My little brother and I have always taken our lives for granted. We didn’t grow up rich by any means, but we definitely had our needs and wants covered, for the most part. We never woke up wondering if we could eat dinner that night, or if the power would turn off because a parent didn’t pay the bill. So, when my brother suggested we do something stupid, I felt no qualms about it. Surely, it would all work out, like it always had.
One month ago, my brother saved up $20 from mowing our front lawn (at ages 14 and 17, we didn’t have jobs yet) and brought home a Ouija board. That night, we stayed up and read some instructions online. We ignored the warnings that prefaced each article.
All I remember from that night was us putting our fingers to the planchette, and then waking up the next morning. When I asked my brother about it, he was confused and said nothing had happened that night. We had tried contacting something, I had moved the thing around, we laughed and he regretted spending the $20.
Soon after this, I began to notice short lapses in my behavior control. It began as me doing small actions without thinking, like punching a wall or snapping my pencil in half during class. Over time, however, my actions became worse, and the lapses became longer and more frequent. I screamed at my brother relentlessly because he played a joke on me. Afterward, I apologized to him, but it was like I was a passenger in my own body. Little did I know how accurate this was.
One night, as I lay down to go to sleep, I felt my heart drop into my stomach and once again, I could sense I was out of control. I was a passenger, I could only watch, as my body rose out of bed and left the house once my parents were asleep. I took a walk near the woods, minding my own business, it seemed. Hearing someone in the trees, I darted toward the noise. I tackled a lone person, probably minding their own business as I was.
I tried to stop my body, but it was impossible. I hit his face over and over again, ignoring his attempts at communication and self-defense. I felt things break beneath the impacts of my fists, and even elbows. My own hands began to sear with pain, even through the rush of adrenaline. Eventually, the man stopped moving and was reduced to twitching. Once again, I watched. This was horrible. Who was this person? I’d like to say I was upset during this, but everything except my consciousness was shut down. My emotions failed to register the gravity of the situation until it was already over.
Suddenly, it all hit me. My emotions raged, and I was terrified all at once; terrified of my actions, terrified of how out of control I felt, and terrified of what was going to happen to me next. I’d like to say that I called the police for this poor man, but I did not. I was concerned for myself. What would happen to me?
Instead, I dragged his body deeper into the woods for the better part of ten minutes. I only stopped because my strength was gone and I collapsed to begin sobbing. I stared toward the corpse I’d made, internally fighting every emergent thought. Leaving the body here was immoral and horrible. It’s something a serial killer would do, but calling the police would end my own life. I would go to prison for life, or at the very least, a good portion of it.
The justification which finally did it for me was that calling the police would not bring this man back from the dead. He was dead, I might as well not let him drag me down with him. It was at this moment that I noticed the blood on my clothes. How do I get out of this?
I left the body in the woods and snuck back inside my house, throwing away my clothes in the outside trash bin. If I was caught sneaking in, I’d just claim to be sleepwalking. I didn’t know if my face was bloody or not, but luckily, that bridge was never meant to be crossed. I got new clothes on, went to the bathroom to see my miraculously clean face, and went to bed, half-convinced this was a terrible dream.
The next morning, I learned that it was not. On my way to school, the bloody clothes were still in the bin. My body ached from the strain of yesternight, and my conscience screamed anew. I had killed somebody; but was it really me?
It was at this time that I considered I may be possessed by some demonic entity. I know how crazy it sounds myself, but nothing else made sense. Should I go to a doctor or a priest? I didn’t want to tell anybody, but people could tell something was on my mind. I mumbled something meaningless about finals coming up soon.
The next time I lost control, I was walking past an Elementary school on a Saturday evening, mulling over the things I’d been through recently. My heart dropped, and fear gripped my being, before it dissolved away with the rest of me. Out of respect and disgust of what happened to the lone child at the school, I will not tell what happened to her. I will not tell of what happened to her corpse, either, or where it now lies. It is impossible to describe the pure vitriol I held toward myself in this instant, nor the wails of agony which escaped my throat.
It was clear to me now that I was a threat to those around me. How would I solve it? I turned to the only person I could: my brother, who had now recently turned 15.
I asked him to talk with me, and I told him I might be possessed by some demonic entity from the Ouija board, and he told me that I couldn’t pin my recent behavior on him and his admittedly stupid idea. I couldn’t convince him of my earnestness, and he walked away from that conversation more distant than when we had begun, which is saying a lot.
Driving my brother to school the next day, I felt my stomach drop once more. I drove a different way than normal, and my brother noticed. Due to our size difference, I was able to intimidate him into staying in the car and shutting his mouth. I drove to the local wood, and at that moment, I began to strangle him. It’s amazing how strong a human grip can be, and the beating it can take in the moment of adrenaline.
When I regained control of my own body, I had learned anew the definition of agony. I did not turn the car back on. In fact, this is where I sit now, typing this up before neutralizing the threat against all my loved ones: myself.
My brother will not have died in a homicide in my parents’ eyes. Rather, his brother was going to show him some stupid stunt in his car and screw something up, killing them both. I only wish that I could give the same faux closure to the families of the other two people I’d brutalized.
The only reason I take the time to write this is to remind people that warnings and ghost stories exist for a reason. Please, heed them, no matter how silly they seem. Ask for help before things get out of hand, especially if nobody will believe you. It may save your life, and the lives of others.
And now I go to join my brother on the other side of this life, whatever that may be. In all likelihood, I’ll end up in a different place than him, should divine punishment be legitimate.