This is part 2/7 of the Séance series. If you want this to make sense, I recommend you read The Séance. I hope you like it.

A/N: Ouija is pronounced WEE-GEE.

_

Ouija [Oui – ja]

1. A trademark used for a board with the alphabet and other symbols on it, and a planchette that is thought, when touched with the fingers, to move in such a way as to spell out spiritualistic and telepathic messages on the board.

I instantly pulled my hand away from the marker. I heard Richard whisper, “Oh, my God.” Brianne and Roger both gasped and Jen was frozen.

Steve had nearly jumped out of his skin when the marker had slid over to the word ‘Yes’. He yanked his hand back. The marker spun off the board.

No one wanted to touch it.

“Lillian…” Richard muttered and squeezed my hand tighter. I couldn’t believe it! Could it really be Grandma? Could she really be here?

“Um,” Jen whispered. Her hand was entwined with Steve’s. “What was that?”

Roger answered, “I think someone moved the marker. I don’t think we actually made spiritual contact.”

“Shut up, Roger!” Sam said. “What if we really did? What if that was Lillian’s grandma that pushed the marker?”

“I can believe what I’d like!” Roger cried and hit the board with his fists. “I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t believe!” He slammed the board again.

“Shut up, you retard,” Steve said and glared at Roger. I could see Roger’s vein bulging from his forehead. There was sweat beading from his hairline, and his glasses were sliding down past his nose.

“That’s it! I’m leaving!” Roger shouted and stamped his foot on the board. Richard sighed and swept the board out from under his feet. Roger bit his lip and turned to leave.

“No! Roger, no! You have to stay! Please!” Richard cried. He stood up and grabbed Roger’s arm. “Please. Just stay until we are sure that we didn’t make contact with a ghost.”

Roger frowned. “Steve pushed it!”

Steve looked up and glared at him. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that? You wanna go, punk?” Steve shot up into the air and formed a fist with his right hand.

Jen cried, “No! Steve! Steve, sit down! You don’t need to fight! Just sit down!” She yanked on his muscular arm. Steve glared at her.

“Get off me. I can pick a fight with whoever I want.” But after he said that, he lowered himself to the ground again. Roger was breathing deeply. Furiously.

“I’m going. Happy birthday, Richard,” Roger muttered and walked through the front door. Richard sighed and looked at me. He shook his head.

I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he wiped my hand away. I could feel the sorrow in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Brianne said, “it’s getting late, and I got to head home too. It’s been fun. Happy birthday.” She nodded to Richard.

“We have to leave too,” Jen said politely, eyeing Steve. “It’s past midnight. Let’s go.” She tugged on his shirt as she stood up.

Steve looked at Richard. “Happy birthday, man. It’s been, uh, fun?” Richard rolled his eyes and smiled a half smile.

When they left the house, it was only Sam, Richard and I.

“Well, what a bunch of losers!” Sam cried and stood up. “We didn’t even get to finish the séance!”

“Sam,” Richard said, “I think it’s better if we don’t finish the séance. I mean, it’s cool and all that, but it’s really creepy. I think maybe later, you know, after everyone has cooled down, we can bring out the board again. But not tonight.”

I picked up the marker as Richard placed the Ouija board in the box. He smiled his crooked smile and I hugged him.

“It’s been a great night. Happy birthday,” I whispered in his ear. Richard turned his head and I stared into his eyes.

It felt so right, yet so wrong at the same time. It felt perfect as I leaned in my head. I closed my eyes.

Our lips touched and I was in heaven for the first time. I pulled back a bit too abruptly. Richard opened his eyes.

“What?” he breathed.

“Nothing,” I whispered. “It’s just that I’m new at this…”

“Don’t stop now,” he said and pressed his lips together with mine. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Sam as he left.

*

I woke up the next day to my alarm clock. Turning off the alarm, my hand brushed against something smooth and eerily cold. A knife. A butcher's knife. I didn't remember putting a knife on my nightstand.

I was too drowsy to put two and two together. I slid on my slippers and walked to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the closet on the way. As I flicked on the lights, I saw my reflection in the mirror. My frizzy hair was messy and disgusting looking. I smiled as I remembered last night.

I started undressing to get in the shower. Leaning forward, I looked into the mirror.

My lips. My lips had touched his. It was the most romantic, lovely, exhilarating, and emotional—

I lifted my shirt up over my head and gasped. My mouth dropped and my eyes widened. Right next to the shoulder strap of my bra was a long scratch. It had scabbed over.

“When did I get—”

My voice disappeared as I turned around to look at my back in the mirror.

There were scratches and cuts and bruises covering my back. I froze, not knowing what to do. The cuts were all deep—some were still oozing blood. I suddenly felt nauseous. The scabbing had seemed to overtake my whole backside. The red, dried up blood had dyed my skin, and I was petrified.

My mouth was mouthing inaudible words. My eyes were glued to the mirror. I couldn’t believe what had happened.

