by Jean Ure
“I don’t want to do it if it’s going to be scary!”
“It’s not,” I said soothingly. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. We’re just going to ask questions. I’m going to ask questions.” I paused. “Cos of me being the one that’s read about it. Plus,” I added carelessly, “me being the one that’s most likely psychic.”
I waited for Jem to start up about the huge hairy monsters racing across her kitchen floor, and how it was exactly what she’d written in her horoscope, but it seemed she wasn’t interested any more in having psychic powers cos she just chewed her bottom lip and didn’t say anything.
“You are still coming, aren’t you?” I whispered as the bell rang for the end of afternoon school.
I half expected her to find some excuse, like she’d suddenly remembered she’d got to be home early, or she had a dentist appointment, but one thing we always do, we always stick by one another. Jem said she’d already told her mum she’d be late home.
“Only not too late.”
Me and Skye agreed, not too late. We told her that she was being very brave.
“I wouldn’t do it for just anyone,” said Jem, sounding rather pitiful.
I said, “Of course you wouldn’t! It’s the sort of thing you only do for your friends. But honestly, it won’t be like last time. I mean, for one thing, we’re doing it in daylight.”
“Yes, and it’s only questions and answers,” said Skye. “Nothing spooky.”
“There won’t be any dead people?”
Patiently I explained that all the dead people were “up there”.
“So how do they answer questions?”
“Well, it’s like this sort of… energy. Psychic energy. Flowing down.” I dabbled my fingers in the air, to show the energy rippling through space. “What it’ll do, it’ll flow down my arm and into my hand, and that’s what’ll make the mouse move.”
“What about our hands?” said Skye. “Where are they going to be?”
“On the mouse! Everybody puts their fingers on it.”
“Do we have to?” said Jem. “Couldn’t I just sit and watch?”
Skye looked at me doubtfully. “Would it work with just two of us?”
I didn’t see why not. “Might even work better,” I said, “cos then we’d have someone to write down the messages. Save us having to keep breaking off. Jem can be our secretary! Special Ouija secretary.”
Jem liked that idea. I guess it made her feel that she was playing her part without actually having to come into contact with any dead people.
We got to Skye’s house to find that neither her mum nor her dad had arrived back from work, which I couldn’t help feeling was a good sign. Another omen! Nobody there to ask questions, nobody to come bursting in on us.
“Let’s go straight upstairs and get on with it,” said Skye. She meant before her mum got back.
Skye’s bedroom has buttercup-yellow walls and bright green rugs and is very neat and clean and tidy. Not, to my way of thinking, the ideal place to consult a Ouija board. I said as much to Skye. I wasn’t being critical or anything, but spirits do like a bit of atmosphere. A bit of gloom and shadow. That’s all I was saying! She didn’t have to take offence.
I know my bedroom gets into a mess, I know I don’t clean it up as often as I’m supposed to, I know that sometimes there are even cobwebs dangling from the lampshade, but that’s because Mum says she’s too busy to do proper mum-type things like housework. What she calls “running about after you”.
I pointed this out to Skye, but all she did was sniff and say she was sorry if her room wasn’t messy enough.
“It’s just that it would be better,” I said, “if it was a bit dark. Like if we could pull the curtains and have candles? Spirits don’t really respond too well to daylight.”
There was an immediate squeal from Jem. “I’m not doing it in the dark!”
“Nobody is doing it in the dark,” said Skye. “Stop making excuses! I thought you were supposed to have all this massive psychic power?”
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” I said. “Maybe the spirits will speak, maybe they won’t. We can but try.”
“Yeah, right,” said Skye. “Where are the questions?”
We’d already made a list, starting off with simple ones that just required a yes or a no.
“Until we see whether it’s a friendly spirit or an— Ow, ouch!” I rubbed reproachfully at my ankle. Skye, out of sight of Jem, pulled a hideous face. “That is,” I gabbled, “a spirit that wants to help, cos I mean they’ll all be friendly. Obviously!” I gave a little reassuring laugh. “It’s just that some mightn’t actually know anything; they might just be kind of curious, or—”
“Why don’t we try asking them?” said Skye.
