Ouija

Hull. 1969

All three of us were as bad as each other. Our parents used to call us the three musketeers.

There was Helen, Robert and me, Claire. We would do everything together when we were kids.

During the school holidays we would spend practically all our time outside, in the nearby woods building forts, catching bugs and the general stuff you do when you’re a kid.

I remember one day, while we were riding our bikes round the park, Helen mentioned that she had found something in her attic, she asked her mum what it was, but her questions were met with a warning not to go up into the attic again, and especially not to touch the thing that she’d found.

Naturally, our curiosity was heightened when Helen relayed this story.

A few weeks later, Helen’s parents were going away for the weekend and were leaving her in the capable care of her aunty Shiela. Her aunty was such a nice lady; when we were out on our bikes and went past her house, she would always have a cold glass of lemonade for us.

Helen asked her parents if Robert and I could stay over at her house. Her parents weren’t sure, but Shiela was all for it, saying she would be more than happy to look after the three of us.

It was Saturday night and Shiela was downstairs, now sleeping on the sofa. All three of us climbed into the attic to find the object that Helen had told us about.

There it was. It looked like a board game, but Robert assured us it was not. He knew what it was. He told us it was a Ouija board and could be used to summon ghosts, and demons and that we had to be very careful with it.

We all dared each other to open it up and set the pieces out. Robert knew a little about Ouija boards, so he was our designated expert on how to use it.

We all sat round in a circle and held the planchette with our fingers. ‘If there is a spirit that wants to contact us, now is your chance.’ Said Robert.

Nothing.

The tension was only built further by the wind blowing against the roof of the house. It would catch under a roof tile creating a ghostly whisping sound around our heads. It only added to the cold, damp atmosphere that surrounded us in the cramped confines of the attic.

I was becoming a little nervous and suggested that maybe we shouldn’t be messing around with this. Robert laughed and told me not to be such a baby.

We stayed there for a further twenty minutes, all the time I was starting to feel increasingly scared. Eventually, I’d had enough and told Helen and Robert that I was going down and would get into bed. They both tried to encourage me to stay, but my nerves couldn’t take it.

I went down and waited. I waited for another thirty minutes until, to my relief, my friends joined me in the bedroom. Helen got into her bed, and Robert and I would be in sleeping bags on the floor.

As far as I remember, Helen and Robert slept like babies that night. I didn’t. I tossed and turned, totally creeped out by the Ouija board, and the fact that we tried to summon a ghost. I felt like I was being watched all night, obviously, I knew I was being silly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt like there was someone stood over me, the feeling was so bad, I could almost feel them next to me, but as soon as I dared open my eyes, there was nobody there. The dull glow of the night light shone just enough to show if there was someone next to me, but the darkened corners seemed darker than ever. There could easily have been someone stood in the shadows, and I wouldn’t see them.

I must have nodded off at around two in the morning, and I was happy to see the sun coming through the curtains as I opened my eyes again. The tiredness wasn’t even a problem. I was just happy to see it through the night.

Helen’s aunty Shiela looked shocking the next morning. She said that she had trouble sleeping that night. By nine in the morning, she had already downed three cups of coffee.

As the weekend ended, Helen’s parents returned from their trip and we simply carried on life, rarely talking about the Ouija board again. In fact, I can’t remember a single conversation we had about it. Whenever I tried to bring it up, the subject would be swiftly changed.

Days went by, then months and years. Five years to be precise. I was now 18 and myself, Helen and Robert had drifted apart. We were still friends, but we all had our own lives now. Helen was working full time in a department store, Robert had a job as a plumber’s mate, and I was at Sheffield university studying physics.

I was at home when Helen called round. It was always nice to see her, but this time she wasn’t here to hang out. She told me that her aunty Shiela had died.

My parents had mentioned that she seemed to be looking rather ill over the last few years, but I never managed to find the time to go and visit her. I regretted never fitting her into my schedule.

Helen told me some details but skipped over most of it. As she explained, Shiela had been struck down with some sort of illness that affected her sleep. She had bad insomnia and apparently this led to her being sectioned at least twice. She eventually couldn’t fight, or couldn’t live with the illness anymore and took her own life. It was so, so sad to hear, and I reminisced about just how lovely she was. Helen was beside herself with grief.

