Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

The Game of the Dead

It was my birthday. Everyone had left except my two closest friends; Kiersten and Mason. They were to stay the night, and of course by the time the others had left, we were already bored. Deciding on what to do Kiersten gets this sudden idea.

“Have you ever played with a Ouija board?”
In unison Mason and I ask, “What‘s that?”


“No. Are you going to tell us?” Mason asks.

“Well I guess I have to now, don‘t I? It’s a game that involves spirits. What you do -- considering we don’t have a board -- is print out a board, and I’ll cut out the triangle thingy. When everything is ready, we put our hands on the triangle and call upon a spirit. If a spirit answers the call --which one most likely will-- the spirit will move the triangle to HELLO. That’s when we can start asking it questions.”

I can already tell that Mason wants no part in this. In the end I convince him to just watch. As he grabs the notebook to record the questions Kiersten and I set things up and just stare at the board.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask her.

“Why? You scared? I‘ll be fine… Ready?”

“Guess so.”

We put our hands on the triangle and ask if anyone is there with us. At first, nothing happens. It stays that way for awhile. Then out of nowhere the triangle moved to HELLO. Out of reflex from the sudden movement, I pulled my hands away. Kiersten yells at me to put them back on; so I did. Hands shaking, we looked over to Mason. I tell him to start writing:

“Are you a demon?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself.

“Were you killed?” Kiersten this time.

“Are you a…kid?” Mason.

The door opened and we all jumped. Mom. It was too late to hide the game, so we just sat there and waited for her to realize what we were up to. Within seconds we were busted. She didn’t say much. Only that we should be careful with the board, for it’s a game of the devil, and his devilish ways. We didn’t listen of course. Being thirteen is being invincible. Nothing could scare us. Or so we thought. We kept playing. Trying to that is. After mom came everything went still. There was no movement on the board. Kiersten suggested that I go on youtube and look up how to play with a Ouija board. I made a snaky comment, something along the lines of “Watch the mouse move when I get up.” It didn‘t fail to do so. As soon as I arose, I jumped back to the corner of my bed. Kiersten was right by my side, both of us shivering. Mason was at a loss, nothing unusual.

“Did you s-see that?!” I asked Kiersten.


Although he saw nothing, Mason was right on top of us freaking out.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The cursor on the screen moved.” Kiersten and I spoke as one.

“You‘re kidding, right?”

“We both saw it Mason! I‘m not making this up! I swear on it,” I said.

It was time to put the game away. At least for the night.


In the morning, we sat on my floor and played again. This is when everything started to get really weird. We called upon the same spirit who was playing with us the night before. She came. As the triangle began to move, the room dropped in temperature. Paranoia inching up our spines. Through our nervous systems. The eerie, electric cold moving within us.

“Are you making the room colder?” Kiersten.

“Are you doing it to scare us?”

“Last night you told us you were only a kid. Are you a girl?” Me.

Out of nowhere, Kiersten cries out in pain. She grabs at her leg; then her side.

“Are you doing this to her?” Mason.

“You said you weren‘t trying to scare us!”
No response.

We decided it was best to leave my room until Kiersten’s pain subsided. When we returned, I went for the Ouija board. I wanted that thing gone! Mom was right, it was a game of evil. Nothing good would come from it. I grabbed for the board when Kiersten stopped me.

“Leave it,” she said. “Leave the game open. I have an idea.”

She recovered the notebook and a pencil from under the bed and flipped it to an empty page. She started making these oval things so I asked what she was doing. She had said she was finding another way to communicate with the spirit.

“How?” I asked.

“She‘ll write for me. She’ll control my hand.” And so she did.

Within the ovals a nine was written. We guessed it was her age. That was the only thing that was legible within the ovals, but it was all we needed to put the game down. Forever.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback