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“Any question?”
“Yeah. What do you want to know, Jamie?” I asked. “I’m figuratively dying to know what you’d ask a dead person.”
“And I’m figuratively dying to get the hell out of this place.”
“Ask the question.”
“Oh… I don’t know…” He paused, pressing his fingers into the planchette so hard the tips of his fingers turned white. “God. I guess… what am I going to do when I get out of Stony Point?”
“That question’s general as fuck,” I said. “How about something more specific?”
He narrowed his eyes at me, speaking at me as he asked the question. “What am I going to major in during college?”
“Well, that’s a boring question.” I rolled my eyes. “Did we really come out to the woods to use a Ouija board, so you could ask about your college major?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jemma,” Jamie hissed. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want to fucking hear.”
“Okay then. If there are any spirits out there… please tell young Jamie what he’s going to major in. Since that’s about the only question he can come up with.”
“I’d like to see what your question is going to be then.”
Before I had a chance to respond to him, a buzzing feeling crossed the top of my hands, and a force fell over the area around the planchette. Almost as if it had suddenly become magnetized, stuck and being pulled in every direction, so unable to move.
“What the fuck,” Jamie said. “Holy fucking shit.”
“You feel that too?” I asked.
My insides tightened, the force increasing around the area where our hands still held onto the white object. I swallowed, unsure of what was happening. Just that I wanted it to happen.
“Ask the question again, Jamie,” I said.
“Uh… I’ve got a better one I just thought of.” This time we both stared down at the board. “Where did my brother hide my Magic cards?”
“Your… Magic cards?”
“Yeah. I’ve been looking for them and—”
The planchette shifted against the board, sounding like a blade against the ice as the skater pushes around a skating rink. It moved away from the G, then back to the G, circling around this letter before landing. Then, it moved along to A-R-A-G-E.
“Garage?” Jamie squinted his nose. “Good to know, Jems. Thanks for your suggestion. Now would you please stop fucking with me? What’d you do to this thing to make it feel like this?”
“Are you serious right now?” I asked. “Why the hell would I do anything to it?”
“Umm. To scare the shit out of me.”
I scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Not like this. If you really think I’d do this to you, why not ask a different question that is, uh, more specific? That I wouldn’t know the answer to. Or are you scared this thing would tell me something too private?” It took everything in me not to throw my hands up at the last sentence, full of more passive-aggression than there are chemicals in a goddamn bag of processed chips.
“You’re one to talk,” he said. “You don’t even talk about your parents. Fuck. I only know your mom exists because she came to the Christmas dinner.”
“Yup, well, at least you know that much. You seem to be clueless about so many greater things than the facts surrounding my life.”
“Oooohh….greatOuija board. Please help a clueless guy out,” Jamie mocked with words covering what I sensed was a deeper level of pain at my insult. Right now, I didn’t care. He continued, “If you’re so real, please tell me something personal. The year my parents were married.”
The planchette instantly moved, circling around the numbers, though it didn’t just stop and pick anything. Instead, it circled in large ovals and kept on moving. Circling and circling and circling and circling. The object cut back down and spelled out: N-O.
Jamie’s face whitened. “No?”
“Come on… just because it doesn’t know what year your parents were married, doesn’t mean it’s me pushing this thing.”
