The Ouijiers

By Matthew Ballotti

Paul's brush with death has changed him. He appreciates the little things in life more than ever before. Yet he is still curious. He still wishes to explore the possibilities of other dimensions that are closed to the living. His interest in the mysteries of the occult creates some strange twists in his life as he decides to write a college term paper on Ouija boards.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MWB Entertainment
• Release date: Oct 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301172658

Book preview

THE OUIJIERS

By Matthew Ballotti

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Copyright 2012 by Matthew Ballotti

Published by MWB Entertainment

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted in this book are fictional and any resemblances to real people or events are purely coincidental.

Smashword Edition Licensing Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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To Deanna, so she, too, can have something to read.

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Introduction

Mankind has tried to delve into the mysteries of death for millennia. They have tried various ways to do this. Ouija type devices have been used for ages to try to contact entities on the other side, but automatic writing tools involving flat boards with lettering and planchettes were not invented until the 1800s. Even their origins are controversial.

Whether or not Ouija boards actually work, there is a plethora of bizarre stories to be told by those who have used them. I've had my own experiences with Ouija boards and the consequences of using them. They seem to open gateways to the spiritual world, but how can we know the nature of these other worlds? In many ways, if one contacts spirits through a Ouija board, one can only take its word about the nature of its existence. In this novel, the characters discover that when a doorway is open, it is not always a one way door. The spirit world, so to speak, does not contain only spirits, just as our world does not contain only humans.

You will notice that I use the word ouiji rather than Ouija. This is because Ouija is a trademark. Years ago I contacted the Hasbro company about sponsoring my work, trying to convince them that sales of the board would increase if the book became successful. They wrote me back assuring me that they would protect their trademark vigorously. I decided to use the word ouiji, which I made up, because that's how most people pronounce it. It is meant to be a generic representation of one of the many brands of boards which can be used for automatic writing purposes or for contacting other dimensions of existence.

The Ouijiers is a work of fiction which suggests only one possibility as to the real nature of the dimensions coming through. While it is fiction, some aspects of this story represent actual experiences that I have had. It might be fun to try to determine what events could have happened in my life. Perhaps some of you may have had similar experiences. In any case, I hope you find The Ouijiers an entertaining read.

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Chapter 1: Arise

Death.

Its shadow followed Paul.

Its hot breath had flowed across the back of his neck.

Its cold fingers had caressed his throat.

Not the patient, friendly death which ends years of suffering and leads those it takes to a better place, but the unexpected, frightening death which snubs young life at its best. The sudden death. The tragic death.

Paul had fought death, and he had won. At least, he felt that way now. But death waited for Paul in the recesses of his mind, lingering in his thoughts, wearing a scowl. Angry. Bitter. Paul knew he would have to give into him someday, but not today. It was too sunny today, too bright and warm.

Paul worried that he thought about death too much. It was a glorious day. He should be concentrating more on life, on the beauty of the present. He should be able to put death in the past and let it fade away with the rest of his memories. After all, nature had its own workings. It had made him a gift of this day. He had gotten another chance. Summer was quickly slipping away. He needed to enjoy what was left of it. He needed to get on with life.

He slid along with the rest of the crowd headed for the quad. Once he reached it, he found he couldn't continue to hurry along with the other students. The throng began to push past him. They slipped by him in their rush to make it to their classes, leaving him alone, invisible.

Time was no longer that important to him. He stopped to take the day into his soul. He examined the green of the manicured lawn, studied the bends and twists of the tree branches as they reached for the blue sky. Their leaves stretched to absorb as much of the sun as they could, like hundreds of fingers grasping for food. Paul forgot about time. He stared at the trees and watched. They consumed as much of the light as possible. Autumn was near. Winter would follow shortly. Paul deserved a few minutes to himself, to commune. He could afford it.

The crowd had left him alone. A straggler nearly ran into him and tore his attention away from the trees. Paul's fellow student stopped and looked at him for a second. Paul stared back. He could see surprise in the man's eyes. The pair said nothing. The other student quickly stepped to the side and rushed past Paul. Paul watched him head off to the north. Time was growing short. Bells resounded across the quad from many buildings at once. Paul sighed heavily. He needed to get on with life. That meant going to class.

Dozens of windows looked upon him as Paul leisurely strolled toward the red brick building. The heads they framed showed no faces. They all looked toward their professors or busily jotted down notes. Paul remained unhurried. He felt no urgency to arrive at class. After all, he had already missed two weeks of class time. What did it matter if he was a few minutes late today? He didn't even have to show up at all. The doctors had told him to relax, but he had felt cooped up and useless in his apartment, so he decided to go to class. He was showing up, and that was enough.

The door creaked only slightly as Paul opened it. He had been using that door all semester, and this was the first time he had noticed it creak. He wondered how much he had missed by allowing himself to be dragged along with the crowd, always pushing, never paying attention. He allowed the building to pull him into its welcoming embrace. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

He quietly ascended the staircase which moments before had been crammed with students. He climbed up to the first landing and followed it around, taking the next set of stairs still unrushed. He took another flight of stairs, and another, until he finally reached the top. He stepped into the third floor corridor.

He walked through the lonely hallway almost cautiously and let it direct him to the left. These were the arteries of the building. Moments earlier, they had bustled with activity, flowing with young minds, steering their bodies to their proper cells where they could soak up as much knowledge as they could hold. Now, they guided Paul, alone, toward a lonely corner of the building, where his class was held. His footsteps echoed back hollowly as he moved through the too silent corridor. The only other sounds he could hear were the low murmurs coming from behind the closed doors which lined the hall. He moved a little faster now. Somehow, the sounds reminded him of death.

He took a right he knew well. The hall led him to a short stairway rising to the highest room, a corner of the building. There was only a small landing in front of the door to the classroom. A strangely appropriate room to hold this class in, Paul thought. He entered room 401.

Professor Dolinger stood at the front of the class. He had cut his oratory short as Paul entered. His eyes stared sternly at this interruption in the doorway. Paul's classmates turned to check out the disturbance. Fourteen new pairs of eyes studied him. Paul looked at the faces. Apprehension and embarrassment ran amuck in his head. Professor Dolinger's look softened and eased Paul's tensions.

Mr. Asenci, the professor announced. I wasn't expecting to see you until next week. Are you sure you're well enough to handle class today?

I don't feel too bad. A lot better than I was two weeks ago, Paul said. I was getting rather bored sitting alone in my apartment, doing nothing, so I decided I'd be better off here.

Well, I'm glad you decided to join us today, Dolinger said. I think you'll be interested in the lecture I've prepared. Please, have a seat.

The class watched Paul stride to a desk across from the cute blonde. She smiled at him as he sat. He smiled back. He remembered her name. Linda, he had heard her called. He had often thought about her, but they had never spoken. He had to look away to dig out his notepad and pen from his backpack. When he looked up again, she was staring at Professor Dolinger.

I was talking about the persecution of witches during the dark ages, Dolinger began his lecture again. "To start at the beginning, I would like to first speak of the rise of witches, just after the fall of the Roman Empire. It is said that, upon the birth of Christ, a voice was heard over the Aegean Sea proclaiming 'Pan is dead.' If you have read the Mitchel text, you will understand the meaning of this.

"He interprets the myth to mean that not only the god of nature had died, but nature itself was maligned as well. He goes on to say, however, that Pan never really died. He points out that the god was kept alive by the simple peasant women of Europe, which is, in my opinion, an accurate assessment. I believe the early leaders of the church made up this myth to help them gain control of a wild populace seeking structure and stability in a world filled with violence and death.

What we need to keep in mind here is the geopolitical atmosphere of Europe during the last years, and after the fall of, the Roman Empire. These people had no real structured society. Small villages and hamlets were easy targets for bands of marauders roaming the countryside. The common man, the farmers and peasants of the day, really had nowhere to turn for justice. It was into this environment that the Christians, or, more accurately, the church, brought its own brand of conversion.

Paul was already finding the lecture boring. He had already read the text and Professor Dolinger added nothing new to it. Paul let his mind wander. He found himself paying attention to Linda. Something about her intrigued him. It was more than the perfect proportions carved into her face. It was more than her well developed figure. He found many women physically attractive. Paul stared at her profile. She had a certain twinkle in her eye. There was an air about her. Something he couldn't exactly put his finger on.

He daydreamed.

The things I could do with you if we were alone, he thought.

In his mind, he was undressing her. Slowly. Savoring her beauty. She looked up and caught him staring as he was imagining her blouse open. She smiled. Embarrassed, Paul quickly looked away. He began furiously taking notes. Professor Dolinger continued his lecture.

And so these poor, common women were forced to keep their idols, the gods and deities they had worshipped for ages, hidden from the eyes of anyone who might report them to the church, he was saying. "Fear is a powerful weapon, and the church wielded it well. It was more than the fear of God these priests instilled into the populace, it was the fear of man. It was the fear of being ostracized from society, of being forced to live a lonely existence outside of the little protection and structure medieval society offered. It was the fear of torture and painful death. But, despite the risks, pagan practices continued in Europe. It was the church, having gained a foothold in these peoples' lives and the blessings of the ruling class, that mutated these practices into what is today called witchcraft.

"Mitchel tells us a story of one particular woman who, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, is forced from her town into the woods of the countryside. Now, in those times, this was tantamount to a death sentence. The countryside of Europe back then was still wild, and a very dangerous place. The woman Mitchel talks of, however, manages to find a cave to live in and, in essence, sets up shop.

