Ouija (Part One)

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

It was a warm day, and Will Ellis sat in the back room of the house he had moved into just a few weeks back with the French windows wide open. His friend Graham had dropped by, and they were drinking ice cold lager straight from the can. “The Estate Agent told me that the last owner was an old Polish guy,” Will said, “he had a heart attack and he died on the way to casualty. The place was empty for months because the old man didn't leave a will, and it took a while for the Solicitor to sort out his estate. As I've told you on the phone, Graham, there was a load of work needed doing, which was why it was so cheap - I've had it re-wired and re-plastered and my dad's put in a new boiler and radiators and replaced the kitchen units. I've got to have a little work done on the roof and I'm having a new bathroom fitted in a couple of weeks, then of course I have to finish decorating, but that's going to take a while because I want to strip and varnish the woodwork.”

“You're doing a grand job,” Graham said. “I love that inlaid oak dining table, where'd you pick that up?”

“There was a load of furniture stashed in the shed and garage that couldn't be touched until they found out what the old timer's next of kin wanted to do with it, but I had a letter a couple of weeks back saying that he wants it all chucking; the Solicitor said I was free to take whatever I want before they cart it away, so I had a good old rummage.

I love old stuff, so I decided to keep a couple of wardrobes, some tables and chairs, a massive pine table for the kitchen and that yew bureau in the corner. The furniture is old and very sturdy but not exactly antique according to my dad, and I intend to sand it all down and refinish it eventually. I salvaged a ruck of old books too, boxes and boxes of them, mostly weird occult stuff that I can flog on Ebay as soon as I find the time. The bureau is full of old papers, diaries and notebooks crammed with handwritten notes and odd diagrams and symbols, I assume the writing is Polish because I can't make head nor tail of it. I work with a woman whose dad is Polish, and she keeps promising to bring him over to take a look, but so far that hasn't happened. There's also a lot of religious bric-a-brac in there, the old guy seems to have been a devout Catholic as well as being a supernatural freak..... Oh, I found some old oil paintings and watercolours that might be worth a few quid and an Ouija board, it looks hand-made to me. I'll go and get it, it's upstairs.”

Will laid the circular board on the teak coffee table that he had also salvaged from the old man's belongings. “Wow,” Graham said, picking up the exquisitely painted object. It bore an intricate spiral cloud motif winding out from the centre, the clouds emitting a selection of tiny, expertly depicted beings - angels and demons, naked men and women, a flurry of recognisable animals and a fair few that neither of them could put names to. The alphabet and the words 'Yes' and 'No' were painted around the edge. “It looks like it's been painted on an old oak table top, and whoever did it was a brilliant draughtsman. You ought to take this to someone that deals with occult paraphernalia, or you could find somebody on the internet and email them a few pictures, it might be worth a fair bit of cash to the right person.”

“I've taken a fancy to it, actually, so I might keep it, hang it on the wall or something, it'll make an interesting conversation piece. There's a tiny signature near the middle, Otto Klepp, it looks like – I've Googled several variations of the name, but I couldn't find anything useful. It's not the previous owner's name anyhow, his name was Kowalski. I've been aching to have a play with this, but no one's been round for a while apart from my parents, and they wouldn't touch it with an extra long bargepole – my mum said it gives her the creeps and I ought to burn the bloody thing. I haven't used an Ouija board since I was about fifteen. Fancy a dabble?”

“I dunno, I've never had a go on one, and I'm not sure if I want to.”

“Come on, Graham, don't be such a pussy – what's the harm in it? It's just a bit of fun.” Graham didn't like the idea at all; he was a bit wary of playing around with the supernatural, but the three cans of lager that he had downed on an empty stomach endowed him with a false sense of bravado, plus a pinch of sheer stupidity.

“Oh, all right, then, seeing as it's broad daylight,” he said, opening his fourth can. “Just for a few minutes, mind.”

*************************

Will fetched a whisky glass from the kitchen cupboard and placed it upside down in the middle of the board, which he had put on the dining table in front of the French windows. “Are you planning on sitting there looking sheepish all day, or do you want to give it a go?” Though Graham looked uncomfortable he grudgingly sat down opposite his friend.

“This could be dangerous,” he said. “I don't like messing with things I don't understand,” but from the grin on Will's face it didn't look like his reservations were going to be taken seriously.

“Stop whingeing and put your forefinger on the edge of the glass as lightly as you can opposite mine.” Graham sighed and obeyed, and straight away he could feel a powerful vibration surging through the base of glass.

“What's that?”

“What's what?”

