3:02 AM

The closing credits of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre unfurled on the den TV screen. Not that any of the girls paid them any mind. If Leatherface wasn’t capering about menacing unsuspecting visitors, who cared about some dumb list of names? Clara’s dog, Zander, rooted under the couch, desperately searching for dropped popcorn. While the girls watched the movie, he’d sat near the couch’s tattered arm, putting on his best I’m-starving-to-death-and-no-one-cares expression each time someone plunged her hand into the overfilled bowl. Zander lived for nights like this and when Clara’s friends piled into the house, he shook his body with such force, he nearly toppled over Clara’s grandma’s ashes that lived in the urn in the foyer.

Amber, Clara’s best friend since grade school, came back from the bathroom with her hands behind her back, a sly grin plastered on her face. She’d always been a bit of a shit-stirrer, even as a little kid. Who else put a garter snake in their second-grade teacher’s desk—even though the woman was notoriously terrified of all creepy crawlies? Just last month she’d cut school and swiped a handful of lipsticks from the drugstore. Even worse? She flirted with the paunchy security guard posted at the front of the store as she sashayed out, lipsticks snug in her pocket.

“Guess what I have!” Amber called out to the room in a high sing-song voice. The shit-eating grin grew wider.

Sarah made an audible gulp and glanced at Amber. Her already pale face drained of color, making the freckles across her nose more prominent. Sarah tended towards meekness—a byproduct of her upbringing, especially since her mother was rather tyrannical. She’d watched the movie reluctantly. Her mother absolutely forbade R-rated movies of any kind and would blow a gasket if she found out about the grisly horror movie viewing. And watched might have been too strong a term—Sarah kept her hands over her eyes during all the scary scenes and had missed half of the movie.

“What… what… is it?” Sarah asked, apprehensive about the answer. Her mind already raced, thinking of the inquisition she’d face when she got home in the morning. Horror movies? Surprises? A telltale itch crept its way up her neck—the beginning of stress hives.

“Oh c’mon. Guess!” Amber’s grin widened and her eyes danced across each girl’s face.

Sarah. Clara. Bekah. “It’s no fun if you don’t guess!”

“A dildo!” Bekah called out with unabashed glee. Sarah’s face flushed. Bekah let out a giggle, marveling at her own wit. She’d moved to the area from Oklahoma in middle school when her dad took a job with the local hospital. Her voice still carried a southern twang, something the boys swooned over. So exotic! They also loved her bawdy personality and propensity to unleash a stream of profanities at the slightest provocation. Too bad none of them had a shot in hell at hooking up with her. Bekah preferred the company of the fairer sex.

“Ha! Only if you brought yours, Bekah! You guys give up? You wanna know what it is?”

“Oh my God, just tell us already!” Clara admonished, standing up from the beanbag.

Amber gave a theatrical eye roll and sighed. “Clara, I love you, but damn! You’re no fun!” She pulled her hands from behind her back. Like a magician revealing their cards, she showed off her bounty. In the left hand, a joint. In the right hand, a rectangular box.

Clara walked over to Amber and plucked the box out of her hands. “What’s this? An Ouija board? Oooooo!” Her eyes narrowed as she read the back of the box.

Sarah jumped up, nervously rubbing her hands together. “Oh no! We shouldn’t be messing with that stuff. My mom said that’s how people talk to the devil.” She paused, considering. “Isn’t it?”

Bekah guffawed and swiped the joint from Amber’s outstretched palm. “Look at that. You got Sarah so twitter-pated about chatting with Satan that she didn’t say shit about the weed!” She held the joint to her nose and gustily inhaled. “Ahhhhhhh, this smells like some good kush.” Turning to Amber, she asked, “Where’d’ya get it?”

Amber shook her head and put her index finger to her lips. “A woman never reveals her secrets. Catch!” She reached into her bag and extracted a lighter, tossing it to Bekah, who caught it deftly—years of sports finally paying off. “Spark that shit up!”

“Yes, ma’am!” With a practiced air, Bekah rolled the joint between her fingers, touching the Bic flame to its tip. Soon, a skunky musk filled the air.

Sarah shook her head frantically, stark panic stamped across her features. “Guys, I can’t be smoking!” She hunched down and glanced around the room as if it were bugged. “Especially not… marijuana.” The word came out quietly, as if saying the very word would taint her.

Clara had set up the Ouija board on the chipped den table, brushing away open bags of Doritos and empty soda cans—fallen soldiers from a night of fun. “Sarah, you don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to. But… we will probably think you’re a total puss if you don’t. Just sayin’.”

With the joint perched between her thumb and index finger, Bekah took a deep inhale and held it. Her eyes took on a dreamy cast, the same look she got on her face when Daenerys Targaryen walked on screen in Game of Thrones. Upper eyelids drooped, lowering like Leatherface’s chainsaw. Exhaled. “Oh, yeah… that’s the tits.” She handed the joint to Amber, who took a puff, then passed it to Clara.

The joint tip flared as Clara took a deep drag. In the dimly lit den, it looked like a winking satellite in the night sky. Clara exhaled—with far less finesse than Bekah displayed—and coughed until tears streamed down her face and her cheeks reddened.