"This woman, having been bestowed with the knowledge of her foremothers, is well versed in the herbalist arts. She knows of cures and potions no one else can duplicate, especially since the new church has declared nature unholy. The townspeople, therefore, afflicted with the ailments of the day, have nowhere else to turn for help with these maladies and must go to her often. So this unfortunate woman, cast out of her own village and forced to live this lonely existence, becomes a very powerful figure in the day to day lives of the very people who rebuked her.

"The story Mitchel tells, although fictitious, is a poignant one, indeed. Because it happened in the time it did, there are no case histories, no writings by actual people this kind of thing might have happened to. One must remember that the common medieval serf woman had no education, no knowledge of reading or writing. It was the church and the priests who had the education. At that time, they were the ones entrusted to record history for posterity.

And there is evidence that this type of thing did happen. Given their beliefs and their limited knowledge of how the world works, it is easy to see how they might believe that these women were practicing black magic. Perhaps, in their own misguided ways, some of these priests sincerely thought these women were servants of the devil. They truly believed these women to be witches, as we know them in the modern sense, and they thought they were doing the world a service by ridding it of them.

A strange feeling crept into Paul's gut. He glanced over at Linda and caught her staring at him. He smiled. It was her turn to look away, embarrassed. Paul smiled to himself.

God, she's beautiful, he thought.

Professor Dolinger went on, expounding on the spread of witchcraft in the middle ages and the attempts of the church to stop it. He explained how the church outlawed all festivals during this time and forced the common people to celebrate at night. He explained how the witches of the day were elected by the villagers to become the priestesses of these proceedings and presided over the festivals.

Hence, he said, the church, in a way, perpetuated the very thing they were trying to put an end to. By being so strict and unyielding, the church drove many of the common people to turn their backs on it. They took their pagan gods and turned them all into the all powerful Satan, just to give the church a slap in the face. This was the birth of the black mass and Satan worship, a chance for the common people of the time to forget about the harshness of their world and simply go wild. Are there any questions?

Before any student could voice a query, bells resounded through the building and across the entire campus.

Well, I'm sorry, Dolinger said. We seem to have run out of time. I didn't mean to take up the entire class period lecturing. Why don't you read the rest of Mitchel for next time and we'll start the class with any questions you might have.

The students, in concert, gathered their books and papers and stampeded toward the door in their mad rush to make it to their next class. Paul was gathering his nerve to ask Linda for her number.

Mr. Asenci, I need to see you before you leave, Dolinger called.

Paul turned, then looked back. Linda was two steps by him and headed away quickly. He shook his head and kicked himself for missing his chance. Oh, well, he thought, there was always next Monday. He walked to Professor Dolinger's desk.

So, how are you feeling, Paul? the professor asked. Are you completely well?

I'm much better than I was two weeks ago, Paul said. But I still don't think I'm a hundred percent.

Spinal meningitis, wasn't it? Dolinger asked.

That's what they tell me, Paul said.

Did you know you were in the paper? Dolinger asked.

No, Paul said. Why?

The school gets very upset when a student comes down with such a serious illness. It's big news, Dolinger explained.

Really? Paul asked.

I'm surprised you didn't know, Dolinger said. With all the time you had off, I'm surprised you didn't read about yourself.

I haven't been paying that much attention over the last couple of weeks, Paul said. I nearly died.

Meningitis is extremely serious, Dolinger said. You're lucky to be alive.

Don't I know it, Paul said. It hit me real sudden. If Tom hadn't come in when he did, I certainly would have died. The doctors told me they caught it just in time. They said if I'd been untreated any longer, I wouldn't have had a chance.

Who's Tom? You're roommate? Dolinger asked.

No, he's a friend, Paul said. I live alone.

Is that so? Dolinger asked as he looked up to see a new set of students entering for the next class. You don't see that very often in a college town. Well, I'd love to talk to you about it more, but we haven't the time. I just needed to know if you had come up with an idea for your term paper yet.

I thought I'd do a paper on ouiji boards, Paul said.

Ah yes, ouijis, Dolinger said. Planchettes and cards. Looking into the spirit world. That ought to be most interesting. I look forward to reading it.

I look forward to writing it, Paul said. See you next week.

Next week, Dolinger said as he made a note in his book and closed it.

Paul was heading out the door. Dolinger wasn't far behind.

The day was still warm and sunny as Paul stepped out of the building. The sky was clear and bright. Not even the wisp of a cloud threatened to sully it. A calm wind blew over Paul's face. Still, there was a hint of haze over the bright sunshine. A ghost's shadow maintained its residence in the back of Paul's mind. Waiting. Lurking. He didn't let it bother him. It was glorious to be alive. He took a deep breath and made his way through the throbbing mass of students, toward home.