“The vibration.”

“I dunno, I guess it's the traffic – this house is on a main road, we get a constant stream of buses and trucks, but thankfully it quietens down well before midnight. Or maybe it's ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in broad daylight, particularly on sunny Saturday afternoons.”

The glass began to travel in big, slow clockwise circles, then it abruptly changed direction. “Aren't you supposed to ask if anyone's there?” Graham mumbled.

“You ask.”

“I don't want to.”

“Yellow belly..... Is there anybody there?” The glass stopped in its tracks and shot straight to the box marked 'Yes'.

“That was you pushing it, Will.”

“It was not – it felt like you.”

“But I wouldn't do that, I didn't want to play this silly game in the first place, remember? Besides, you have a motive, which if I know you is frightening the living shit out of me.”

“What's your name?” Will whispered, and the glass swiftly spelled something out.

“B-E-R-T-I-E.”

“Your name is Bertie?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a dead person, a spirit?”

“No.”

“What are you, then?”

“I A-M B-E-R-T-I-E A-N-D I-M C-O-M-I-N-G T-O P-L-A-Y.”

“I don't like this, Will.”

“Shh! What do you want from us, Bertie?”

“I W-A-N-T T-O S-U-P Y-O-U-R P-R-E-C-I-O-U-S L-I-F-E-F-O-R-C-E.”

“Oh, I can't allow that, me old mucka,” Will said, smiling at Graham, whom he was convinced had cunningly turned the tables and was trying to frighten him. “We just want to talk, ask you a few questions about the other side and whatnot – supping from our life-force is a strict no-no, I'm afraid.”

“Y-O-U H-A-V-E N-O C-H-O-I-C-E Y-O-U H-A-V-E O-P-E-N-E-D T-H-E W-A-Y-S A-N-D L-E-T M-E A-N-D M-Y P-L-A-Y-M-A-T-E-S I-N.”

“Will, I don't like this!”

“Well you'd better fuck off back where you came from, then, because you're not welcome here,” Will said, and he had barely got the sentence out of his mouth when the glass was torn from beneath their fingers and hurled across the room, where it shattered violently against the chimney breast. Will looked at Graham accusingly, and Graham looked accusingly back at Will, neither of them sure how the other had pulled off the stunt but convinced that that was the case.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Graham whispered. “Look behind you, Will. Close the doors!” Will swivelled around on his chair, still convinced that his friend was somehow pulling a fast one, and he could hardly miss the wave of creeping things pouring from the uncut grass and over the edge of the wide stone patio – spiders and beetles, woodlice, centipedes and ants, literally millions of the creatures, and beyond the foot soldiers a dark cloud of flying things hung like a pall of smoke in the air. “Close the damned doors, quickly!” Will closed the French windows just in time, his stomach tying itself in knots. The army of creepy crawlies proceeded to climb up the glass, and within a couple of minutes it was so dark that he had to turn on the lights.

The two men ran to the front of the house, but that was covered with with a blanket of tiny squirming bodies too. “The upstairs windows, are they closed?” Graham said.

“Yes, I don't like crawly things, and I can't bear the thought of finding a wasp in the room or a spider in my bed. I'm going to call my dad, he'll know what to do.” The land-line was dead, as was Will's mobile, and Graham had left his phone in the car. “What are we going to do?” Will said, his hands trembling as they made their way back to the living room.

“Sooner or later we're gonna have to rush out and brave the insects, I guess,” Graham, replied. “There's nothing out there that can hurt us. Can you smell something burning, Will?”

“That's where you're wrong, boys,” said the creature sitting in the armchair beside the fireplace smoking a cigar and sipping from a can of Stella. Graham dropped the half-empty can in his hands, and Will squeezed his almost empty can do hard that he crushed it and cut his hand. “The earthly creepy crawlies are just the first wave of the attack, soon they'll be outnumbered by the dark, crawling hordes of Hell itself, huge, albino flesh eating worms, armoured maggots and scorpions and beautifully fierce black spiders as big as dogs.

I'm Bertie, by the way, unfortunately for you and fortunately for the likes of me you unwittingly invited me and my comrades into your humble abode. I'm very glad to be here, good buddies, I've been wrapped in chains and incarcerated in the deepest, darkest dungeon in Hell for longer than I care to remember. Old Horny himself finds me difficult to deal with, you see - he doesn't like me much, there was a little incident some time back when I was wrongly accused of trying to oust the old devil from his throne. It's wonderful to be free at last! Come on in, my friends, and sit yourselves down, we have so much to talk about I don't know where to start.”