It was the day of the funeral and the three of us met at Helen’s house. She looked terrible; she had been helping to care for her aunty for the last few years while trying to hold down a full-time job. All the stress and anguish poured out of her that day.

Robert and I did what we could to comfort her, but she was inconsolable. Robert gave us a lift to the church where the burial was to take place. As we approached the church, Helen began to act a little strange, she started twitching and mumbling to herself. She told us that she didn’t think she would be able to be at the funeral as it would be too hard for her. I told her that it was understandable that she would struggle, but it was for her aunty, and it was her last chance to say goodbye. I couldn’t talk her round and once we were out of the car, I had to find her parents to take care of her.

We all started to make our way into the church, Helen’s parents told us to go in while they tried to talk her into following us.

After five minutes, her parents joined the front row. Helen wasn’t with them. Her dad looked furious. She had obviously refused to come in. I went back outside and found Helen sat on a wall with her head in her hands. I sat with her, said nothing, and just hugged her.

We stayed there until the funeral was over.

At the wake, Helen was very quiet. Her dad was still not happy with her for not showing the respect by going into the church, but I understood that it was hard for her. Afterall, Helen and her aunty were very close.

I took her up to her bedroom once we got back to the house. She opened up and told me that she had been having some bad dreams lately. She went on to say that she was beginning to think that there was something wrong with her, and she was scared to go to sleep. With this new information, I urged her to go and see a doctor as they would be able to give her some tablets to help her sleep.

As the weeks went on, we all fell back into our normal lives. I kept close contact with Helen and encouraged her to seek help. She didn’t.

It was Saturday night when I tried to call Helen. The phone just rang and rang. I tried a few times to call, but nobody was answering. This was strange, as the family never really went anywhere, especially on a weekend. Helen’s mum and dad were big homebodies and made a point of having film nights on Saturdays.

I called my dad, telling him that I was worried about Helen. He reluctantly agreed to go and knock on the door to see if Helen was okay.

I heard nothing until three o’clock in the morning when a police officer buzzed into the university halls asking for me.

I was awake as soon as my friend knocked on my door. She told me that the police were wanting to speak to me and if they could come in. I got dressed and let them in. The officer told me that there had been an incident with Helen, and they were asked by my dad to come and see me.

They explained that he had gone round to see if Helen was okay. When he got there, there was no answer at the door, but he noticed that the curtains had been ripped down from the front window. As he looked through the window, he could see a scene of devastation inside the house and three people lying in the front room in a puddle of blood.

The investigation lasted around two weeks. I was brought into the police station three times to give statements about the run-up to these events. I was devastated.

Once the investigation was completed, a statement was compiled. It said that Helen brutally murdered her parents as they sat watching television. She stabbed them with a knife that she got from the kitchen. It said that the attack was sustained over the course of ten minutes with a total of two hundred and thirty stab wounds inflicted on her parents. It went on to say that she then turned the knife onto herself, stabbing herself in the throat and subsequently dying from massive blood-loss.

It was said that the police did not believe that anyone else was involved. Giving the reasons, they struggled to come up with a motive. Possible psychotic episode was the best they could come up with.

Robert and I went over what led up to the event. We both agreed that the funeral could have been a breaking point for her. We discussed the fact that she was showing the same symptoms as her aunty. Maybe it was a genetic thing, maybe it was something else.

I was given a few days off from university to go to the funerals of Helen, her mum and dad. It was the saddest day in my life. Nobody could make sense of any of it. It was all too much to be able to digest. All anyone could do was to pay their respects to a family and try to put the tragedy behind them.

While we were at the funeral, Robert began to feel unwell. We were sat together, and I noticed that he started to shuffle in his seat. As I looked at him, he had gone ghostly pale. He said that he felt unwell and had to get some air. I stayed in the church and filed outside once it was time for the burials. Outside, I could see Robert leant against the wall, he looked like he had been sick and didn’t look good at all. I approached him. His eyes were red and he was sweating profusely. He said that he would be okay, but he needed to sit down. I found him a bench to sit on and told him I would be back after the burial.

