Submitted by OrbitHopper74 – It was just another night in Jake’s basement. Pizza boxes and soda cans littered the table. We were bored, tossing around ideas for what to do next. Suddenly, Tyler spoke up:

"Hey, why don't we try a Ouija board?"

I laughed, thinking he was joking. But then he started digging through an old chest, pulling out a dusty Ouija board with a big grin.

I’d heard all the spooky stories about spirits and demons. I was both doubtful and curious about this ghost stuff. When Tyler gave me that ‘don’t be chicken’ look, I couldn’t say no. We cleared the table and lit some candles to set the mood.

As we gathered around, the room felt tense. Maybe it was the flickering light, or just the excitement of what might happen. We put our fingers on the planchette, feeling a bit silly. Our plan was to try and contact our friend Mia, who’d passed away last year.

Tyler asked, “Are you there, Mia?” Then, the planchette started to move. At first, I thought someone was messing around, but everyone looked just as shocked as I felt. It moved in slow circles, spelling out words that didn’t make sense at first.

Then it paused and spelled out ‘L-I-G-H-T.’ This hit us hard. Mia always talked about “finding the light” after death. My throat felt tight, and I almost wanted to back away. It felt too real, like she was trying to send us a message.

We ended the session soon after, our minds blown. It was a night I wouldn’t forget, reminding us that sometimes those spooky stories might hold a bit of truth.

When we first moved into our old, creaky house, my brother and I spent the summer exploring every corner. The attic became our favorite spot. One day, we found a Ouija board buried under some moldy boxes. It looked ancient and mysterious.

For months, we wondered about who left it behind. Was it a friendly ghost, or something scarier? One rainy afternoon, feeling bored and brave, we decided to try it out.

As we brought it downstairs, my brother tried to act cool, but I could see he was nervous. We set up in the living room, turning off the lights and lighting a couple of candles. The rain tapping on the window added to the spooky mood.

My heart raced as we sat on the floor, our knees touching and fingers hovering over the planchette. “Here goes nothing,” I whispered. My brother asked if any spirits were around. We waited in silence, the room still except for the soft rain.

Nothing dramatic happened that night, but we were spooked enough. Our imaginations ran wild with ghost stories. Even now, when I visit the attic, I can’t help but glance at that old Ouija board, wondering what secrets it might hold.

When we finally tried the Ouija board, we were just goofing around. We sat cross-legged in the living room, giggling like kids. “Ready?” my brother asked with a smirk. We both nodded, prepared to face imaginary ghosts.

At first, nothing happened. Then, the planchette twitched. Just a tiny nudge, like someone tapping your shoulder. We glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. The giggles stopped, replaced by an eerie quiet.

Suddenly, it moved more forcefully, dragging across the board. I was sure my brother was tricking me, but when I looked at him, his eyes were wide with shock. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I realized he wasn’t faking it. And neither was I.

"Okay, quit fooling around," I said, trying to sound casual.
But my brother whispered, "Dude, I'm not doing anything."

We watched as the planchette picked up speed, spelling out something unclear at first. Then it slowed, spelling a single word: ‘H-E-L-L-O.’

The room felt colder after that. We stopped, pulling our hands away quickly. We laughed nervously, but inside, we both knew something was different. It felt like someone—or something—had just said hi.

Part of me said it was just our imagination. But another part wondered if we’d touched something beyond explanation. We put the board away, deciding that was enough excitement for one day. Even now, thinking about it sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me that some mysteries are best left unsolved.

We didn’t talk much about our first Ouija session. Maybe because we knew we’d opened up questions we weren’t ready to answer. Adding our late friend Mark into the mix made it even more intense. He was the kind of friend you never thought you’d lose so early—always laughing, always there when you needed him.

A few weeks later, boredom crept in again, and thoughts of the Ouija board came back. This time, we weren’t just looking for thrills; we were hoping to find a piece of Mark.

Back in the living room, candles lit and rain tapping on the windows, we placed our fingers on the planchette. My brother asked, “Mark, are you there?”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the planchette moved slowly, touching one letter after another. I read them out loud, trying to make sense of it. And then I saw where it was going: M-A-R-K.

My heart did a flip. Could it really be him? Was there somehow a way that he knew we were reaching out? I didn’t know whether to feel scared or comforted.

“Mark, if it’s you, give us a sign,” I said, trying to sound brave. The planchette didn’t move this time. Just the rain, the candlelight, and the echo of that name hanging in the room.

We put the board away, thanking him quietly, just in case. After that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’d find myself wondering about life after death, filled with more questions than answers.

Even now, every time it rains, I think of that night and how sometimes the people we love might leave little clues in the most mysterious ways.

I sat on my bed a few days after the Ouija session, headphones on but music low, trying to sort out my emotions. It was like a tangled ball of yarn made up of excitement, sadness, and disbelief that wouldn’t unravel. I wanted to believe it was Mark reaching out, but part of me doubted.

Every time I thought about it, I’d get this weird feeling in my chest, like being at the top of a roller coaster. My mind kept flipping between “Wow, that was him!” and “No way.” How could I feel so connected to something I couldn’t see or prove?

I looked at an old photo of us with Mark on the bookshelf—a snapshot from a summer day, all of us eating ice cream. He had his big, trouble-making grin. I smiled back, even as I felt a lump in my throat.

Maybe it was just me wanting to believe, or maybe there was truth in that planchette moving under our fingertips.

In the end, we all have ways of keeping loved ones around, through memories, dreams, or stories. Maybe that’s what it was about—not finding answers, but feeling that connection, however brief and mysterious.

We sat in the dim room, candles nearly burned down. Just when we thought the session was over, the planchette started moving again—slowly this time, spelling out G-O-O-D-B-Y-E.

My brother and I exchanged glances, our faces showing relief, surprise, and sadness. I chuckled nervously, “Guess that’s that,” trying to sound casual but failing.

It felt final, like saying goodbye to Mark again. Part of me didn’t want to let go, but maybe that was the point. Maybe Mark wanted us to have this moment, to make peace with everything.

We put the board away carefully. As we blew out the candles, my mind felt quieter. I still had questions, but I felt calm, thankful for the experience that brought us closer to Mark, even if just for a moment.

Turning the lights back on, the shadows disappeared. I could almost hear Mark’s laugh echoing, a reminder that connections don’t just end—they change, leaving a presence that lives on in our hearts.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe what happened that night. Was it really Mark, or just our imagination? I’ve replayed it countless times in my mind.

Part of me wants to believe it was him, reaching out from beyond. It’s comforting to think he’s still watching over us. But I can’t help questioning it. Did we let our emotions take over because we missed him so much?

In the end, maybe it doesn't matter. What's important is how it made me feel—a strange sense of closure that's hard to explain.

I realized that goodbye doesn’t always mean gone forever. Memories have their own kind of magic, keeping people close in ways we can’t see or touch.

Maybe that’s what these experiences are about—not finding answers, but feeling a comforting presence. A reminder that those we love never truly leave us. They’re in our stories, our laughter, and the moments that make us pause and smile at a memory.

I might try the board again someday, or maybe I’ll let the mystery be. Either way, it’s a story I’ll carry with me, a testament to friendship and the strange, wonderful ways it can last, even when we least expect it.