even worth my time. I might even be offended at the audacity of two randos trying to lure me to them with what is essentially a piece of cardboard. It’s the equivalent of trying to lure someone to a Facebook event called “Natty Light Partayyyy 2k13.” Also, seeing as I basically zoned out for the entire séance, I’m guessing the vibes didn’t reach whatever entities chill in the universe waiting for bored college students to holla’ at them.
10 a.m. My boss, somewhat cultured in the supernatural, forces me to look at Ouija Board forums to see what a huge mistake I’ve made. (You will try to get rid of the board, but it will keep coming back. Your pets will stare into the distance and whimper. Your books will fall off their shelves. Your life will be ruined.) I fear sob in the office.
1:00 p.m. I burst through the door to Shakti on State, buy a bundle of white sage, run home, blaze it up, and start waving it around my windows and doors while panic-crying and chanting a mantra I look up on the Internet.
It’s printed on a website background of moons with yellow Comic Sans font. It’s the best hope I have for survival. The entire house smells like the aftermath of a Phish concert. When my parents visit the next day, they think I’ve made the whole thing up to cover up the “sage” smell. At this point I hope I’m haunted just to validate myself.
So, are there any residual effects from this night? I don’t know; there have been two more demon centipede attacks since that night. You tell me.
Keep an eye out for my upcoming paranormal forum post: “Best Case Scenario I Wasted Hours Of My Life On This, Worst Case Scenario I’m Haunted As Heck.”
Want to share your supernatural experience with Marina? Email mkoliver@wisc.edu.