We put the Ouija board on Skye’s desk, with me and Skye sitting opposite one another, our fingers on the mouse, and Jem cross-legged on the bed, where she could feel safe with a pen and a notebook.
I said, “OK! Question number one…” I closed my eyes and concentrated. “Is anybody there? Please answer!”
The mouse zipped off into the top left-hand corner. YES!
“Is it convenient for you to speak to us?”
YES.
“Are you Skye’s gran?”
We all held our breath. The mouse skittered in a circle. NO.
“Do you know Skye’s gran?”
The mouse shuttled uncertainly from one side of the board to the other. YES. NO. YES. NO.
I said, “Please tell us if you know Skye’s gran!”
NO.
Skye let out her breath.
“Is that it?” said Jem.
I said, “No, we’ve hardly started!” Trust Jem to go and interrupt when I was getting on so well – the first time I’d found a spirit that was willing to talk! “Ask if it can do anything to help,” said Skye.
“OK.” I put on my best voice. My polite voice. The one I use for one of my grans, who is always urging us to “speak properly”. “If it is not too much trouble, o friendly spirit, I wonder if you could go and have a look and see if you can find Skye’s gran for us? Her name,” I added, “is Mrs Samuels.”
We waited, but nothing happened. The mouse wobbled a bit, but didn’t seem to want to go anywhere.
“Tell it we’d be most grateful,” hissed Skye.
“We would be most grateful,” I said. “Oh, and if you find her, could you possibly ask her, do you think, if she knows where the silver pencil is that she left Skye in her will?”
There was a pause while the spirit obviously thought about things. For a moment the mouse just stayed where it was, not moving, but then, with a sudden spurt, went skittering across to the top left-hand corner. YES!
I turned triumphantly to Jem. “It’s going to go and look!”
“How long d’you think it’ll take?”
“Dunno.”
“Can’t you ask it?”
I said, “No! That’d be rude.”
Jem wriggled. “I want to go to the loo!”
“Well, you can’t,” said Skye. “That would be very bad manners. You’ll just have to hold on to it.”
“I can’t!”
I said, “Oh, all right. But if it gets upset, don’t blame me.” I put on my polite voice again; very humble, cos it did seem a bit of an impertinence. “I don’t mean to push you or anything, o spirit, but can you let us know how long it might take?”
In what seemed like a bit of a huff, the mouse went trundling off up the board. It beetled about among the numbers for a few seconds, then finally plonked itself down on number three.
“Does that mean three minutes?” I said. “Excuse me for asking, it’s just that we have to go home soon.”
The spirit didn’t like that. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. The mouse set off at an angry gallop towards the right-hand corner. NO. My heart sank. If it wasn’t three minutes, did that mean it was three hours? Three days? Longer? But then – oh, joy! – it suddenly changed i
ts mind and took a run in the opposite direction. Three minutes!
“Thank you sooo much,” I said.
I sank back, feeling quite exhausted. It is a strain, having to watch what you’re saying all the time, and how you’re saying it. Like talking to the Queen. Jem had started on again about going to the loo, but I shushed her.
“No talking!” Especially about that. “It’ll disturb them.”
Jem sank down, muttering, while me and Skye kept our eyes glued to the second hand on Skye’s alarm clock. It seemed like for ever, but we didn’t dare move for fear of bad manners. Spirits can be very touchy if they feel you’re dissing them. Jem was shifting about on the bed, huffing and puffing to herself, but as she was outside the actual circle I was hoping the spirits wouldn’t take any notice.
As soon as the three minutes were up, me and Skye placed our fingers back on the mouse and I asked the all-important question. “Welcome back, o spirit! Have you been able to find out where the pencil is?”
The mouse immediately went racing up to the left-hand corner: YES.
“Please can you tell us?”
YES.
I flapped at Jem with my free hand. “Pay attention!”