I told my parents that I wouldn’t go to the wake, my dad drove Robert and I back to our house.

We settled on the sofa, and I asked how he was feeling. He didn’t say much. He just said that he suddenly felt feverish and anxious while he was sat down in the church. He said that once he was out of there, he began to feel better.

I told him to try and get some sleep on the sofa and I would make him some dinner. As he began to fall asleep, I went into the kitchen to put some chips in the oven. As I stood there and replayed the events of the day, I heard some talking in the front room. It sounded like two people having a conversation. I assumed that Robert had woken up and flicked on the TV, but it didn’t sound like the TV. It sounded like there were people in the room. I went in expecting to see my mum and dad chatting to Robert. Nobody was there. Only Robert, still asleep on the sofa.

I stood there for a moment, ears on high alert, listening for any sounds. There was nothing. Just a sound of Robert breathing, and the sound of my own heart that was now beating harder and faster.

I carefully and softly creeped into the hallway. Nobody was there. I then checked the front door. It was locked from the inside with my keys still in the door. Illogically, I unlocked the door and poked my head outside to see if there was anyone out there. The street was empty, just leaves blowing around in the wind. The dark streets dimly lit by the streetlights.

As I closed the door and locked it, I could hear whispering coming from the front room again. I stayed perfectly still and tried to listen to what was being said, all the time being scared out of my wits that there was an intruder in the house. The whispering was intermittent, and I couldn’t make out what was being said. I slowly made my way to the door of the front room and listened harder.

The whispering became louder. Not as though someone was whispering at a higher volume, it was more like someone was now stood at the other side of the door, whispering through the crack.

I pushed the door open. I was so frightened that I was shaking, but I had to see what was going on in there. Again, the room was empty apart from Robert laid on the sofa.

I thought I was going mad.

I smelt the chips starting to burn, so rushed through the room and into the kitchen. I turned off the oven and decided that I would make us both a sandwich instead.

Robert slept until he was disturbed by mum and dad knocking on the door trying to get in. Dad was drunk and went straight to bed, but mum stayed downstairs with us for a while.

While Robert went to the toilet, I told mum about the whispering that I heard. My mum was a big believer in the paranormal and the afterlife. She said that the whispering could have been Helen talking to her friend. It gave me the creeps to hear this. She assured me that the dead couldn’t hurt the living and I should see it as a nice thing, rather than anything scary.

Mum drove Robert home while I went to bed. The day had been tough, and I was glad to see the back of it.

I was getting ready to return to university the next morning when my mum came into my room. She said that she didn’t want to wake me up the night before but wanted to speak to me. She asked me if I knew anything about what Helen, her aunty Shiela and Robert may have done together. Any type of witchcraft or playing with a Ouija board. I was a little confused by her questioning, but she explained that while she was driving Robert home, he was talking gibberish but kept mentioning something about summoning a demon. My blood ran cold.

At first, I denied any knowledge, but with further questioning, mum managed to get me to confess. I told her the story of when we used the board, but that I went to bed while Helen and Robert carried on playing with it.

Mum said she was worried about me as everybody in the house was being cut down one-by-one over time. I believed mum, she was not the sort of person who would make something up to scare me, and there was genuine concern in her eyes. She told me that she would go and speak to Robert’s parents.

The next day, mum and I went to see Robert. His parents told us that he was not feeling well. He had a fever and was hallucinating. They had been backwards and forwards to the hospital, but no illness could be found. Every time they took him to the hospital, they advised that he rest and take paracetamol to ease the fever. It didn’t work.

Mum didn’t know how to broach the subject tactfully. She knew that she would be met with scorn as Robert’s parents were not believers in the paranormal. In their eyes, there was nothing more than life and death, and that was the end of it.

When she raised her concerns to them, as predicted, they called her stupid and asked her to leave the house. She tried to reason with the, but they were insistent that this was nothing more than a bad flu, or some sort of infection that the doctors would soon diagnose.

We tried, but who could blame them for thinking we were crazy?

As we left Robert’s house, mum suggested that we go to the library. She knew there would be some books on possession, and we could find out more about possible treatments or reversals. I was beginning to get drawn into her worry, and knew that after Robert, I was the last remaining person who was in that house that night five years ago.

