Get That Thing Out of Here Now

Posted: August 24, 2011 by writingsprint in Fantasy, Photography, postaday2011, postaweek2011, Writing
Tags: , , ,

2 a.m.. Sofia walked in a hunch, trying to get as far away from her house as she could. Her feet landed on the ground like pistons striking: mechanical, hard, and in her case, desperate. This engine was about to break. Under her arm she had stuffed a ouija board into a paper bag. She whimpered. In the hard shadows, she heard the snick of knives. The soft shadows were worse. There, she thought she could hear whispers. Sofia tried not to cry. The sky rumbled low, bass growls, and dark clouds felt low enough to brush the roof tops.

The cross around her neck protected her. She knew that. A friend had seen the board at a yard sale, and thought it would be a nice gift for Sofia’s children. It had been unwrapped in the house on Christmas day. Christmas! Sofia had nearly shrieked. She bit her lip, wishing she had. She thought she could feel the board’s evil heart beating through the beat. Sofia had gasped, but smiled sweetly and said thank you. When nobody was looking, she had blessed herself.

The kids had loved the board. Her husband did, too, and he never played games with the kids. Joe played sports with the kids, always sports, whether it was lawn darts or catch of kicking the soccer ball around. They would turn the lights out and ask it questions. The triangle wouldn’t move for Sofia. She smiled as she felt the cross’s weight on her chest. It had been a gift from her uncle on the day of her Confirmation, and she had never taken it off.

A distant thunderclap made her wince. Sofia moved faster. Where to dump it? Where?

Now her cat was meowing at corners, and Joe was drinking and wouldn’t say why. She kept coming home to find the board opened on her dining room table, with everyone swearing it had been put away the night before. The children were swearing and dressing in strange clothes. Her best friend said it was a new musical artist they were all listening to, but Sofia didn’t believe it.

She stumbled. The board fell out of the bag and landed face-up on the sidewalk, next to a house that looked like her own. The flower boxes were different, though, and so was the trash by the steps. It was like her house in one way: it was innocent, like hers had been. Sofia’s blood pounded in her face. She clutched the cross and said a soft prayer in Italian, begging for this family’s protection, and offering thanks for releasing her family from this curse.

Abandoned Ouija Board

The spinning head and projectile vomiting was the last straw

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Comments
  1. Kay Camden says:

    Bass growls. I think I love that.

    Like

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