Ouija? NoNo

 

Have you ever played around with a Ouija board? At a friend's house? During a slumber party? At a casual get-together? Ouija boards, or spirit boards, sometimes make their appearance at social gatherings when people are 1) curious, 2) bored, 3) drinking a little too much, 4) any combination or all of the above.

When we were kids, my sister had one. I don't know why. I don't think she bought it. I think she got it as a present. My question now would be "And why did that seem like a good present for a seventh grader?" But at that time, I think they were marketed by a major game company and sold as toys. YIKES.

Being curious about all things supernatural, it was just a matter of time before I decided to start playing around with the board, too. I think my sister and I did a few sessions, the giggly kind where you ask about boys, and love, and the future, and boys, and love. 

Later on, I tried a session with my best friend from school, and that is what got me RIGHT OFF of ever using one again. We were playing at my house during summer vacation between sixth and seventh grade and got it into our heads to give the old spirit board a try. And, as expected, we asked about boys and love. Then we started asking other kinds of questions about our futures and the answers started getting a little, well, snarky. After a while, they seemed to be sliding right into hostile territory. Our questions were receiving mean, snippy little answers, like you might get from the mean kids in your classroom, except these seemed even darker then that.

So then I got the brilliant idea of asking who was answering our questions. And the planchette spelled out B-E-E-L-Z-E before I snatched my hands away from that smoothly-gliding piece of plastic as if I'd been burned. My friend looked at me in surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked. "What's it spelling?"

"You don't know?" I couldn't believe she didn't. I was already packing up the board and the planchette into the box, fastening it shut and thinking I would never touch it again.

"Who is that?" she asked.

I put the board away and dragged her outside into the afternoon sunshine before answering. (I had to bring her outside to answer her: we were in THAT house, the haunted house of my childhood.)

She never really understood why that bothered me so much. I don't think I really understood exactly how disturbing that whole incident was until I experienced The Exorcist, both the book and the movie, some years later. Can we say Captain Howdy?

So now I do not go anywhere near those things. When my children were little I absolutely forbade either of them having one in the house and as far as I know, neither of them ever dabbled in exploring that particular activity. At least, not when they were still young girls under my roof. And now, as adults, both of them understand where I'm coming from.

As Aldous Huxley once put it, "There are things known and there are things unknown and in between are the doors (of perception)." I think there are portals between this world and others, and as far as I'm concerned, a Quija board is a huge, honking portal into dimensions I'd rather leave alone.

Have you every played with a Quija board?