We never should’ve brought the board into the house. That’s what I keep thinking. Again and again. Like a broken record in my head that won’t stop skipping. I didn’t believe in anything—not spirits, not demons, not anything beyond what I could see and touch. But now I believe. God help me, I believe.
It started on a rainy October night. Natalie brought the Ouija board. A vintage thing she found in some thrift store, still in its original box. The wood was old, but not dusty. The letters carved in deep, black script. The planchette was smooth, polished bone or maybe plastic made to look like it. None of us were sure.
There were four of us: me, Natalie, her boyfriend Kyle, and Rachel. The power had gone out in the neighborhood earlier that evening. Natalie said it was a perfect time. Candlelight. Thunder. The mood was set. I rolled my eyes. Rachel giggled nervously. Kyle smirked and popped open another beer.
We sat in Natalie’s basement, surrounded by flickering candles and the smell of damp concrete. We placed our fingers lightly on the planchette. It didn’t move. We laughed. Natalie asked, “Is there anyone here with us?”
The room held its breath.
Then the planchette began to move.
First slowly. Then with a strange rhythm.
Y...E...S.
Rachel swore she wasn’t pushing. I wasn’t. The look on Kyle’s face told me he wasn’t either. Natalie looked thrilled. She asked its name.
A...Z...A...Z...A...L.
We didn’t understand. Not then. But something in me recoiled. I felt it in my gut—this wasn’t a game. Something about the air changed. It grew dense. Thick, like breathing through wool.
The candles flickered violently. One blew out.
I said we should stop. Natalie wanted to keep going. Rachel looked pale. Kyle shrugged.
Then we asked it a question we never should have.
"What do you want?"
The planchette flew across the board.
S...O...U...L...S.
We backed away. Natalie laughed, nervously. Said it must’ve been one of us messing around. But we didn’t touch that board again. At least, not that night.
That should’ve been the end. It wasn’t.
Rachel started having nightmares. Screaming ones. She said there was a voice in her room. That it told her things—dark, twisted things. Natalie’s cat disappeared. Kyle crashed his car—he said he saw someone standing in the middle of the road, wearing a grin that didn’t make sense on a human face.
And me? I started seeing shadows move. Not in my peripheral. Right in front of me. I would turn on lights, only to find them already on. Doors slammed. My phone rang—no caller ID, only static. And once, just once, I picked up and heard someone whisper my name.
Azazel.
I did the research. I shouldn’t have. I wish I hadn’t. He’s not a ghost. He’s not even a demon in the typical sense. He’s older. A fallen one. A corrupter. One who teaches forbidden knowledge and never leaves once he’s been welcomed.
And we invited him.
We gave him a voice.
I tried to destroy the board. Burn it. Break it. It wouldn't even scratch. The planchette, once smooth, had grown jagged—almost like a tooth.
Natalie became obsessed. She started using the board alone. She told me she was learning things. That it was showing her images. Things she couldn’t describe. Her eyes were sunken. She stopped sleeping.
One day, she stopped speaking altogether.
She went missing the next week. Her parents filed a report. Her car was found near a ravine, engine running, doors open. No sign of her.
Kyle disappeared two weeks later. No warning. No messages.
Rachel? She jumped from a parking garage. She survived. She doesn’t speak now. Just stares.
I moved away. Changed my name. Left everything behind. But last night, the board showed up at my new apartment.
On my kitchen table.
The planchette sat on top.
I live alone.
I threw it in the dumpster. Burned the whole bin. Watched it melt.
But this morning, it was in my closet.
If you ever find a Ouija board—if you ever think, even for a second, that it might be fun, a joke, something to do on a quiet night—don’t.
Because once something answers, once it crosses through, it knows you.
And once it knows you...
It follows you.
It watches.
And it waits.
Sometimes for years.
But it never leaves.
And it never forgets your name.
