literature

That One Time I did the Thing

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    The dusty blue box peered out from the cluster of shoes, calling softly. “Grandma, what’s this?” I called, pulling it out.

    She rushed into the kitchen, almost frantically, as if we’d unearthed a bomb. Noah looked up. “What is it, Mrs.Gonderzik?’ he asked, worried about her behaviour.

    The old bat gave a sigh of relief. “It’s just a Ouija board.” I narrowed my eyes. From the way she acted, you’d think we were about to release a pack of angry rhinos on the town,

    “Can we play with it?”

    I looked at Noah with the burning glare of one thousand suns. “My daddy says we aren’t supposed to play with those,” I hissed.

    However, my absolute authority as a nine year old was undermined by the lady more my warden than my grandmother. “As long as you stay on the front porch,” she affirmed, to which Noah let out a cheerful “of course,” and headed out the door.

    I gave a sigh of defeat and followed, holding the board outstretched for fear of death. I had no idea what the thing was going to do, and I didn’t care to find out.

    We placed the ominous board on our tea party table and gathered around it. It was in fairly good condition, but seemed translucent. The black letters were painted on, seemingly by a hand skilled in witchcraft and calligraphy. On the corner of the box was a bright message painted in Day-Glo green. “GLOWS IN THE DARK!!!” it read, with about as many exclamation points as there should be after sayings like “FREE HEALTHCARE” or “ALL CHOCOLATE 75% OFF.”  The planchette was simple, with no carvings or painting on it. For some reason, the flat, semi-opaque surface seemed more ominous than if it had been painted with gore and latin.

    “Y-you go first,” I ordered, to which my friend obliged with the confidence one only finds in true skeptics, and idiots.

    He placed his hands on the planchette and I followed. “Hello?” he inquired, for all of the malevolent spirits on an old woman’s front porch to hear. “What’s your name?” With that question, the tension in the air grew thick, as if made of syrup. The planchette began to slowly move, making its way between letters. We held our breath in anticipation, and mortal terror, as the window moved at the pace of a slug on morphine and……

    Nothing.

    Our time had been wasted, utterly wasted, and I didn’t know whether to be bored, or offended.

    We put the board away and resumed our tea party to finish Noah’s visit.
A personal Narrative for school.
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