Sure. I was around 8 or 9, living in a quiet neighborhood in southeast Michigan—the kind of place where days passed slowly and nothing unusual ever seemed to happen. One afternoon, while visiting my mother’s friend “B,” she set up a small table in the living room and placed a Ouija board on it.

She told me it could talk to us—that if we used it properly, it might answer our questions.

We started with simple things. My favorite foods, colors, even my birthday. The planchette moved smoothly, spelling out the answers—every one of them accurate.

At first, I tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe I was unknowingly moving it. But something about the way it moved felt… off. Like it had a mind of its own.

The room felt different—still, almost too quiet. I didn’t feel alone, even though we were the only ones there.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud, but it left a mark. That quiet sense of unease has stayed with me for over fifty years. I’ve never forgotten it.

End.