Mr. Haunted, I will never doubt you again.
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I am back to being a week behind or more, but since Sunday was Halloween, I have no choice but to jump out of sequence and fill you in on my recent hair-raising exploits.
Friday, October 29. Stephanie and I are at her place, just getting back from a nice Chinese dinner. She's been very cool since the whole greeting-card debacle.
I ate way too much and I just feel like sitting around and not moving. I am trying to conserve energy because I know that she is going to be fuck-ready later. We have been screwing non-stop since that first time, and it is mind-blowingly good, too. Oh, and eating pussy is SUCH a treat when there is no hair involved... it's actually fun searching around for just the right spot. And you know when you've hit the right spot, too, because she basically rips a chunk of your scalp off.
We get to talking, as we always do. "Where do you go when you want to calm down?" I ask her. "When you are completely stressed, and you can't think."
"OK, this is gonna sound crazy, but I go down to the laundry room."
"In the basement?"
"Yeah. I LOVE the sound of the washer and dryer running. Sometimes I'll pull the sheets off my bed, even if they're clean, and wash them and dry them, and then put them back on the bed and take a nap while they're still warm."
"Oh, man, that sounds AWESOME."
"It is! How about you?"
"You know where I go? You're gonna think I'm nuts. Or creepy."
"Where?!"
"I go to the cemetery."
"Actually, that's not that weird...cemeteries can be really beautiful if they're kept up properly. Which one do you go to? Do you know anyone who's buried there?"
"No, I don't know anyone there. I go to Silver Lake."
Her eyes open wide. "On route 112?"
"Yeah."
"Oh my GOD! That place is CREEPY!" she says.
"It's not that bad during the day. But right now..." I look at her, smiling.
"What are YOU grinning about?"
"Let's go there now!"
"Oh my God! No way!"
"You are SUCH a chicken," I say. "What are you afraid of?
"That's not normal, Steve. You are weird."
"Come on, we'll just go for a minute."
"I'm not getting out of the car."
"OK."
"Hey," I say. "Wasn't your roomie into that Ouija board shit?"
"Yeah. Why?" she says. Stephanie and I got talking about this paranormal stuff the other night while watching The X Files.
"It's still here, isn't it? I think I saw it the other day."
"It's in the closet. I'm not doing that with you."
"OK." I open the closet and pull the box down.
It's 11:00. The round, white moon is small, shiny and distant, directly overhead. I turn into the cemetery, and it's surprisingly dark for a clear night with a full moon.
Loose gravel and pine cones crunch under my tires. The headlamps slice two neat cones of light in front of us as we roll slowly to a stop.
I open my door and climb out, Ouija board in hand.
"DON'T GET OUT!" she says.
"Why not? I wanna look around!"
"I'm not staying in this car alone!"
"Then get out and walk with me." She does.
She grabs my right arm with both hands and squeezes tightly. "You are sooooo weird, Steve."
I stop walking. The night is flawlessly quiet, unbroken by a whispering breeze, or a chirping cricket, or a trembling leaf. I can't hear a single sound.
I find a clearing with no trees overhead, where it's actually somewhat bright. I open the Ouija board and lay it down on the ground. I put the message indicator (planchette) on top of it.
Crooked gravestones cast sharp shadows. Damp yellow leaves coat the ground, chilling my backside as I sit down.
"It works better with two people," I say.
"Fine. But I'm not opening my eyes to read it."
"Deal."
We put our hands on the message indicator. "Let's start with an easy one," I say. "Is today Friday?"
The planchette slides slowly to the corner of the board and stops over the word yes.
"Wait a minute. Didn't that dude from that website say this is bad?" she says.
"Who, Mr. Haunted? Yeah, don't worry about it."
It's true. Jim from MrHaunted.com says that Ouija boards are bad, because they can release spirits into the physical world. Or something.
Yawn.
"Who is going to win the election?" I say.
The indicator slides to the letter "K" and stops. Then "E". Then "R". Then it doesn't move. Then "Y".
"Good call!" Steph says. "But this spirit can't spell."
"Thought you weren't looking," I say. "Hey! Let's ask it who it is!"
"Oh man. OK."
"Who are we speaking to?" I say.
Ssssssssss, I hear.
"What the FUCK was that?" she says.
It might just be the wind, actually.
The message indicator slides to T. Then H. Then O. Then M.
Thom?
"Are you buried in this cemetery?" Steph says.
Yes.
"Are you buried within 50 feet of us?" I ask.
Yes.
"Are you buried within 10 feet of us?" I ask.
No.
"How did you die?" Stephanie says. She is getting into it now.
F-I-R-E.
"How old were you?" she says.
That sound again, louder this time. SSSSSSSSSSsssssssssss.....
She screams.
"Shhhh," I say. "It's ok."
She looks uneasily from side to side. Our eyes have adjusted, but it's still very dark. I can barely make out the rotted, hanging pine tree branches and the chipped white picket fence next to the sidewalk.
She puts her hands back on the planchette. She is shaking. "We're leaving after this," she says. I get the impression that she is intrigued by the messages, but also scared shitless at the same time.
"How old were you, Thom," I repeat.
1-2.
"You were 12?" she says.
Yes.
"Do you know my mother?" I say.
Yes.
"Is she in Heaven?"
Yes.
Hot damn! There's hope for all of us!
"Hey!" I say . "Let's ask him who killed JFK!"
Snap! TokTokTok! SnapSnap! We hear from behind us, near the car.
"OH MY GOD!! let's go! COME ON!" Steph says.
I collect the Ouija board and start back down the drive.
A three foot long branch falls from a pine tree and lands behind the car.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!" she screams.
My stomach is filled with dread. Suddenly I feel like I did something really fucking stupid.
I start the car and back up, over the branch and into the street, turning on the fly and hurtling down the road at 80MPH.
"YOU are sleeping over tonight," Steph says.