“I am paying attention! I’m—”
“Sh!”
The mouse turned in a circle and headed up the board. Skye sang out the letters as it flitted to and fro: “D – B – E – oops!”
She gave a little cry of alarm as it suddenly spun out of control, tearing from letter to letter at breakneck speed, so fast we could hardly keep up with it.
“R – E – R – H – A – W – A – O – R,” gabbled Skye.
At which point the mouse shot away from us and went skittering straight off the board.
We sat back, startled.
I turned anxiously to Jem. “Did you get all that?”
“I think so,” said Jem.
“I hope you did,” I said, “cos we can’t ask it to repeat itself.” The thing with Jem, she’s not always totally reliable. She means well, but she has a mind that flits.
“What’s it say?” demanded Skye.
“Doesn’t say anything.”
“It’s got to say something. Read it out!”
Jem cleared her throat.
“DBERERHAWAOR.”
With an impatient click of the tongue, Skye reached over and whisked the notebook away from her. She studied it, frowning.
“D’berer ha waor!”
There was a silence.
“What is it supposed to mean?” wondered Jem.
We all agreed that that was the question: what did it mean?
“It must mean something,” I said. “Why send a message if it doesn’t mean anything?”
Jem suggested that it might be a secret code, but what would be the point of that? It had come from Skye’s gran! Why would she use a secret code?
“Could just be the way they talk,” said Jem. “A sort of special spirit language so’s they can all understand each other.”
“Mm….” We considered the idea. Jem does just occasionally have a flash of inspiration.
“Let’s Google it,” said Skye.
We tried Googling it in one long string, and we tried Googling it in little bits, but nothing came up.
This is what I mean about computers. Sometimes they can be quite clever; other times they are just ignorant.
“If they can translate Chinese,” said Jem, “you’d think they could translate a bit of spirit language.”
“If that’s what it is,” said Skye.
“What else could it be?”
We all waited for someone to make a suggestion, but nobody did. I guess none of us wanted to admit that the message might not be a message at all, but just a load of nonsense.
After a bit, Jem slid herself off the bed and said apologetically that she probably ought to be getting home now.
“I mean… we’re not doing it again. Right?”
Skye sighed and said, “I suppose not.” I didn’t contradict her. Even I was beginning to lose heart. I’d gone to all that trouble! Making a Ouija board, finding out how to use it, risking life and limb smuggling it out of the house under Mum’s nose. And for what? A rubbishing kind of message that nobody could understand.
Jem and I walked home together in glum silence. Jem is almost never silent. I am not very often silent myself, if it comes to that. We reached Jem’s road and stood for a moment, hesitating.
Jem said, “Well…”
There was a pause. Then I said, “Well…”
“See you tomorrow,” said Jem.
I said, “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Mum was in the kitchen when I arrived home.
“Still lugging that carrier bag?” she said. “What on earth have you got in there?”
“Nothing,” I said. I clutched at it defensively. “Just something for school.”
“All right, you don’t have to be so prickly! What’s your problem?”
“Haven’t got a problem.”
“So why are you all humpish?”
I opened my mouth to say that I wasn’t all humpish, but sometimes I find it helps to talk to Mum. Just so long as she didn’t keep on about the carrier bag.
“It’s Skye,” I said. “We’ve been trying to help her find her gran’s pencil, but now her mum says she’s got to stop looking cos it’s upsetting her. She says it’s time to give up. Just move on and forget about it. But how can she? It’s like asking her to forget her gran!”
I waited for Mum to say that she agreed with me. But she didn’t.
She said that although it was very sad, she reckoned Skye’s mum was probably right.
“Forgetting about the pencil isn’t the same as forgetting her gran. You don’t ever forget the people you love.”
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear! I wanted Mum to tell me that we shouldn’t give up. But I might have known she’d side with Mrs Solomons. Mums always stick together.