The scratches dominated my skin. There was almost none of it left. Everything was bruised and swollen and scabbed.

I didn’t even realize I was screaming until Mom rushed into the bathroom. I was still frozen as she yelled when she saw my skin. She was screaming at me. I was screaming back. I couldn’t make out what she was saying—everything dissolved into a loud, messy commotion.

She was covering her mouth with her hand, tears streaming down her face.

“Who did this to you? Who did this to you?” Her voice was becoming hoarse. I didn’t have an answer; I had woken up and discovered it.

That was when I remembered the knife on my nightstand. Could that possibly be the reason? Could someone have come into my room, late at night and cut me?

No. The answer came instantly. I would’ve felt them doing it. How, then? How?

An hour later, I found myself sitting on my couch, staring at my parents. Dad had just gotten home from work, and Mom was still trembling, tears sliding down her face.

“Who did this to you?”

I didn’t have an answer. I gazed vacuously at the couch’s leather covering. The leather had many foldings in it, causing it to wrinkle. I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Lillian, listen to me,” Dad said slowly, his eyes hard and cold. “I want to know who did this to you. Tell the truth.”

“Dad,” I whispered, refusing to look into his eyes, “I don’t know who did this to me…”

“Where you raped?” Mom asked softly. Her eyes darted between mine. I slowly shook my head, still horrified. I knew exactly who had done this to me. It had all been because of last night.

The séance had not been a failure. We had really conversed with a spirit and now it was hurting me. The knife flashed into my mind. The spirit must’ve used it. It must’ve used it to cut open my skin. There was no other possible explanation.

“Lillian, listen to us!” Mom shrieked. “Who did this to you?” My lip trembled. I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t tell them that we had had a séance yesterday. They would never allow me to see Richard again.

“No one did anything to me,” I whispered, wiping a tear out of my eye. My mother’s face fell, and my father’s jaw dropped.

“Are you saying that you did this yourself?” My father’s voice was fragile, as if it could break easily. I slowly raised my eyes to meet his. Should I tell him? Should I lie to him? It would get everything over with so much faster. I didn’t want to be interrogated any longer. If I told him that I had cut myself, they would surely send me to some shrink and put me on some anti-depressant pills. If I told them that a ghost had cut me, they wouldn’t accept it. If I told them that someone had raped me, I would be going to see a shrink also.

“No one did this to me. I woke up and I found myself like this. It wasn’t there last night.” I managed to cough out the words. It was all true—that’s how it all happened. I didn’t want to tell them how it happened, though.

“Anne,” Dad said to Mom, “I think she did to herself. Unless someone has viciously attacked her—”

“Like rape?” My mother seemed to favor that idea.

“Well, yes, like rape, then she would tell us.” Dad looked at me. “Why won’t you just tell us the truth? Whoever did this to you needs to be caught. If you did this to yourself, then you need to tell us why. We want to help you.”

“I can’t believe that you would think I would do this myself! I would never! I’m not like that, Dad! I tell you guys everything. I don’t know what happened. If I did, I would tell you!” I cried.

“Then tell us!” Mom shrieked. Her yell echoed throughout the house. I leaned back into the couch.

“I have. I’ve told you everything I know.”

“This is serious, Lillian! Someone could go to jail for doing this to you! Just tell us!” Dad said, standing up. His overpowering voice frightened me.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Fine. You want to know the real truth?” My parents’ mouths dropped. “I’ll tell you what really happened. I talked to Grandma last night. In a séance. I talked to her, and she was there. In the room. We - I was so spooked that I stopped the séance and threw the board away.” As soon as I stopped, I knew I had said too much.

“Threw what board away?” Mom yelled, her eyes darting again.

I sighed. “A Ouija board. I bought a ouija board.”

My father shook his head and put his hands to his face. “Lillian, the ouija board is a tool for the devil! It’s for satanic people! Lillian, I can’t believe that you would throw away our Catholic teachings and go and—”

“It’s a tool for the devil?” I was just as shocked as he was.

“Yes! Don’t you understand what that does?! It let’s Satan’s spirits in Purgatory tell us lies and lead us from the truth! It will try and damn our souls!” Dad’s voice rose with each word. I was terrified. If I had known that it had something to do with the devil, I would never have participated.

“Dad, I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” My voice was failing. My father shook his head, his face bright red.

“Go to your room. Now. Go and pray for forgiveness,” my mother cried, pointing her finger to my bedroom.

“Anne, what about her back? What are we going to do about it?” I glanced at my parents, who were facing each other.

“I’ll take her to the doctor as soon as I can make an appointment.”

I slammed my door shut and the tears burned as they crawled down my face. I didn’t even bother wiping them away. I fell to my knees and clasped my hands together, muttering a prayer.

The devil’s tool. I had told myself long ago that I would never intertwine with something to do with Lucifer. I didn’t want to be sent to hell.

I prayed for forgiveness, and prayed that I might be protected from the devil’s deeds. I also prayed for my friends that they might not wake up with scratches and bruises and cuts.