Both Bekah and Amber giggled at their friend’s struggle, each were forearm deep in respective Doritos bags. Bekah—Cool Ranch. Amber—Spicy Nacho.

Once Clara’s cough petered out, she turned, offering the joint to Sarah. “Last chance.”

“Absolutely not. My mom said that stuff will turn you schizophrenic.”

Amber cocked her head to the side. “Sorry Sarah, I couldn’t hear you over the voices in my head that are telling me to light the house on fire. What did you say?”

Sarah glared at Amber but remained mum. Her cheeks reddened, an improvement from her standard girl-suffering-from-TB-in-the-1800s aesthetic.

“Let’s see what this Ouija board is all about!” Clara exclaimed, plopping down into a chair around the table. She grasped the wooden planchette and placed her fingertips on it. “Maybe we can ask my grandma about her famous sugar cookie recipe. She is upstairs in the urn, after all. We can make them later. I’ve already got the munchies!” A goofy grin spread across her face, which Bekah and Amber returned. Sarah’s lips didn’t twitch, remaining in a thin line.

Amber and Bekah sat down, copying Clara’s movements. All three looked expectantly at Sarah.

Internally, Sarah warred with herself. Her mother had said that this sort of stuff was the work of witches, of the occult. A surefire way to punch a one-way ticket to Hell. But… she didn’t want to seem like a total wuss. She’d already refused to smoke pot with them. Her eyes darted around the room. Zander was snout deep in the forgotten popcorn bowl, vigorously lapping up remains. There was the den door. She could run out, but… she’d never live that down. And her mother would wonder why she was home early and would never let her hang out with her friends again. She sighed and her gaze landed on the Ouija box. Saw the telltale Hasbro logo. Wait… Hasbro made this game? Sarah reasoned with herself. Hasbro made benign games like Monopoly and Sorry!. If they made this game, it couldn’t possibly be associated with the devil. “Ugh, FINE,” Sarah said, taking a seat across from Amber.

“YAY! Look at lil’ miss priss! Way to take the stick out of your ass and let loose!” Bekah cawed. She took another drag off of the joint.

“Guys, what should we ask it?” Clara asked, her eyes glittering with good humor and expectation.

“What if we ask it when Sarah’s mom lost her virginity?” Amber suggested.

A faint vein pulsed on Sarah’s forehead. “Ew, guys, no! That’s disgusting and I don’t want to know anything about that.”

“I agree. And we already know when she lost her virginity. When she fucked Jesus and made Sarah, duh.” Bekah made a thoughtful face. “I wonder if it was before or after he died for three days.”

“Oooooooo, ask it who has a crush on Clara!” Amber exclaimed. “I know she hopes it’s Ben… except he hasn’t even looked her direction in months.”

“Bitch, you know that it is not true. He dropped his pencil in Calc last week and I gave it back to him. He looked at me!” Clara said haughtily. “At least… I think he did.” Her brow furrowed. “But, yeah, let’s ask it!”

Amber squinted her eyes and said, “Almighty Ouija board and the spirit world beyond!” She spoke in a passable Count Dracula voice. Sarah’s face paled at the mere mention of the spirt world. Amber continued, “Who has a crush on Clara?”

They stared expectantly at the board, each girl gently touching the planchette with their fingertips.

Nothing happened.

“This is so stupid—" Sarah started.

The planchette jerked, highlighting ‘B’.

“Oh my God,” Sarah and Clara exclaimed in unison. Sarah’s mouth hung open as she watched the planchette swish across the board.

E.

K-A-H.

Bekah laughed uproariously, “HA! Secret’s out! I have a big lesbian crush on you!” She grabbed Clara’s face and gave her an obnoxious—and wet—kiss on the lips.

Clara pulled away, laughing. “Bekah, I hate your guts! You did that on purpose.” She stuck her lip out in a pout, looking like a disgruntled five-year-old denied a trip to the ice cream truck. “You had me for a second, though. I totally thought it was gonna say Ben.”

Bekah rolled her eyes. “Clara, I’ve told you a billion times. Ben bats for the other team. He is way too good looking to be straight, and have you seen the way he stares at Mr. Smith’s ass when he writes on the board in history? He’s staring at that tight ass!”

Amber replied, “Who isn’t staring at Mr. Smith’s ass? He is FINE.”

“Ew, he’s like 40-years old. Gross,” Sarah said, wrinkling her nose and sticking her tongue out. Like a snake, she tasted the marijuana hanging in the air—a skunky odor with a hint of dirt—and quickly returned her tongue to her mouth. Oh no, was she going to get a contact high?

The girls passed the joint around the table, skipping Sarah, who had her arms folded across her chest.

“Well, what next?” Bekah asked.

Sarah surprised everyone by speaking up, “What if we asked it who would not graduate in our class?”

“Only you would be worried about graduation right now. Nerd,” Bekah said. “But, why not? Dear Ouija board—”

“Dear Ouija board? You’re not writing a letter to a pen pal, Bekah. Cut it out with that ‘dear’ shit,” Clara said.

