Ouija Experiement

From: Scott Alan Roberts (spookboy@pioneerplanet.com)
Story type: Ghost
Location: My home in Minneapolis, MN
Source: Form Submission

I suppose you could catagorize this as a ghost story, although I am not quite sure exactly what it is I encountered. I must state for the record that I am a fairly pragmatic sort of guy; if I can't "touch it, taste it, feel it, hear it, speak to it, experience it," I find it very difficult to put my faith in it. I am a skeptic to the core. So the event I am about to recount has left me a bit unsettled....

My late aunt, Andrea, was a self-acclaimed "witch" and psychic. I place the word witch in quotation marks, because I do not refer to the Wiccan religion, rather, the stereotype of folklore. She was a flower child in the sixties, and a free spirit most of her regrettably short life. In her quest for inner peace and happiness, she opened herslf to all sorts of curiosities and paranormal activities; she was probably even a "conduit" of some kind for the ethereal stuff. It was her many tales of ghosties, UFO's and supernatural goings-on that inspired my delve into the paranormal. On a quite afternoon during the summer of 1986, I cajoaled my unenthusiastic wife into a "ouija experiment." Now I had heard all the do's and don'ts from my auntie on how to handle yourself wit on of these cntratin Idd not, however, heed her most urgent piece of advise: "Never go there without me!

Having no patience to create one of the things by hand, I went out to my local occult supplier (Target) and purchased a Milton Bradley version of the beastie -- which, as you'll soon see, is as effective as the home-made ones. After a bit of fumbling around with the box, and the truly skeptical laughter and bantering about between my wife and me, we began our attempt to contact the "other side." We placed the boardonthe floor bteen usand rough a giggle-filled 15-20 minutes became increasinly convinced that he thing was as much hogwash. I commented to my wife thatweug ort te h in a bit more seriously if we elwnedt ve it the old collge try. So, as per my aunt's instructions, we moved to a set of chairs, faced each other, knees touching and placed the board between us on our laps. We struggled with the thing for about an hour with no discernable contact. Just as we were about to give up I detected a slight, involuntary movement of the cursor as we moved it along in a figure-8 pattern. Over the next hour-and-a-half we were sucked deeper and deeper into a conversation with....what? At first we were informed that we had contacted an entity named "Nan." She identified herself as a woman who had lived in the early 1900's prior to 1910. She informed us of her hair color, size, living conditions (a teniment in New York City), her family life and her status as an immigrant from Ireland. She also informed us of her death at or around age 20 in the street outside her building. She had been run over by sme sort of moving vehicle -- ehas a redawn wagon ofsom knd Se went otl u the name of her surviving son who was still alive in 1986 and living in San Jose, California. The name was Abe Ox or Oxman. Though I was transfixed with curiosity, my wife was horror-stricken and wanted to stop. I retorted several times with a vehement, "No!" I statdthstn, dnwI wanted to finish it. It trnedrey fom, into near obsessive behavior.

During the final few minutes of my "uplink" with the Netherworld I asked "Nan" for some more clarity as to just "who" she was. The answer took me by total surprise. I queried, "Nan, just who are you really?" The answer cm back emphatically, "D-E-M-O-N," with each letter being circled several times by the cursor. My wife began crying, yelling that she wanted to stop. (I am still surprised to this day that even though she was sobbing with fright, she wouldn't take her hands of the cursor it moved around the board. Hmmmmmmm.) Now lest you think my wife was a simmpering, dowdy housewife, I'll correct you: she was, at that time a saavy, eurodite executive at IBM, fully capable and confident, self-assured and aggressive. But this experience reduced her to sobs and primordial fear. Even so, I was so drawn into the event that I ignored her pleas to quit. Once more I asked Nan for clarity of identity. Again I received the "D-E-M-O-N" reply. I asked Nan that if she was a demon, than who did she consider more powerful: God or Lucifer. She responded, "G-O-D." Referencing a verse out of the Bible, I asked Nan who she would someday have to bow down to (the correct answer was, "Jesus Christ"). Her response was to stop the cursor completly, start spinning it in circles, and spell out the word, "C-A-N-T." At this point I removed my hands from the cursos, all curiosities satisied. As soon as I stopped concetrating on the board, my adreniline subsided and I was overcome with fear. I destroyed the board and haven't touched one since. I was thoroughly chastised by my aunt, and I remain "ouija-free" to this day.

Any feedback, pleas talk to me at
spookboy@pioneerplanet.com

Scott Roberts

p.s. the "spookboy" moniker has nothing to do with the paranormal.