It wasn’t long before we managed to find some books that were relevant to our problem. One in particular was written by a lady called Annette Bowman. There was a picture of her inside the cover, she looked normal; not the look of someone who fought off evil spirits. The book was only published the year before, and it was centred around what to do if you thought someone had been possessed. Amazingly, all the effects that we had witnessed were listed in the book; sleeplessness, nightmares, aggression, among others. We knew we had hit the jackpot with this book.

There was a page that offered contact information for people who were seeking help. One of which was the address of Annette’s office in Bradford.

We jotted down the address and headed off home.

We called the telecom switchboard and asked to be put through to this office. Not long passed before mum was talking to Annette herself.

She agreed to come and speak to us at the weekend.

I heard through a friend that Robert was becoming increasingly violent and was now refusing to go to the hospital. I was so fearful for his life that I tried again to go round and reason with his parents. Their nerves were clearly shot as they were both tearful when I spoke to them. They said that they had arranged for Robert to be sectioned. I was happy that he would be in a safe place, but at the same time, I knew there was more to his illness than they would choose to believe.

The weekend came, mum and I waited for Annette to call. It wasn’t until later that evening until she showed up. We talked her through everything; Helen, her aunty Shiela and now Robert. We also told her about the Ouija board. She said that we had inadvertently allowed a demon to pass over into our world. The demon, she said, needed a human to “occupy”, but this would almost certainly always result in their death, and as we were all in the house that night, a connection was formed for it to pass once it had finished with its current host. This, coming from a professional, frightened me even more than I was before. I knew that it was only a matter of time until I would be the one subjected to this horror, and unless we could somehow manage to free Robert of this demonic parasite, my parents would have to watch me go through the same.

She told us that we would need to somehow get Robert to meet us. This wouldn’t be easy as his parents already asked us to stay away. Nonetheless, we tried in vain to reach out to them. It was like talking to a brick wall.

It was clear there was nothing we could do; Annette went on her way back to Bradford and asked us to call her if there were any developments.

It didn’t take long before a development occurred, though. We heard the news that Robert had gone missing. A search had been launched for him, as the police said he was in a very vulnerable state. For two weeks the search went on, but there was no sign of him anywhere. Naturally, his parents were grief stricken as they were tenacious in searching for their son.

It was a Wednesday. I was still at home. University at this point was an afterthought. My dad was trying to talk me into going back, claiming that I was wasting my time to get a good degree, but mum was not so happy for me to go. She would sit by the phone most days, waiting for news about Robert, making enquiries where she could, but staying far enough away to let Robert’s family have their privacy.

I had a sleep on the sofa. I wasn’t feeling too well, I put it down to the stress. I remember having a vivid dream of being trapped in a dark room, no windows and very little light. I could see something at the other corner of the room, something that just stood and stared at me. It was tall, probably around seven feet, but all I could make out was a silhouette. An outline that didn’t look human in form.

I was woken when the ‘thing’ took a step closer to me. Something within my subconscious seemingly panicking and brought me back to the waking world. It frightened me, but I tried to think logically. I had been researching books about demons, talking non-stop about them to my mum and Annette, so it was logical that it would somehow manifest itself in a harmless dream.

I told mum that I was going to go to bed, and that the sofa wasn’t comfortable. The night was drawing in fast, and my room was dull and full of dark, blank corners that the fading light could not penetrate.

As I laid there, a familiar feeling swept over me. A feeling that I was being watched, like there was someone in the room with me. It is human nature to feel the presence of someone else, like an unknown sixth sense, you can’t describe it, but you just feel it. The feeling took me back to that night in Helen’s room when I was waiting for them to finish playing with the Ouija board. The memories of that night became all too overpowering and real to ignore.

I scanned the room, my eyes on high alert that there could be someone present in there with me. But no one was there. Just a feeling. A feeling that I was not alone, it was far from comfortable, I don’t know if it was tiredness, my mind playing tricks on me or a genuine feeling, but the atmosphere in the room was different. It felt as though there was energy surging in the void darkness, pulsating through the air, but from an unknown source. To this day, I wouldn’t be able to describe the feeling in any better words than ‘heavy’ and ‘overbearing’.

