| Now this story may be more frightening. It's written with teens in mind. Happy reading! |
The Call of the Ouija
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"We brought your dad back to life!" Deek shouted out the words, causing Stacy to jump before she'd
realized what he said. Her stare shifted from Trevor to Deek, then back to Trevor again. "What a dirty joke," she replied softly. "Stacy, please," Trevor begged. "Please hear us out." Glancing behind him, he added tensely, "Could we come in?" *** One hour earlier: Trevor leaned against his rolled up sleeping bag and gazed out over the silent, smooth exterior of Black Lake, trying to imagine what it would be like to crash a small plane into its dark surface. He wondered what Stacy's father had been thinking as the water quickly swallowed The Phantom and its pilot, pulling them downward through the vast blackness. Were his final thoughts about his wife and Stacy? Trevor glanced absently at his roasting hot dog and discovered it burning like a torch. As soon as they'd eaten, Deek scrambled inside the tent. "Mom and Dad have been cleaning out the attic," he announced, returning to the fire. "Look what I found." "A ouija board!" Deek beamed. "I thought you and I could use it to contact Winston McAdams." The pointer set in between drawings of the half-moon and the sun. Deek drummed his fingers lightly on his side of the pointer, the side that wasn't cracked, before settling them gently onto the plastic surface. Feeling a bit foolish, Trevor did the same. "Winston McAdams, calling Winston McAdams." Deek sounded as though he was trying to page the dead man. Nothing happened. "Maybe he's not in the mood for conversation," said Trevor with a slight grin. Deek ignored the remark. "We are friends with your daughter, Stacy. She lives near us. We..." The pointer inched its way along the board. Trevor jerked his fingers away. "Did you do that?" "No, now put your hands back!" The moment he did, the pointer resumed its slow motion along the surface of the ouija board. Deek and Trevor both turned to stare at the lake. The pointer moved over the letters of the alphabet, spelling out the word "water," then moving again to spell "dark." "Let's stop," said Trevor, removing his fingers from the pointer. Deek looked dumbfounded. "Are you kidding? We're actually talking to a dead person!" "How do I know it's not you?" "Trevor, I'm not causing the pointer to move. Ask him something I don't know. You're more Stacy's friend than I am." Trevor thought a few moments before returning his fingers to the pointer. "Remember the surprise present you were bringing home to Stacy the day your plane crashed? Not having it has made her sad, and not having you has made her even more sad." The pointer didn't move. Trevor eyed Deek with suspicion. Deek put on his best defense. "That's right. I don't know what the present was, but I'm not moving the pointer. It's the truth, I…" A sound made Deek stop in mid-sentence. Both boys looked around for its source. "Oh, man," breathed Trevor as he watched air bubbles break on the water's surface. A small ripple interrupted the lake's quiet exterior. "He's coming." And then, straight up out of the water, a hand appeared, bony fingers outstretched toward the night sky. Attached to that hand was what was left of Winston McAdams as it slowly emerged from its watery grave. The leather bomber jacket was easy to recognize. Trevor had seen it a zillion times from the photos at the McAdams' house. The dead man's face was in shadow, but Trevor could distinguish sunglasses as they mirrored the fire. As its body rose and began to move toward shore, the boys scrambled to their feet and ran. Behind them, they heard dry twigs snap as Winston McAdams stepped on dry land for the first time in almost five years. *** He'll be here any minute!" Deek could barely get out the words. The front doorknob rattled softly. All heads turned toward the sound. "Can he come in?" Deek whispered, his speech wavering. "It's locked," Stacy replied icily. "Besides, my father never used the front door." The knob rattled again. Seconds later, the door opened wide. "Mom!" exclaimed Stacy. "Look what I found on the porch," said Mrs. McAdams, her expression a baffled one. In her hands she held a bronze miniature model of The Phantom. It rested perfectly dry in a small, glass display case; a case which could not possibly have survived a trip from the bottom of Black Lake, yet there it was. Inside the tiny cockpit sat the pilot: a handsome figure, wearing sunglasses and a leather bomber jacket. He wore a bright smile as he held up his hand in a friendly wave, or perhaps, a final farewell; Stacy's surprise present. "It's your father's plane. How did it get there?" Trevor and Deek said nothing. Stacy could only stare at them in shock, while her mother hung her coat on the coat rack and headed down the hall with the treasure held firmly in her grasp. Trevor and Deek turned to each other with huge sighs of relief. What they'd done hadn't been so bad after all. Stacy's father had only returned to bring the gift. They all heard Mrs. McAdams step into the kitchen; then a soft click as the overhead lights came on. "Stacy, are you aware that the dirty dishes are still in the sink? I thought you were going to…" The words stopped suddenly, replaced by the sound a door opening, causing a slight bumping noise as it encountered a nearby corner cabinet. "Mom?" called Stacy as she started down the hall. Trevor and Deek remained where they were. Neither wanted to see what now stood in the kitchen; Winston McAdams never used the front door. THE END |
