The Grain of the Table

When I was twelve, my family moved to a new town and I enrolled at St. Margaret’s, a small Catholic school where everyone seemed to know each other except me. I was shy, desperate to fit in, so when Elena Vasquez, the most popular girl in my class, invited me to her birthday sleepover, I felt a flicker of hope. She promised a night of pizza, movies, and a special surprise. The surprise, she said, was that a girl named Rosa would be coming, and Rosa was bringing her grandmother’s table. This table, Elena whispered with wide eyes, could answer any question you asked.

I was skeptical. I’d always been the rational type, the one who questioned everything. But I wanted to belong, so I packed my sleeping bag and a box of chocolates, pretending to be as excited as the other girls. That night, the Vasquez house was warm and bright, filled with the smell of pepperoni and the shrieks of preteens. We ate, we watched a movie about a haunted mansion, and then Rosa arrived. She was a quiet girl with dark hair and a knowing smile. She carried in a folded card table, its surface worn and covered in a vinyl that had a wood-grain pattern, with a large diamond in the center of a different grain, and yet another grain inside that. It looked ordinary, almost cheap, but Rosa placed it in the center of the room with a reverence that made my skin prickle.

‘I got it from my abuela,’ Rosa said, her voice low. ‘She used it to talk to her sisters after they passed. You just put your hands on it, think of a question, and it answers.’ The other girls gasped, their eyes gleaming. I crossed my arms. ‘It’s just a table,’ I said, but Rosa ignored me. She gestured for us to sit in a circle around it. We did, our knees almost touching the vinyl. Rosa placed her hands flat on the surface, and we copied her. The table was cool and smooth under my palms.

‘Who wants to go first?’ Rosa asked. Elena raised her hand. She closed her eyes and asked, ‘Will I be popular forever?’ A faint vibration ran through the table, and then the wood-grain pattern seemed to shift, the lines rippling like water. Rosa smiled. ‘It says yes.’ I scoffed. ‘That’s vague. It could mean anything.’ Elena giggled. ‘Shut up, Maya. It’s real.’

We took turns. One girl asked if she’d get a boyfriend; the table vibrated and the pattern blurred into a heart shape. Another asked if she’d pass her math test; the pattern formed a checkmark. I watched, my skepticism growing. The vibrations were probably just from our own hands, the patterns just our imagination. When it was my turn, I decided to test it. I asked, ‘What’s my middle name?’ The table was still for a long moment. I smirked. Then the pattern shifted, and the wood-grain lines formed a clear, cursive ‘Marie’. My breath caught. I’d never told anyone my middle name. It wasn’t on any roster. For the first time, I felt a chill.

‘How did you do that?’ I demanded, looking at Rosa. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t do anything. The table knows.’ I pulled my hands away, feeling the cold linger on my skin. The other girls were now buzzing with excitement, but I was uneasy. I convinced myself it was a trick, some mentalism Rosa had learned. But the table’s answer had been too specific. I decided to try once more, a deeper question. I asked, ‘What happened to my grandfather?’ I’d barely known him; he’d died when I was young, and no one ever talked about him. The table vibrated harder this time, the pattern swirling into a dark, murky shape. A low hum filled the room, and then a single word appeared in the vinyl: ‘Drowned.’

I jolted back, my heart pounding. The room fell silent. The other girls stared at me, their excitement replaced by a tense unease. Rosa’s face was pale. ‘It’s never been that clear before,’ she whispered. I looked at the table, and for a moment, I thought I saw the grain patterns shifting like eyes, watching me. I wanted to leave, but I was frozen. Elena broke the tension, laughing nervously. ‘Cool! But we should go to bed.’ We all agreed, and Rosa folded up the table, placing it in the corner.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the word ‘drowned’. My grandfather had died in a car accident, or so I’d been told. But maybe the table was lying. I crept out of my sleeping bag and went to the corner, kneeling before the table. I placed my hands on it, asking, ‘Who are you?’ The table was cold, and the patterns began to writhe. I felt a pressure, as if something was pushing back. The diamond in the center seemed to deepen, and I heard a faint, gurgling sound, like water. The table vibrated, and I felt a sudden urge to touch the diamond. I pressed my finger into it, and the vinyl gave way, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, there was a faded photograph of a man I didn’t recognize, and a small, rusted key.

I took the items, trembling. The other girls were still asleep. I slipped them into my pajama pocket and returned to my sleeping bag. In the morning, I showed Rosa. Her eyes widened. ‘I never knew the table had that,’ she said. I asked about the man, but she didn’t know. The key, she said, might open a box in her grandmother’s attic. We agreed to investigate after the party.

But that afternoon, my mother called, her voice shaky. She told me my grandfather had not died in a car accident; he had drowned, saving a child from a lake. The family had kept it secret because they blamed themselves. I stared at the photograph, at the man who must have been my great-uncle. I felt a cold dread. The table had known the truth, a truth even I didn’t know. It was not a toy. It was a window to something.

I never went to Rosa’s house. I avoided her at school, and she eventually stopped talking to me. But sometimes, I still have the key, hidden in my drawer. And at night, I sometimes think I hear a faint gurgle, and the grain of the table appearing in the shadows, waiting. I wonder if the table is a gate, and if asking the wrong question can let something through. I haven’t asked again, but the grain is always there, at the edge of my vision, reminding me that some things are better left unasked.