It was some time in the early hours that I managed to fall asleep.

I wish I hadn’t.

The nightmare was more vivid than reality itself. I could feel the cold on my bare feet standing on a damp, concrete floor. I could smell a putrid odour and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I was in the same room, but this time I was stood in the centre. I could sense that there was someone behind me; I could feel the breath. I didn’t dare turn my head, but my eyes flickered left and right, up and down, trying to fathom where I was. This didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real.

There was no door to the room that I could see, just blackish-grey damp concrete walls. The floor was also dark in colour, but the light that barely reflected from the dampness told me nothing about where I was. It was just a void of nothing. A room containing emptiness and fear.

I remember being in the room for around five minutes. All the time, my fear and anxiety grew with every breath I took. I resorted to closing my eyes. I figured if I couldn’t see who, or what was stood behind me, then it couldn’t scare me to death, although I was sure I was going to die at any moment. The feeling in that room was something of pure, putrid, and horrific bad energy. I felt like I was going to be trapped there forever.

My mum woke me up at around six in the morning. She had look of sadness in her eyes. She told me that Robert had been found. She went on to tell me that they had pulled his body out of the river Humber the day before, and that he had been identified by his parents. The first thought that shot through my mind was of the horror that his parents would have had to have gone through. I can’t imagine any worse pain than losing a child, but to then having to go through that was unthinkable.

The second thought that dropped into my head was one of fear as it suddenly dawned on me that I would be next. The nightmare wasn’t a nightmare. It was a vision. A vision of what would become of me.

I told her about the dream.

It wasn’t five minutes before she was on the phone to Annette.

Annette was at our house within three hours. Mum was pacing all the time until she knocked on the door, and I felt terrible. I felt like I had the worse flu that I’d ever suffered. My head was pounding, and my muscles ached, and the fever I felt was torturous.

Annette had somebody with her this time. He was a man who she introduced as Charlie. Charlie was a middle-aged man, but from what I do remember, he looked to be wearing old-fashioned clothing. At no point did he talk to me, he just diligently set out Annette’s items on the bedside table next to me.

They all stepped out of the room, leaving me to fear my own fate as my life was now in the hands of a woman I barely knew, with knowledge of God-knows what and a man who looked like he’d just walked out of the Victorian era.

I closed my eyes and listened to the whispers outside my bedroom door, all the time feeling the ever-growing energy in the room, like whatever was in there with me was increasingly getting stronger. I was terrified and knew that it was very possible I wouldn’t see out the day alive. The illness swept over my body like a tidal wave, like each fibre of my being was being attacked. The sense of impending doom loomed over me, tightly gripping my mind. I was defenceless from the attack of whatever had its hold on me.

Annette said that we would have to wait for the evening before she could do what she needed to do. It felt like a lifetime of waiting and seemingly dying in my bed. I tried to eat, but my weakened state would barely allow me to sit up in bed. My limbs felt heavy, as though I was a mile under the sea, trying to fight its enormous pressure, pressing down on my frail frame.

The evening did finally arrive, and Annette began to light some candles. She asked my mum to hold my hand and on the other side of me would be my dad. He was always a sceptic, but he was drawn into the thought that anything at this point would help. Mum urged him not to call an ambulance and reminded him of what good it did for Robert. None whatsoever.

Charlie, the strange man who was with Annette, held a silver chalice above my bed. It contained some sort of cloth doused in water. He told her that he could feel it getting heavier, or at least he tried. ‘I c c c c can f feel it f f f filling up’ he said. At this point, I was almost unconscious, my eyes barely managing to fight the weight of my eyelids. Annette touched my forehead, and I must have fallen asleep.

I woke up in that same room. The dark-grey concrete walls, the dampness everywhere, the cold and heavy feeling. The energy.

The energy felt thicker and stronger than it had done previously, and like before, it didn’t feel like a dream. I could hear Annette, somewhere in the distance talking to me to look around and try to find a door. I shouted that I didn’t dare turn my head as I felt there was something standing right behind me.

She insisted that I must look around and try to find a door. I mustered up all my courage and slowly turned my head to the left. My body felt as stiff as a board, the fear held me in place.

