Beauty In The Night (a Halloween story)

This story is true . . . I swear.

It was late Friday evening and I’d just walked in the door after a hard afternoon shift at the local factory. I don’t remember exactly where she got the idea, but as soon as I sat down on the couch Patti pulled a game board out of a shopping bag. “Want to have some fun?” she said.

”What’s that?”

”A Ouija board.”

“Ouija board?”

“Yeah, you sit across from each other and ask it questions. You hold one side of this thing, (she held a small rectangular pointer with three legs in her hand) and I hold the other,” she explained. “Then you ask it a question and it will move around the board spelling out an answer from the spirit world.”

“Ok, let’s see if it works,” I said halfheartedly.

She got a couple beers out of the fridge, opened them and handed me one. She then positioned two kitchen chairs in the center of the room so we’d be facing one another with the Ouija Board on our lap. Motioning for me to sit, she sat down across from me and placed her fingertips lightly on the sliding device instructing me to do the same.

Patti went first. “How old am I?” she asked. Slowly the pointer moved to 2 then to 1. “That’s right!” she said. “See, I told you this thing works.” she said laughing. “Your turn, ask it a question.”

”O.K. Mister Ouija, how old am I?” Sliding…. Adding…24.”That’s right!” I exclaimed. Patti looked at me and we both let out a long “Ooooooohhh.”

“Mr. Ouija, What’s my mom’s name?” I asked. Slowly, as if having a mind of its own the pointer moved from letter to letter spelling out—L.I.L.L.I.A.N.

“Did you make it do that?” I asked Patti.

“No, swear to God, I just had my fingers on the thing, I never moved it, I was thinking you were.”

“Mr. Ouija, Where’s my dad?” (Who had died a year earlier)

H.E.R.E.

“Ohhh shit. You think we ought to be fooling with this thing?” I asked.

“Sure, see if you can speak to your father.”

We talked to my father asking him many specific questions. We received many specific answers. At first, we were communicating with just him, but later; strangers would butt into the conversation. It was as if there was a line of spirits on the other side waiting to talk to us.

Once Coleen arrived though, that was it. No other names would show up, even my dad disappeared. Every answer was coming from Colleen who had quickly taken control of the board.

Patti was by this time beginning to get scared and wanted to quit.

“Let me ask one more question,” I said, “and then we’ll quit, OK?”

“OK” she said reluctantly.

“Colleen, can you come to me in a dream?”

Y.E.S.

“Will you come and talk to me tonight?”

Y.E.S.

“Alright, I’m finished,” I said looking up from the board. “I’m going to talk to Colleen in a dream. Come on; let’s go to bed.”

Patti looked deeply into my eyes.

“What’s the matter? You jealous?” I asked kidding her.

”No, I’m scared, Jim,” she said quite seriously. “How do you know who you’re really talking to?”

”Aww shit, Pat, this is going to be a really cool trip, besides do you think anything will actually happen?” I said smiling. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

* * * *

Patti’s deep breathing signaled she had finally fallen asleep.

I was lying there staring at the ceiling sorting it all out when a quick, cool breeze blew through the window behind our bed causing the thin curtain to blow straight out and start waving in the dark room. It stopped as suddenly as it had started. Outside the window, the night was calm and still.

I then saw light flashing in the half-bath across the room. It looked like it does when a cars headlights scan across your window. But we were on a dead end street in the country. There were no cars around.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember, I was standing in a large Grecian courtyard. In the distance, sat a beautiful white marble temple supported by large columns. There were also six perfectly spaced columns, lined in a row, between the temple and me.

At the temple’s entrance stood a woman dressed in a flowing white gown that rippled in the cool breeze blowing off the Mediterranean. As she stepped out of the shadows, sunlight reflected off her long, blond hair creating a halo effect about her head. Her radiant, expressionless face bore the exquisite beauty of a goddess. Even from that distance I could clearly see her sensual, gray eyes staring directly at me.

Slowly she began walking towards me from behind the columns. Her image appeared then disappeared, only to reappear again one column closer until there were no columns left.

She was now directly in front of me, smiling and seductive, coming closer still. Her eyes shone with a sexual intensity that comes upon a woman only in her most intimate moment. Her arms opened to embrace me. I opened my arms to her in expectation, but she was not stopping. She kept coming, as if her goal was to walk into me, to become a part of me. Just one more step. I was full of excitement, awaiting this new experience.

Suddenly I was awakened by my wife’s frantic shaking of my leg . “Patti, what the hell are you doing? . . . I was right in the middle of a fantastic dream, and you woke me up! Dammit!” I said in frustration.

She gave me a confused look. “You were kicking and thrashing around yelling, NO! NO! NO! so loud you woke me up.”

“Oh.”

I sank quietly backwards into my pillow and tried to fathom what had just taken place. I began to realize that something very strange had just happened and I was afraid for what it might have been.

The following Sunday found me for the first time walking down a church isle towards an alter. I had never been big on religion, but logic told me that if darkness was so real perhaps the light was also. I needed to find out.

* * *

And the devil came not with a fork & tail, ugly and fire bright
But as light and love he appeared to me, in the guise of beauty in the night.

END

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6 comments

  1. DougDoesLife

    The last time I played with an Ouija board it was home made on cardboard with a shot glass as a pointer… That was almost twenty years ago… It worked, and I don’t plan on using one again.

    Like

  2. waxnwings

    always love the oxymoron of ‘true story’, although peeling the onion I guess stories are pretty much always ‘true’. Thanks for the post, enjoyed the read!

    Like

  3. waxnwings

    I guess the ‘no’ answer would be because if it is retold it is always a story therefore ‘fiction’, but then the ‘yes’ would be that, as we can only talk ever about the past through innately construed ‘stories’ that all stories must be true… In the words of Ron Burgundy: “Mind bottling, isn’t it?”

    Like

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