The Last Game of Red Rover

On the last Friday of May, the air in the small town of Millbrook was thick with the promise of summer. My friend Cora had turned sixteen, and her parents had thrown her a party in their sprawling Victorian house, which sat at the edge of a woods that seemed to breathe with secrets. The party was a blur of laughter, music, and games—Red Rover in the front yard, and a game of hide-and-seek that used a borrowed fog machine to turn the backyard into a ghostly maze. As the clock crept past ten, the guests thinned until only five of us remained: Cora, me, Cora’s younger sister Lena (who was twelve and had been sulking all evening), and our friends Mira and Juniper.

We retreated to the basement, a low-ceilinged room with worn sofas and shelves of forgotten board games. The discussion turned to what to do next, and I remembered the Ouija board I’d brought at Cora’s request. She was skeptical, but both Mira and I had dabbled before. Juniper, usually the bravest, turned pale and refused, grabbing Lena by the arm and dragging her upstairs. Lena protested, threatening to tell their parents, but Cora just shrugged. ‘Let her,’ she said, and we set up the board on the coffee table between the sofas.

The basement was lit by a single flickering bulb, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Cora and I placed our fingers on the planchette, while Mira sat crossed-legged on the floor, watching. The first minutes were silent, the only sound the hum of the old refrigerator. Then the planchette twitched. It moved to ‘H’, then ‘E’, then ‘L’, then ‘P’. Cora laughed nervously. ‘Is that you, Lena?’ No answer. The planchette moved again, faster this time: ‘T-H-E-Y-W-A-T-C-H.’ A chill ran down my spine. We asked who was watching, and the planchette spelled ‘T-H-E-Y-A-R-E-I-N-T-H-E-W-A-L-L-S.’

Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped, and the bulb flickered violently. A scratching sound came from inside the walls, like nails scraping against wood. Cora’s eyes widened. She tried to pull her hand away, but the planchette was stuck, moving on its own, carving deep letters into the board: ‘T-H-E-Y-K-N-O-W-Y-O-U-A-R-E-H-E-R-E.’ The scratching grew louder, and then, from the corners of the room, small cracks appeared in the plaster. Dust trickled down. Mira screamed and fled up the stairs, and I heard the door slam.

Cora and I were frozen. The planchette finally stopped, pointing to the word ‘RED ROVER.’ We looked at each other, remembering the game we had played earlier. Then the lights went out. In the darkness, I felt something brush against my leg—cold, like a draft but not a draft. Cora screamed, and I heard her scrambling away. I fumbled for my phone, but the screen was dead. A whisper slithered through the air, almost a voice: ‘Come over, come over.’

I ran, tripping over the ottoman, and somehow made it to the stairs. But the door was locked. I pounded, but no one answered. Behind me, the scratching intensified, and I distinctively heard laughter—a low, guttural sound that could not have come from any of us. I turned, and in the faint glow of the emergency light from the stairwell, I saw movement within the walls—shapes shifting, as if the house itself was alive. A voice, combining both of ours, echoed: ‘Red Rover, Red Rover, send Cora right over.’

I found Cora huddled behind the sofa, crying. We clutched each other as the cold seeped in. The planchette was now on the floor, moving in circles, spelling over and over: ‘M-Y-T-U-R-N.’ Then, the basement windows burst open, and through them, I saw the woods—and figures standing among the trees, watching. They were tall, thin, with too-long arms, and they began to walk toward the house.

The next morning, they found us outside, lying in the dewy grass, hours before the sun rose. Lena and Juniper had called the police after hearing our screams, but by the time they arrived, the house was silent. Cora and I were barely conscious, babbling about the game. The Ouija board was gone. We never spoke of it again, but sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still hear the scratching in the walls, and I know that somewhere, in that house, the game is still going on—and they are still waiting for us to take our turn.