I trailed up to my room, munching half-heartedly on an apple. I don’t really care for apples. I’d only taken it cos it was there and I couldn’t be bothered to look for anything else. I felt like my old teddy bear must have felt when Rags chewed a hole in him and pulled out all his stuffing. All limp and empty. I had so wanted to find Skye’s pencil for her!
I gave the apple core to Rags to finish off and wondered what to do with my beautiful Ouija board. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, so I put it in the bottom of my wardrobe, propped up at the back behind some trainers. I didn’t really see that Mum would have any reason to look in there, but even if she did she probably wouldn’t notice. I mean, for a start, it’s pretty dark inside a wardrobe, and Mum likes to get in and out of my room double quick cos she says it disturbs her. It makes her want to come in and clean up, which I tell her she is very welcome to do, but it seems that she can’t, apparently. It is some weird kind of principle. However, just to be on the safe side I turned the board back to front so that all she would see was a label saying E.J. TOOLS LTD, WOLVERHAMPTON.
I suppose I had this thought in my mind that maybe, one day, when Jem was feeling a bit braver, we might have another go. I really do hate to give up.
Dad came in at half past five and Mum called me to come and have some tea. Angel was already there, chewing on a stick of celery, with a dish of shredded carrot and a pot of low-fat yogurt. This is her idea of a good meal. She is totally mad. Tom, as usual, was plugged into his iPod, mindlessly shovelling spaghetti hoops into his mouth. Tom eats anything that is put before him, he doesn’t even notice. I reckon he’d be just as happy with a bowl of earthworms.
“Where’s Dad?” I said.
“Gone out to the shed to look for something. Don’t ask,” said Mum. “He’s had a bad day. His drill’s broken.”
“His new one?” I said. “He only got it last week!”
“I know.” Mum pulled a face. “He’s not best pleased. He’s going to have to send it back.”
I said, “Poor Dad!
He loves his tools.”
“He loves them even better when they work,” said Mum. “Sh!” She put a finger to her lips. “Here he comes. Whatever you do, don’t mention the drill!” She turned with a bright smile as Dad appeared at the back door. “Everything all right?”
Dad said, “No, everything is not all right! Would you believe it, I can’t find the box?”
“Oh dear,” said Mum. “Don’t you have another one?”
“I don’t want another one! I want the one it came in.”
“So.” Mum spoke very slowly and carefully. “What do you think you could have done with it?”
“I know exactly what I did with it! I left it in the shed.”
“In the shed. Right.” Mum nodded. “There is quite a lot of stuff in that shed. Have you tried l—”
“On my workbench!” roared Dad. “I left it on my workbench!” He spun round, glaring at us. “Who’s been there? Who’s been in my shed?”
Angel, crunching celery, hunched her shoulders up to her ears. Tom said, “What?” I didn’t say anything. I have this belief that in moments of crisis it is essential not to panic. If I prayed hard enough, maybe a miracle might occur.
And, oh, one did! The telephone rang and Dad had to go rushing out.
“It’s the old boy up the road,” he said. “Some sort of emergency. I won’t be long, he’s probably just blown a fuse.”
Well! I felt sorry for Dad, having to miss his tea, but it quite restored my faith in the power of prayer. Miracles can happen!
By the time Dad got back he seemed to have forgotten about his missing box, he just wanted to settle down and relax. A narrow escape, if ever there was!
I wondered if I ought to feel guilty. It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong! Just cutting up an old cardboard box. How was I to know it was the box Dad’s drill had come in? How was I to know the drill was going to be faulty and have to be sent back? It was the drill company that was to blame, not me! I’d just been trying to help Skye.
Jem and I were really surprised, next morning, to find Skye waiting for us in our usual spot with this huge great beam on her face. Skye is not at all a beaming sort of person. Plus, in any case, what could she possibly have to beam about? I’d been rehearsing what to say to her. I didn’t think, necessarily, that I needed to grovel. I mean, it was hardly my fault if the spirits chose to send silly coded messages that didn’t make any sense; I couldn’t be held responsible for the way they behaved. On the other hand, I did feel sorry that things hadn’t worked out.