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Chapter 2: Home

Phinius greeted Paul at the door. The black long haired Persian meowed as it opened. Paul closed the door. Phinius meowed again as she slinked around his legs, caressing them with her head. Tehern, the calico, sat up on the arm of the couch and seemed to watch Paul. She didn't exactly look at him, but stared somewhat to his side, as if she spotted something intriguing behind him. Paul quivered slightly.

It's just an effect of the recent illness, he thought.

He ignored Tehern and bent down to pet Phinius. She purred.

How ya doin', girl? he asked. Are you hungry?

Paul stepped into the hallway, took a quick right, took seven more steps, and was in his kitchen. He threw his mail on the counter, went to the cupboard, and brought down a can of cat food. As the sound of the electric can opener whirred through the apartment, Tehern came trotting in from the living room. Both cats stuck their faces in the bowl and began eating as he emptied the food into it. He filled up their water dish, took his mail into the living room, and began going through it.

Junk, he said to himself. Phone bill. Junk.

He threw his mail down on the coffee table as if disgusted, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a second. He needed to do something, but he didn't know what. Recuperating had taken too much out of him. He had lost touch with his world. He opened his eyes and stared at the blank screen of his television. He thought about turning it on, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Phinius jumped up next to him and rubbed her head against his leg.

What is it girl? Paul said as he scratched the black Persian behind the ear. Need some attention?

Phinius curled up on Paul's lap, laid there, and purred. Tehern crept in from the kitchen, sat upon the arm of the couch, and stared at the two. Paul looked toward the calico. The cat did not meet his stare, but looked past him intensely, as if something stood motionless behind him. Silent. Lurking.

Paul slowly scanned his surroundings. He took stock of everything he had. To his left, only a couple of feet from his end table, a large window looked out across the athletic field. A brass lamp and the telephone sat on the end table, waiting to be used. Across from him, in the corner, a small spiral staircase ran up to the bedrooms. One he slept in, the other he used for his computer. The TV sat a little to the right of the stairway. Next to it was his stereo system. Behind him hung the only picture he owned. It was a painting of a girl in a light dress standing next to a bridge across a river in the middle of a field of golden grain. He was fond of that picture. There was a little dining area in front of the kitchen which was occupied by a table and four chairs. All his furniture was fairly new. He was proud of his possessions.

He thought for a moment about the things he owned. His possessions. His cats. His apartment. He had more than most kids his age, in his position, but he had far less. He sighed and shook his head. What would have happened to his things if he hadn't made it? Where would they have ended up? He didn't know. It was too quiet.

Paul gently lifted Phinius off his lap and laid her back down on the couch. The cat rolled over and began to lick herself. Paul walked to his stereo and looked through his CDs. He chose a CD by The Church and put it in the player. A ghostly melody filled the room. The airy, haunting sounds cascaded around his head. He looked out the window. Sunshine blared through it. He wanted the warmth and fresh air of the day. He began a slow climb up the spiral staircase.

He stood on his balcony and gazed across the athletic fields. East of them, to his left, stood a large field house. Inside were tennis courts, racquetball courts, basketball courts, running tracks, weight rooms, a swimming pool, all the necessities for the students and faculty of the university to keep fit. He watched a group of students playing a pick up game of ultimate Frisbee. They darted around each other, crashing into one another furiously as they threw, dived and scampered for the flying disc. Teamwork. Group activities. Paul knew neither. He was a loner. He felt a swim might be nice.

Paul? a voice bellowed inside his apartment. Paul!

I'm out here, Paul yelled back.

Moments later, a young, good looking man with sandy brown hair wandered out onto the balcony.

Hi Tom, Paul said.

Hi. Whatcha doin'? Tom asked.

Just watching, Paul said. It's a nice day. I was thinking about going for a swim.

So, you're feeling better? Tom asked.

Much, Paul said.

Are ya up for goin' out tonight? Tom asked.

Where?

I thought we could hit The Library, Tom said. They got a two for one special after six tonight.

I don't know, Paul said. The doctors told me I shouldn't drink for a while.

C'mon, Paul, Tom said. You've been laid up for two weeks. It's Friday night. How long do they expect you to be a saint?

Yeah. I suppose you're right, Paul said. I could use a couple of beers.

Great, Tom said. Got anything to eat?

What's the matter? Did your meal ticket expire? Paul asked.

Dorm food? Yech! You don't expect me to eat that, do ya? Not when I can get real food here.

Paul exhaled hard.

Well, I don't have much, he said. But, I'll see what I can whip up. Let's go downstairs.

The pair went inside. Paul felt almost relieved to have Tom with him. Perhaps he had been too alone these past few weeks. Maybe he needed more friends. He felt as if Tom chased away the ghosts that were haunting him. They faded away with the golden sunlight as he moved deeper into the darkness of his apartment.