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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2114994
by Violet
Rated: GC · Short Story · Paranormal · #2114994
It was the late 70s and we were looking for something to do.
John Burlow. His name will probably stick in the back of my brain for the rest of my life. He wasn't a particularly memorable guy- tall, lanky, always getting into trouble with us. He blended in with the friend group we had but in all honesty, I don't remember most of them. John, however, is a different story. One small thing changed him forever, and made him a permanent fixture in my mind.

It was the late 70s and we were looking for something to do. It was too early to justify getting wasted but too late for anything to be open. Mike and Louis (whose last names I can't remember) were with us that night. John started telling us about his ouija board. We had all heard of them. They were pretty popular around our neighbourhood and Louis' little brother had used one. He said he was bullshit, but John seemed to think otherwise.

"You guys gotta come over and try this. I swear I've been talking to someone. Freaked me out at first but I love it".

We all rolled our eyes but went over to his place anyway. He took us to the basement. I tried to stifle a laugh at how much he was setting the mood to scare us. He gave us some rules; don't treat it like a joke, always say goodbye when you're done a session, etc. We sat on the floor and I finally got a good look at it. It was a nice board. Not one of those ones you can buy at Walmart or something. This was solid wood with the letters etched in very carefully.

I can't remember what questions we asked. I guess it's not important. When I felt the planchette (fancy word for the the piece we held on to) move, I tried to figure out who was pushing it. Another question got asked. The lights flickered. Weird coincidence right? Another question. Lights off. We hauled our asses outta there as quickly as our legs could carry us. We stopped in the front yard and started laughing at ourselves for being such wimps. Then we realized John was still inside.

"Bastard really got us huh?"

The next day at school John acted a little distant. He kept giving us these weird glares in the hallway. At lunch he finally sat with us but didn't say anything- at least not until Mike talked about the game we played. I had never seen someone as pissed as John was in that moment. I can't remember all of the expletives he used, but the sheer volume of him telling us that it "wasn't a fucking game, it's real you motherfuckers" still makes me cringe.

I ended up moving away not too long after. I went from foster homes to a group home, and ultimately ended up on the streets. It was hell. I forgot all about my friends from before. I was in survival mode. That's a story for another day though.

Maybe a decade later I had the chance to go back to my hometown and visit some of the places I used to love. As luck would have it, I ran into John's youngest sister. She remembered my name and after an awkward pause she reminded me that her name was Kristen. We walked around talking for a good hour before I asked about John. She stopped dead in her tracks and her face turned pale. This is a conversation that plays on loop in my mind.

"Oh, I guess you didn't hear. I mean...well how could you have right? Do you remember that ouija board that he used all the time?"

I felt a lump in my throat. What did he get himself into with that thing?

She didn't wait for me to answer and continued, "John got pretty obsessed with it. He stopped leaving the house if the board told him to stay home. He was convinced that this thing was actually real. He wouldn't eat, sleep, or even shower unless he consulted it. Eventually our parents had enough and took it from him. Or at least, they tried to. He howled like a wild animal. Man, I had never heard something so hideous in all my life. Still haven't. It was inhuman. He started punching and kicking our mom, and our dad had to hold him down while I called the cops. He screamed and thrashed around until they gave him some kind of needle..." her voice started trailing off.

"Jesus, Kristen, I'm sorry to- " she cut me off.

"When he woke up all he talked about was needing that goddamn board. Not wanting it, needing it. They put him in some type of mental hospital and had to keep him doped up"

"So h-h-how is he now? I mean, when did he get out?" I was completely stunned at this point.

"He didn't," she said, looking at the ground, "he says he's trapped; he didn't say goodbye".
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