The spooky squeegee Ouija article
Ross Bullen

I must report this quickly, for I have only three days to live. That's right! By the time you read this I will already be dead...

I have this on good authority. Due to my foolish meddlings in the realm of the spiritual unknown I have gained an insight into the future, a vision of the terrible things to come.

It all began one week ago when my roommate Paul and I were trying to discover a new means of cheating the government out of petty cash.

"If only we had some way to know who would win sporting events beforehand, we could make a killing on Pro-Line..", I observed. Paul nodded in agreement.

Just then, a report on CNN flashed on the screen that immediately grabbed our attention (which is strange, considering we were watching A&E). It was all about OUIJA boards and their mysterious powers of clairvoyance.

Paul and I were inspired; we knew exactly what we were going to do! We were going to eat a hearty lunch and nap until it was Jeopardy time. But then, when I awoke, I had an even better idea.

Why, we could get our very own OUIJA board and use it to predict football scores! We would be millionaires! However, when it was time for the seance to commence, things went terribly awry...

The spirit of Elvis spoke to us and brought us evil!!

The OUIJA board (literal translation: yesyes board - in French and German respectively) was placed on the centre of our coffee table. Paul, dressed in nothing more than a deerskin pelt and boxer shorts (his traditional Sunday garb), adjusted his antlers and settled into the easy chair. I sat across from him, wrapped in an ancient blue robe, rumoured to be made of 100% cotton. Slowly, with a great deal of apprehension, we placed our hands on the OUIJA's pointer. After a few minutes, it began to move.

It was decided that I would ask the questions.

ROSS: Oh great spirits of the transcendental void! We beseech you to hear us and to grant the meagre requests of these two lowly humans! Oh, great spirit, will you guide us through this dizzying journey into your unknown nexus?

OUIJA: Yes.

Succinct. I lose the fancy-talkin'.

After asking the OUIJA board what colour of underwear various celebrities wear and whether or not any girls actually "like" us (and after Paul giggles like a schoolgirl upon reading every answer) we decide that we should get down to business.

I started with the first game on our Pro-Line sheet.

ROSS: Who will win on Sunday, the Vikings or the Lions?

OUIJA: Green.

Hmm. Does he mean Viking's coach Dennis Green? Or is this a Green Bay Packers prediction? We attempt to get some clarity.

ROSS: What do you mean by green?

OUIJA: Green moss.

Viking's wide receiver Randy Moss? Or is this about something ancient and immobile that might just accumulate some kind of green moss - Dan Marino! Is this a Miami Dolphins prediction?

ROSS: What about the Dolphins?

OUIJA: Beware.

I tell Paul to write that one down. Patriots over Dolphins.

ROSS: Well, what abou-

OUIJA(suddenly): Beware Wednesday.

Oooookay...

ROSS: Who should beware Wednesday?

OUIJA: You.

I quickly check my exam schedule. Nope, Wednesday is in the clear.

ROSS: Why should I beware Wednesday?

OUIJA(slowly): You will die

I am taken aback.

ROSS: What?!? How is that going to happen?

OUIJA: Paul will kill you. Give him money and he won't do it.

It was at this point that I realized Paul was trying to cheat me - not the evil lottery system - out of petty cash. He had been manipulating the OUIJA pointer in order to frighten me. Just as I was preparing to goon him with a broken whiskey bottle, the lights in our apartment went out.

Trapped in a terrifying darkness, our screams were of such an alarmingly high pitch a gelded Catholic schoolboy would have been put to shame. It turns out that our other roommate, Ryan, shorted out the fuse while trying to use a fork to save a hard-to-reach Toaster Strudel.

Somehow, this had a strange effect on the OUIJA board. For when the lights flickered back on, we found the OUIJA pointer flying around the board, under it's own power, revealing our wretched fate. Just as the ambulance arrived for Ryan, Paul and I were able to make out it's terrifying message:

AS PUNISHMENT FOR YOUR ABUSE OF MY POWERS, YOU WILL BOTH BE EATEN BY A HUNGRY BEAR NEXT WEDNESDAY.

I have tried to convince Paul to get rid of the rotting fish and jars of honey and berries he insists on keeping by our front door. I have also tried to convince him to stop wearing that deerskin pelt outside.

My requests have been ignored. I have no choice but to await my fate in my room, trying to fashion a primitive spear from a hockey stick.

I am unsure about whether or not Paul is preparing for the attack. All I know is that I rue - yes, rue - the day that I meddled with the awesome powers of the supernatural. Farewell, cruel bear-infested world!