I held the Ouija board in my hands; I thought you might want to talk for a while.
I found the bones you left for me by the entrance; they were dry and white, but I knew that meant you had been keeping them.
I lit candles to set the mood, but before I could slide my fingers across the board, the conversation was over.
I don’t understand why you were in such a bad mood, when all I wanted was a little appreciation.
Love?
One…
Two…
Three circles on the board. I wanted to get your attention.
The empty rocking chair across from me was no longer still; it was rocking slowly.
“When will we see each other again?” I asked nervously.
Nothing happened. Everything fell still once more.
One…
Two…
Three circles on the board. I wanted to hear your voice again.
“When will you speak to me?”
No one answered. My chest began to ache.
One…
Two…
Three.
Did it move?
A sound?, or a movement?
Or was that just me, imagining things again?
Once more…
One…
Two…
Three…
And the chair turned, making a dry, sharp sound.
I heard it, clearly.
His voice spoke to me.
Did he say, “Love?” Or did it say, “Goodbye?”
Perhaps it said, “Oh, no!”
Love.
The board moved, what are you trying to tell me?
Why won’t you let yourself be seen?
Don’t you miss the warmth of my skin?
Is it that you don’t want to see me?
Do you want me to give you flowers like I did yesterday? Can I have some, too?
Or perhaps…
You want me to stop talking to her…
That friend who keeps telling me to cast you out.
She brought holy water and a rosary, intending to stay the night.
She spent the whole night reciting prayers to set me free.
The planchette glided across the letters and spelled it out.
T
H
A
T
I
S
Yes, my love?
T
H
E
Yes… love?
W
A
Y
Yes, love.
I
A
M
Yes, love.
And I witnessed it again.
Could it be that the dead man has already possessed me?
My fists clenched, my eyes rolled back, and my mouth began to bite down on my tongue.
Everything crashed to the floor. My glass jar shattered, my mirror broke, and my lights burned out.
The bed remained intact, still draped in the silk sheet it had worn all its life.
It neither trembled nor swayed.
And there I lay on the floor, feeling hands grip me with pure hatred.
They choked the air from my lungs, squeezing my throat until I nearly broke.
I watched my pocketknife rise, snap open, and hover in the air.
And right before my eyes, I saw it draw near. The coldness of its blade seemed to beckon me.
But in this life, angels often wear skin and leather.
The door opened; I saw her smiling.
Though her smile faded the moment she saw me on the floor.
“Are you panicking over him again?” she asked, sitting down beside me to offer comfort.
“He doesn’t love you.”
“Stop checking his social media to see if anything looks off.”
“You should leave him; you deserve so much more than that thoughtless jerk.”
I looked at her in silence, tears streaming down my face, and rose from the floor.
I left the room with her; I walked away from that place.
The dead man, his profile on my computer screen, and the chat log with my “love” holding the very messages that had killed me.
“We’d better talk later.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“It’s just… that’s the way I am.”
