OUIJI BOARD TALES - Horror - http://maxpages.com/folklore/ouiji_board

THERE ARE LOTS OF SPOOKY TALES INVOLVING OUIJI BOARDS. HERE ARE JUST A FEW OF THEM.

The Ouija Board Hauntings

One night, John, Mary, Jason, Melissa, and I were out, and Mary told us that she owns a Ouija board and that her place had a ghost in it. Since we were bored and had nothing else to do, we all decided to play for fun. We contacted a spirit named Joy, and she seemed to be friendly. She told us that she was the one who was living with Mary and her family. She kept saying that she wanted us to get in touch with a friend of ours who is into black magic (he was needed to help set her free). I noticed that my right arm started going numb, and something was pulling my hand off the pointer and toward my friend. I mentioned this to the others, and Mary said that her fingertips felt like they were burning, and John said his fingertips were numb also. We asked the spirit if she was alone and she replied, "No!" We asked her who was with her and she started to spell "D E," and I got really scared and said, "Oh God!" and the pointer went straight to "No." We found out that the spirit had a demon with her. Mary demanded it to leave, but it wouldn't. Suddenly, my right leg was shaking out of control and I couldn't stop it. Mary said, put your fingers on the pointer, and the moment I did I started shaking even more. My breathing became erratic and the pointer was spinning. I managed to tell the others, "I'm losing control!" Mary said, "Take your fingers off!" I said, "I cant!" My fingers felt as if they were glued to the pointer, and then I felt like I was going to pass out. The last thing I saw was Jason grabbing my hands and pulling them off the pointer

PLANCHET

Ouija boards work. Sometimes the participants pull and nudge the planchette themselves and
dupe their chums into thinking some other-worldly force is moving it. But occasionally, an entirely different energy propels the planchette. And believe me, when that happens, you'd best run for your life. Because that's when the Ouija board has flung open to doors to hell.
I was the last one to pile into the convertible. Seven of us drove to the outskirts of town and
parked in front of the Hailston house. We were just a bunch of girls out to have some fun, and this
time around, we decided to dare fate and fool around with an Ouija board in the middle of a bona fide haunted house. A stupid idea, I'll admit, but at the time, it seemed a great way to kill a summer's evening. I was the dumb one who volunteered to bring along my brother's delux Ouija board. It was a collector's item by then, but it was the only one at my disposal. The golden finish on the wood gleamed in the gathering dusk. And the wooden planchette seemed to beckon everybody into the old house for a night a fun. After a shriek and a good kick, somebody forced the front door open, and in we went.
I'll spare you the details of the house's interior, except to say that it looked exactly like one of
those creepy old Hollywood haunted houses. Everything was draped in dusty white sheets. And the place reeked with a strange musty smell I couldn't put my finger on. But it was the pure chill pervading the two-story building that gave me the creeps. It was warm outside. But inside, the place was frosty cold. Especially where we set up shop in the middle of the livingroom floor. Goose bumps sprinkled over my arms as I sat cross-legged with my friends around the board.
I noticed a few furtive glances around our little group. As the sun died over the hills and the room became even more shadowy, we lit eight white candles and set them around us. Then we placed our fingers on the planchette and asked it our first question.
The previous house owner had bludgeoned his wife to death in this house many years before -
including his mother and three small children. Then he shot himself through the head with a .38
Special. Our question was, were any of the murdered spirits still wandering the premises.
The planchette moved effortlessly to the word "Yes" painted in the upper left-hand corner of the board.
Immediately, three sets of fingers flew off the wood as somebody shrieked to the top of her lungs that the whole thing was a sham. The move was calculated to scare the crap out of us, and it
succeeded. But I scanned my friends' faces for deceit and found nothing. More than one pair of eyes narrowed with suspicion and fear. We replaced our fingers on the heart-shaped planchette and asked the next question.
"Is there really a devil?"
The wooden piece moved up to the word "Yes" again, stopped, and then made a lazy circuit
around the board, right back to the "Yes" position. I couldn't detect who was pulling the piece,
especially when our fingers were barely touching the thing. Not only that, but I'd grown a snake in my guts, and it was worming around big time. I wanted to pull out, but my friends would never let me live it down. I had little choice but to keep my butt planted on the floor and keep my mouth shut.
As we each asked a question in turn, our dispositions changed drastically. There was no more
giggling or good-natured teasing. The room temperature dipped lower, and our faces turned waxen and cadaverous in the flicking candlelight. Even our voices seemed to grow somber and low-pitched. I was too scared to sit and too scared to run for the door. It came my turn to ask a question.
"Are we the children of the damned?" I asked, utterly surprised that I'd asked such a stupid,
un-earthly question, and quite removed from the person who asked it. The answer came quickly, as the planchette spelled out "Y-o-u . . . a-r-e . . .m-i-n-e!"
The next message drained the blood from our faces: "T-u-r-n . . . a-r-o-u-n-d . . . "
I took a big gulp and slowly twisted my head as far around as possible. I can hardly describe what faced us.
Poised behind our backs was a cordon of ghastly black entities, each leering at us with the
contorted faces of the damned. A jillion volts of hysteria snapped through my body. We were standing in the presence of the angles of hell, and we couldn't escape. There is simply no adequate way to portray the power and the darkness that defined these beings. Only to say that I stood transfixed staring at them, and that they appeared to be like men, each cloaked in the garb of eternal horror and misery. I nearly fainted.
Somebody screamed, but it did little good. We'd unlocked the doors to hell, and now we were
going to pay for it. With our lives.
Out of the middle of this assemblage walked an entity of exquisitely grotesque and majestic
carriage. His entourage made way for him, and he stood before us, arrayed in a garment that
scintillated and sparkled in the darkness. For a long unspeakable moment, it raised its ugly head and leered at us with cold, ancient eyes and then pointed a gnarled finger at the Ouija board.
I'm not at liberty to repeat its message. Nor would I divulge what it said to us, considering how vile and horrid it was. All I will say is that we were in the presence of absolute, brilliant evil, and that when we tampered with the darkness, we belonged to him.
Then they left. One by one.
To this day my friends - or what's left of our little group - won't discuss the experience with
anybody. Most of that comes from pure fear that if we do, we'll be visited again by you-know-who. Three of the girls wound up in asylums later in their lives. The rest of us keep our mouths shut.
And believe me . . . we don't go anywhere near an Ouija board.
We're not that stupid.

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Page Updated Thu Jul 4, 2002 1:06pm EDT