None of us believed in the paranormal or supernatural, but the Ouija board seemed like a fun way to pass the time. We were all in our early twenties, silly, a little flighty, and definitely obsessed with the male species. After a few questions regarding our current crushes, we tried to summon a ghost.
Disappointed silence reigned over the room for a good ten minutes before we finally gave up. We put in a movie and zoned out, the effects of our sleepover dragging us down.
Suddenly, we all jerked awake as the TV flicked off. Instead of a black screen, the face of a young teenage girl appeared on the screen, dripping blood from her empty eye sockets. Mary screamed and I clutched at Brittany’s arm, and then the four of us made a mad rush to the bedroom.
The calmest of all of us, Sara told us it was probably just nothing – overactive imaginations late at night. No one believed her; she didn’t even believe herself. But it was the best we could do. Huddled under blankets, we repeated childhood fairytales until the comforting words lulled us to sleep.
A tapping on the window jolted me out of my sleep. I shook my friends awake, and in response to their question, I told them I’d heard something tapping. Brittany was the only one brave enough to slither out from under the covers and go to the window. She pulled back the curtains…
…and there was the girl, methodically tapping on the window, staring hollowly at us. Brittany screamed and pointed to the door, looking over our shoulders as we lay crouched with our mouths rounded in silent screeches. Blood was slowly oozing under the door, inching towards our blankets. I grabbed Brittany’s hand and pulled her forcibly back into the mess of covers and people.
For an hour, we huddled together, eyes turned inwards so we wouldn’t have to see the terrible things all around us.
“It’s all a dream,” we all murmured, over and over. “It’s all a dream.”
We were too exhausted not to sleep. The sun crept over the bed, nudging us awake around 9 a.m. I sat up and glanced over at the door, but there was no sign of the blood. With sighs of relief, we wandered downstairs, laughing and joking about the nightmare we’d all shared.
We stopped short in the living room.
It was true chaos. The room was trashed: books were strewn across the carpet, some with their pages torn out; vases were smashed into the glass table, which was smashed in turn into the carpet; the Ouija board was gone. Scrawled on the wall in a bright red ink – we knew right away it was blood – were the words, “YOU SUMMONED ME AND I CAME.”
I sold the house not long afterwards, hoping to purge my memories of the terrible spirit we summoned that night – but still, ten years later, it haunts me.