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From: Anonymous
To: "'ghost-discuss@aurora.cdb.com'" (ghost-discuss@aurora.cdb.com)
Date: Mon, 22 Sep 1997 22:16:12 -0400
Subject: Unidentified subject!
Hi Folks,
I'd like to share a ouija experience I had several years ago. My friend Michelle and I were both 15 years old at the time:
I was at my friend's house one day. We were having tea in the kitchen, and we were talking about her dad. Her father died when she was 8 years old (heart attack), and she was mentioning how much she missed him.
Earlier in the day, Michelle was rummaging around in the basement. They were renting the house, and the landlord had some of his belongings in the basement. Among the junk in the basement, there was a ouija board, and she asked me if I've ever used one before. I hadn't, and said so. Michelle hadn't used one before either. She said that she would like to try it sometime to contact her father. Well, one thing lead to another, and we decided to try it out. It was a Parker Brothers 'game' and it came with directions on how to use it, so we read up.
We started to think about where we should use it. We wanted an area where it would be easy to achieve a 'mood' for the session; somewhere fairly dim or dark, where we could play the ouija board by candlelight. The basement was fairly dim, but she didn't like it because she saw centipedes down there (it was a damp basement). She suggested the large walk-in closet in her bedroom.
We lit a large, white candle and placed it on a milk crate beside us. We sat cross-legged on the floor of the closet. We placed our fingertips on the planchette very lightly (barely touching) and just sat there getting into the mood of contacting Michelle's dad.
Whenever we looked at eachother, we burst out laughing, partially because we couldn't believe what we were doing, and also because we were a bit nervous. But we were both motivated to try this: Michelle wanted to talk to her dad and I was intensely curious to see if we could communicate with him.
Finally, after our giggles, we became focussed. Michelle asked for her father by name, and said she wanted to speak to him. Nothing happened for several minutes, then suddenly it started to move slowly in a circle. She asked if it was her dad...it pointed to 'Yes'. Then it spelled out, HISWEETHART. Michelle became a bit emotional, because her dad used to say that to her every time he came home. She said that she missed him and loved him dearly. The planchette spelled out IKNOW. We both started feeling uncomfortable; Michelle told me later that her dad wouldn't have responded that way, and I was uncomfortable because I noticed the candle flame doing strange things. Whenever one of us spoke the flame bent over, pointing at that person. And the flame didn't flicker. Michelle looked at me and said, "Val, this isn't my dad...I don't know who this is...". I asked it to identify who they were. Very quickly, the planchette moved to several letters that didn't spell any words. It stopped suddenly, then less than a minute later it spelled DIG. Michelle asked what it meant. Again it spelled DIG. I asked, "What does DIG mean?" The planchette moved rapidly to each letter...DIGFORACAT. Michelle said, "It still doesn't make sense." Rapidly moving again, this time it spelled out DIGDIGDIG. I had a sick feeling in my stomach, and I really wanted to quit. I told her so, and she said she wanted to get rid of whatever was speaking to us. We both said that we had to go and it had to leave too. We said goodbye, and it spelled BYE. We both agreed that we were pretty scared and it was a bad experience. Suddenly, the large candle flame went out by itself. We dropped the board and left the closet.
We sat in the kitchen, had a cup of tea, and talked about what happened. We both felt very uneasy. Later on, I went home.
Michelle called me early the next morning. She was crying and almost hysterical. She found her cat Smokey, dead beside the front porch. I started to cry too. First of all, Smokey was a sweet cat, and second, I felt that we were directly responsible. Did the 'being' kill him, or was it telling us to dig a grave for the cat who was going to die? We'll never know.
I still feel terrible when I think about this, and I'm upset about it right now as I write this. Well, that's my ouija experience.