The Cursed Game: Whispers from the Ouija Board

It was supposed to be just another Friday night — four friends, a dusty attic, and a stupid dare.
Lena, Mark, Jenna, and Chris gathered in the old house Lena had inherited from her grandmother. The air smelled of wood, dust, and forgotten secrets.
While exploring the attic, Mark found an old wooden box. Faded letters carved across the top read: “OUIJA.”

“Let’s summon something,” Mark said, half-joking.
Jenna rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her curiosity. “Sure, let’s invite ghosts to our weekend,” she laughed nervously.
They lit candles, set the board on the floor, and placed their fingers on the wooden planchette.
The moment they did, the temperature in the room dropped.

“Is anyone here with us?” Lena asked softly.

The planchette began to move — slow at first, then steady.
It slid toward the word YES.

Everyone froze.
Mark whispered, “Who’s doing that?”
No one answered.

Then the planchette spelled another message:
I. AM. STILL. HERE.

A chill ran through Jenna’s spine.
“What does that mean — still here?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the corner. The old mirror shattered, scattering pieces across the floor. The candle flames flickered violently, throwing shadows that seemed to twist and move on their own.

“Enough!” Mark shouted. “This isn’t funny anymore!”
They tried to end the session, but the planchette refused to move to GOODBYE.
Instead, it spun wildly before stopping on a single word: BLOOD.

The temperature plunged again. Their breath turned visible in the cold air.
Then came the whisper — faint, echoing from the walls:
“Don’t leave me…”

The candles blew out all at once.
In the darkness, they could still hear the soft scratching of the planchette on the board.

When Lena managed to relight a candle, Chris was gone.
Only his phone remained, flashlight still on, pointing toward the attic door — now wide open.

The police found nothing. The Ouija board had vanished.
But a week later, Lena received a small package at her doorstep.
No return address.

Inside was the same Ouija board, wrapped in an old, torn cloth.
Scrawled in ash beneath it were the words:

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

Since that night, Lena swears she hears tapping sounds beneath her floorboards —
one… two… three taps — followed by a soft whisper calling her name.
She moved houses twice. The sounds followed her.

Last month, her new neighbor saw a shadow moving behind Lena’s curtains at 3 a.m.
But Lena wasn’t home.

Now, the house stands empty, yet the lights flicker every night at the same hour —
and sometimes, if you listen closely,
you can still hear that faint whisper through the open window:

“Play again…”