The Cue Ball Rattle

It was the summer after junior year, and Marisol’s birthday party was in full swing at her cousin’s lake house. The place was a sprawling A-frame with a screened-in porch and a dock that creaked under the moonlight. By midnight, the crowd had thinned to just a handful of us, lounging in the great room with its vaulted ceiling and stone fireplace. I was stretched out on a worn leather couch, half-listening to the conversation, when Marisol bounced in with a dusty cardboard box.

‘I found this in the attic,’ she said, pulling out a wooden Ouija board, its paint chipped but the letters still vivid. A ripple of excitement and unease went through the group. I’d never touched one, but my friend Diego, who was visiting from the city, was all in. We cleared the coffee table, lit a few candles, and sat cross-legged on the floor, the board between us. The rest of the gang gathered around, some eager, some nervous.

Diego and I placed our fingertips on the plastic planchette. The moment it touched the board, it jerked to life, sliding to ‘YES’ with a violent snap. Diego’s eyes went wide. ‘It’s not me,’ he whispered. The planchette began to move in circles, gaining speed, spelling out a name: ‘E-L-I-J-A-H.’ Then it darted to ‘NO’ and back to ‘YES’, as if impatient.

We asked if anyone was there. The planchette flew to ‘YES’. We asked a name. It spelled ‘M-A-R-G-A-R-E-T’. Then, without warning, it started moving erratically, like something was trying to yank it away. The candle flames flickered, and a cold draft swept through the room, even though all the windows were shut. That’s when the sounds began.

From the far corner, near the pool table that hadn’t been used all night, came a low rumble. Then, distinct clicks, like billiard balls tapping together. I whipped my head around, expecting to see someone, but the table was empty. The cue ball, though, was rolling slowly towards the edge, then stopped. A glass on the mini bar clinked, as if someone had set it down, but no one was there.

My girlfriend, Priya, who was seated to my left, grabbed my arm, her nails digging in. ‘Turn it off,’ she said, her voice shaky. But Diego and I were frozen, watching the planchette slide to ‘GOODBYE’. The sounds grew louder: the clatter of a rack of balls being dumped, the hiss of a tap being turned on, the shuffle of feet on the wooden floor. The air thickened, and I felt a presence pressing in, multiple presences, each vying for attention.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a shape—a tall, thin figure with no face, just a blank void where its features should be. It stood by the pool table, watching us. I tried to speak, but my voice was gone. The planchette shot to ‘H-E-L-P’. A guttural sound, like a growl, came from the bar, and a bottle of whiskey tipped over, spilling amber liquid onto the floor, spreading like blood. The candles went out, plunging us into darkness.

We scrambled in the black, knocking over chairs, shouting. I found Priya’s hand and pulled her towards the stairs, but the door was locked from the outside. Diego hammered on it, screaming. The sounds behind us grew chaotic: the repeated crack of cue balls, the smash of glass, a low, vibrating hum that seemed to come from under the floorboards. Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The candles re-lit themselves, and the room was still.

The board lay on the table, the planchette resting on ‘GOODBYE’. The pool table was untouched, the bar spotless. But on the floor, where the whiskey had spilled, was a single, round, red stain, like a drop of blood. None of us spoke. We got to our feet, unlocked the door, and fled to the porch. I never touched a Ouija board again, but that summer, I’d often hear, late at night, the rattle of a cue ball rolling on felt, and I knew—whatever we’d let in had followed us home.