“Like I was saying, DEAR Ouija board. Who will not graduate in our class?” Bekah asked, emphasizing the dear to be a pain in the ass.

The words were no sooner out of her mouth when the planchette shot to the edge of the board.

“Whoa!”

The planchette flew across the board with frightening speed, stopping for the briefest of moments before moving on to the next letter. It rasped against the board, sounding like mice capering within the walls. All the girls wore similar expressions of disbelief on their faces. Sarah, in particular, had a pinched look that, in other circumstances, might signal a bad bout of constipation.

A-N-D-R-E.

The planchette stilled, and each girl pulled their fingertips away as if they’d touched a hot stove.

The den was quiet, save for the girls’ rapid breathing and the ticking of the clock hanging in the corner.

It read 3:02.

“Okay… that was weird. Did you guys do that on purpose? I wasn’t moving it, I promise.” Amber said.

Slowly, the other girls shook their heads.

“Not me.”

“I wasn’t moving it.”

“Me neither.”

“Honestly, I’m not that surprised. I’m pretty such he failed English last semester, and he cuts class all the time. Plus, did you guys know he’s been selling drugs?” Amber said conspiratorially.

“Oh, and how would you know that?” Clara asked.

“Who do you think I bought this weed from?” Amber replied, snorting back a laugh.

The scant light in the den extinguished, plunging the room into darkness. A sharp whine echoed from the corner of the room, full of anguish and pain. Only the red eye of the joint was visible in the dim, and Sarah let out a shrill shriek.

“Oh… oh… we’re gonna go to Hell, I knew it!” Sarah moaned.

A muffled thud made Sarah shriek again.

A light flared to life—a phone flashlight—and Amber stood up, canvassing the room slowly, treading softly on the carpet. “Oh shit, Clara. Your dog is laying by the end table.” Amber walked over to Zander and gently patted his head. Initially, he made no acknowledgement—a first for the canine. He loved any sort of attention. Then he jumped up, shaking his head wildly. His tags clanked together. “Um… I think Zander chewed through the lamp cord.” She shined the light on the severed cord, frayed wiring clearly exposed.

Clara rushed over and got to her knees, kneeling next to Zander. “You okay, Zandy?” She turned, addressing Amber, “Did he electrocute himself? Jesus Christ!”

Amber leaned over the zapped canine, inspecting him. He rewarded her with a slobbery kiss. “Well, I’m not a vet, but he seems alright.” She paused. “His hair seems… fluffier than normal, though.”

“Hail Mary, full of face, the Lord is—”

They both turned towards the source of the praying—Sarah, naturally. Amber shined the light on her. Sarah had both knees pulled up to her chest and was rocking back and forth, eyes closed. Praying.

“Sarah, get a life! It was just the dog performing electroshock therapy on itself.” Bekah called out, and the other girls laughed.

“Let’s go to bed. I’ve had enough excitement for the night,” Clara said. She added, “On the plus side, Sarah already has a head start on her nightly prayers.”

Amber stubbed out the joint and tapped Sarah’s shoulder. “Sarah, chill. You can stop now. It was just Clara’s dog trying to off itself.”

After flipping the blown breaker, they all traipsed up the stairs towards Clara’s room.

Amidst Dorito crumbs and candy wrappers, the Ouija board sat. The abandoned planchette’s eye rested on ‘YES’.

***

“Guys. GUYS. WAKE UP!”

Clara, Sarah, and Amber raised their heads from their respective pillows, their eyes red rimmed from too little sleep, too much junk food, and too much excitement last night. Not to mention the weed—save for Sarah. Sun streamed through Clara’s blinds. Birdsong filtered through the closed window, muffled, but still beautiful.

“Ugh. Why are you even awake?” Amber muttered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her hair stood up in different directions, resembling Zander’s fur after his electric snack.

“I had to take a shit,” Bekah replied hurriedly. “Whatever. Who cares why I’m up? Look at this!” She thrust her phone at the group.

“Listen, I just woke up. You really expect me to read that?” Clara said. “How about you tell me why your panties are in a bunch?”

Bekah let out a huff but complied. “Fine. Last night, Andre Oliver was driving home—drunk, per this article—and wrapped his car around a tree going 90 miles per hour.” She paused, looking at the girls, who no longer bore tired expressions. Their eyes were wide, and Sarah’s brimmed with tears. “And… they pronounced him dead at the scene. Time of death—3:02 AM.”

Sarah burst into tears.

Amber and Clara wore the same stunned expression.

“Welp… guess the Ouija board was right. Andre isn’t graduating after all,” Bekah drawled, trying to infuse some humor in a humorless situation.

Suddenly, the morning didn’t seem so bright.

Author note-This story was inspired by a tale my mother told me when I was in middle school. I'd just watched The Craft and like any budding lesbian into horror, was fascinated with it. She told me when she was in high school, she and her friends messed around with an Ouija board, asking it the very same question the girls in this story asked: Who wouldn't graduate in their class with them? The board supplied a name and they naturally assumed he'd fail that grade and have to repeat a year. But... a month later he died in a car accident. The story freaked me out enough that I'll never mess with Ouija boards. I will watch The Craft a billion more times though.