To my left was just another wall soaked in damp. I willed my neck to turn to the right, it felt as though I had to put all my energy into basic movements, but sure enough, I looked, and it was just another blank wall. I told Annette what I could see, but she urged me to turn around and look behind me. I screamed that I couldn’t do that, as whatever was in the room with me was right there, behind my back.

She shouted back that if I didn’t turn around that I would be trapped in that room forever. She said that even if my body dies, my soul would remain in there for eternity.

I had never been so scared in my life. I was physically shaking. I turned my head, and somehow, I managed to get my body to follow. I closed my eyes as I turned ninety degrees to my original position. I slowly opened my eyes, squirming them open, so that if I did see anything there, I could shut them tight again, but there was nothing. Nothing in front of me except a window and a door.

Through the window, I could see a feint vision of Annette. She was gesturing at me to walk forward. I said I couldn’t do it, but she gave me the courage I needed by telling me that my family was on the other side of the door.

The first step was unbelievably difficult. Just managing to bend my joints was nearly impossible. As I took a step, it was almost like muscle memory came back and the remaining steps were easier. I walked towards the door and pulled on the handle. It opened into a blackness. I could see nothing, just the blackest darkness I could imagine. I heard Annette urging me to walk through the door and allow myself to fall into the abyss. In my mind, it was either that, or face an eternity in the nothing room – nothing except terror and misery.

I took a step, I felt nothing under my weight, simply a sheer drop of how far, I didn’t know. I was about to take the next step of faith when I felt something grab my ankle. It felt cold and strong. It felt like the deepest, darkest winter had a hold of my leg. I couldn’t move. I heard Annette urging me to fight the hold it had on me and jump into the blackness. I tried to fight, but there was no fight left in me, I stumbled back and almost fell over, but I regained my posture and leapt. I could feel myself tumbling through the air, no wind, no cold, no heat. Just a sense of falling.

The next morning, I awoke to see my parents sat by my side. They were tearful, but happy that I was finally awake. The air felt lighter and pure. It was as though my soul had been irrigated of all the bad things that lay there. I felt a peace that I had never experienced before.

I slept for three days straight after that. Once I had woken up, my appetite knew no bounds. I ate like I hadn’t eaten in a year. It was such a good feeling.

The next evening was spent with my parents on the sofa. We all cuddled up and watched films. We even had a takeaway. It was such a perfect evening.

I remember both mum and dad falling asleep, and I watched the national anthem play as the BBC shut down for the night. I was about to wake them up when there was a knock at the door. I thought it was strange that someone would be calling at this time, but I checked and poked my head out of the window. It was late, but Helen, her aunty Shiela and Robert were stood at my front door. I knew that I was dreaming.

As I turned back into the living room, the cold chill hit me. The darkened concrete walls, the damp bare floor chilling my feet. I was right back there. I closed my eyes and tried to wake up.

Now and again, I see a different room. This one is white. Pure white. That’s the only place I see you.

It won’t let me stay there for too long before it drags me back down. Back down to the dark room with the cold concrete walls and floor. I spend most of my time in there now.

Case Study 09756.

Patient – Claire Proctor.

Age - 13 years.

D.O.B. - 9/7/1956

Patient No. 885643

Facility – Hill View Mental Health Hospital – Liverpool.

Document – Patient testimony and police statement after homicide of Helen Daniels, Shiela Daniels, Keith Daniels, Mary Daniels & Robert Fletcher.

Notes from Dr. Edwards & Dr. Nilsson – Although the patient is only 13 years old, she believes herself to be 18. She claims to have lived the last five years attending university and has given a detailed account of what she believes to be the last five years of her life. She has no recollection of the slaying of her friends Robert Fletcher and Helen Daniels and Helen’s family, and states that she had spent the time afterwards with the victims.

Her mother and father claim that she was under a ‘trance like state’ when she returned from her friend’s house. She was tended to by local GP, Dr. Annette Bowman. (Claire’s statement also referred to a second doctor by the name of ‘Charlie’, although this was never verified by anybody who were present.)

The patient remains in a catatonic state most of the time. It is deemed that she is not fit for release to general population in the facility, therefore, she will remain in the care of the staff at Hill View Mental Hospital for the foreseeable future.