Spirit Board

Crossroads Hostel had creaky floors and a lobby that smelled like old wood and ghost tours. The staff offered discounted tickets to the city's haunted trolley, which Shay took as a sign. She had been collecting ghost stories from hostel to hostel, like stamps on a passport. When she found a ouija board in a vintage shop, she bought it without haggling.

Tyrell called it a party game and cleared a table in the lounge. June rolled her eyes but sat down anyway, because skepticism is a kind of participation. Marla warned them not to light candles near the curtains, then left to run the bar. Shay placed the planchette on the board and asked, "Is anyone here?" The pointer slid to yes.

They laughed. Tyrell asked for the ghost's name. The planchette spelled E L L I S, a name none of them knew. Shay felt a chill. June asked for proof. The lights flickered, and somewhere upstairs a door shut. They started to pull their fingers away, but Shay kept hers on the planchette, eyes bright. "Let's ask it something real," she said.

When she asked how she would die, the planchette moved with a steady hand. A T T I C. The room grew colder. Shay smiled because it felt like a dare. She told the others she was going to check the attic. June told her not to be ridiculous. Tyrell started filming.

The attic door was locked, but Shay found a key on the wall labeled "Maintenance." She unlocked it. The stairs creaked under her feet, dust rising in pale clouds. Tyrell trailed behind with his phone light. Shay stepped into the attic and felt a pressure in her ears, a low hum. She didn't hear June calling her name.

The possession was subtle at first. Her posture straightened. Her eyes went glassy. When Tyrell asked if she was okay, she turned to him with a smile that didn't belong to her. She walked toward the center of the attic where a beam sagged. The beam cracked under her weight. June reached for her and missed.

She fell through the beam and hit the floor below, a sharp sound like a snapped branch. The board in the lounge flipped itself over. The candles went out. Tyrell screamed. Marla ran in and stopped short when she saw the body. The air tasted like rust.

June tried to revive her, hands shaking, repeating her name like a spell. The attic door slammed shut on its own, and Tyrell stumbled backward, swearing he hadn't touched it. The planchette on the table moved in a slow circle, as if something were pacing.

Marla grabbed the board and shoved it into a closet, but the letters still felt loud in her mind. She found herself whispering "goodbye" over and over until the word lost meaning.

They called the police. The board was still on the table, the planchette resting on GOODBYE. In the reviews, someone wrote, "We played a game and lost." @HostelReaper replied, "Do not open what you cannot close."