We could just as easily dismiss the night’s events as one creepy coincidence. We didn’t know what we were responsible for, if anything.

What would we say? While you were out we met a hellion from the underworld who might be able to help with the investigation? Or maybe: It’s possible we unleashed a pyromaniac demon onto the block. “The firemen suspect arson,” my dad said. Our parents had observed the scene long enough to hear the scoop passed on by a police officer. “A neighbor’s house is on fire,” Aunt Nancy said. “You’ll never believe what’s happening down the street,” Uncle Sid said. Our parents were back home, bringing a chill with them. We shoved the game under a pile of laundry and ran upstairs. She swiped the pointer’s window over “GOODBYE” to officially close any spirit connection. Jenny realized they’d taken their hands completely off the pointer without performing a critical step in ending the game. My mind filled the black space surrounding our circle with glowing ghoulish creatures. Our minds swirled with all the words that could start with A. The pointer eked across the board as if John were short of breath. “John, do you have a message for us?” Jenny asked. They continued to channel John through the heart-shaped game piece. Trevor accused the others of manipulating the pointer. Our hearts pulsed erratically like flicks from the candles. The pointer continued to move across the board. It stopped and started before resting its window over the word YES.Īll of us leaned in to be nearer the candle’s glow. The pointer sputtered like a car engine struggling to turn over. “We’d like to talk to someone,” Trevor said. They lifted their fingers off the game piece, testing whether it could move on its own. “Does anyone want to talk to us?” Jenny asked again. The three continued to guide the plastic planchette. The basement was silent except for the pointer scratching across the board like skate blades on ice. Jenny, Trevor, and Jason warmed up the spirit world by looping the pointer in figure-eight motions over the board’s black and tan surface. “Only the people playing can form the circle around the board.” “But you have to sit behind us,” Jenny said. “Holly and Erin can watch,” my brother said. Erin, still reluctant to play, scooted back from the board. When we turned off the lights, only flickering candlelight and the scent of knotty pine reminded us that we were in a home, not some dark underworld. The five of us clomped down the basement stairs and set up on the cold, concrete floor. Jenny produced a bag from under her bed, a sort of séance emergency kit stocked with staples like candles, matches, and incense. “Well what are we waiting for?” said Trevor. “I’ve played the Ouija Board before,” I said.

I didn’t want Erin’s maternal instincts to make me look like a baby in front of the boys and Jenny, who was the pretty, blond cheerleader I wanted to be like. Plus, I think it’s too scary, if you know what I mean.” Erin glanced in my direction. That anything turned out to be a maturing experience for all of us kids. But one particular Thanksgiving, when I was 11 and the other cousins were high schoolers, I was up for doing anything to prove that I was cool and mature too. Of the five of us cousins forced together, I was the pipsqueak of the bunch and struggled the most to fit in. Thanksgiving was more like detention among members of The Breakfast Club than holiday from school. The entertainment highlight: Uncle Sid’s colorful reactions to his VHS recordings of Bears games. Chicago is an exciting big city compared to the rinky-dink town we lived in, but more often than not we passed the weekend restricted to my aunt and uncle’s conservative suburban home. For another, by the time we’d reacquainted ourselves with our cousins, it was time to go back home. For one, sharing the backseat of a midsize car with my brother during the seven-hour drive from Kentucky to our dad’s family in Chicago made us tired and cranky. Thanksgivings in Chicago could be a serious snooze compared to most of our family holidays. Happy Halloween, everybody, from Baltimore Fishbowl! Writer Holly Morse-Ellington recounts a night of spooky signals, her first and last experience Ouija-boarding as a kid.

Ouija seance