DARK SECRET OF THE OUIJA
CHAPTER 1
"They're wrong! They're wrong!" Jenny Seker screamed as she slammed the door to her bedroom. Its loud ka-thump shut out the chatter of the grown-ups downstairs. Leaning against the door, Jenny let out an angry groan and tried to hold back the burning tears. "They just can't be right about Daddy."
She missed him terribly. Her room, though crowded by the twin beds, twin desks and matching dressers, seemed so empty. Her father had painted this furniture long ago; they needed new paint now.
Jenny strode around her sister's bed to get to her own dresser and the picture of her father. The eight-inch by ten-inch photo sat tall among the hair brushes and various souvenirs of her fourteen years, glistening in its gold-colored frame.
She lifted it gently and studied the image of the smiling, dark-haired man. Her mother often said that Jenny had her father's smile. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair was a few shades lighter than his, but she had the same hazel eyes. In the photo, Dad seemed to be asking what the problem was.
"I know it can't be true what Uncle Jack said about you," she said. "The accident was not your fault. You were not drunk." She paused. "Uncle Jack must hate you or something, 'cause Mom never blames you for the accident. And she never says you drank too much."
Indeed, Jenny's mother rarely spoke of the accident at all. All she told her two daughters was, "Just remember your dad loved us all very much, and he still does."
From time to time over the past six years since, Jenny had overheard relatives talking about her father's death. They called him a drunk who caused the Tragedy. They would always call it "the Tragedy," and then stare at each other as if there were some hidden, unspeakable horror.
"They're just making up stories because they don't know what really happened," Jenny said, touching the glass-covered face.
What did really happen, though? A slippery road? A crazy driver in another car swerving toward Dad to make him plow into a tree?
Jenny sighed and brushed away a tear. "Dad, I miss you so much. Why did God take you away from me?" She sighed again. "I love you."
As she clutched the photo to her chest, she heard laughter from the adults. Apparently, they were no longer talking about her dad. How could they forget him so easily? Jenny never wanted to stop thinking about Dad. She believed that as long as he was in her thoughts, he was somehow still around.
Although the house was full of relatives, the day after Christmas seemed empty. Her mom had said that Jenny would feel better if she hung out with her cousins and sister. Maybe she was right.
Jenny slowly set the photo back in its place. When she went down to the living room, she paused by the Christmas tree. Jenny hunted for a small gift in blue wrapping paper. It was nearly hidden by bits of red and green paper and a few opened presents. Jenny glanced around the room to check if anyone could see her. Everyone seemed to be in the kitchen. Good! She bent down to pick it up.
This was her present to Dad. Every year since his death, she'd written him a note, wrapped it and left it under the tree.
"Ha-ha-ha!" The mocking laughter came from behind her. It was Samantha, her scrawny little sister.
"Shut up, you twerp!" Jenny scolded.
Samantha formed a gloating smile on her freckled face. "That's a dumb thing to do. A present for Daddy!"
"I said shut up!"
Samantha eyed the gift. "Do you think his ghost is going to come get it? What's in it, anyway?" Samantha grabbed it out of Jenny's hand.
"Give that back!"
Samantha ran toward the stairs. "I'm going to see what's in it."
"No! Don't open it! I'll tell Mom." Jenny moved closer, but Samantha jumped up a couple of stairs.
"No you won't, because you don't want anyone to know about this present."
She had a point. Jenny lunged at the gift. Sam snatched it away and dashed up the stairs. Jenny ran after her. Sam disappeared behind the bedroom door. As Jenny's hand reached the doorknob, she heard the lock click. The knob refused to turn.
"Let me in! You can't lock me out of my own room."
"I'm opening the present now."
"No! I swear I'll scratch your eyes out if you do."
Silence was Sam's response.
"Please, Sam, don't." Jenny tried to force the doorknob. Tears of anger and embarrassment wet her cheeks. "Don't."
"'Dearest Daddy,'" Sam's voice quoted. "'I hope you're having a merry Christmas where you are. Do they have Christmas parties in Heaven?'"
Samantha laughed. "Right. Good one, Jen."
She continued reading. "'I miss you very, very, very much. Why did you have to die?" Her voice grew guiet. "Is it true what some people say about you, that you killed yourself by driving drunk? I don't believe that. But I want proof the accident was not your fault, so I can tell them all how wrong they are. I wish you could give me a message or some sign about what really happened. Say Happy Birthday to Jesus for me. I love you always.'"
Both girls were silent for some long moments. "I hate you," Jenny whispered.
The door slowly opened. Sam shoved the box and letter into Jenny's hand. "That's a dumb present," she said. She darted for the stairs and the safety of the group in the kitchen.
Jenny kicked the door. "I hate you, Samantha," she said through clenched teeth. "Daddy, why aren't you here to make her be nice to me?" She looked at his photo and imagined smashing it. The thought horrified her. She couldn't be angry at him. She missed him too much. But if the relatives were right about him, she'd have a good reason to be angry.
She headed for the bathroom and threw the gift in the trash. "Sam's right," she said. "It is a dumb present." To shake off the feeling of loneliness, she decided to call her best friend, Carol Astrey. She walked into her mother's room to use the phone.
At the sound of her friend's voice, Jenny began to pour out her hurts. She complained about Samantha and reported the unkind things Uncle Jack had said.
"And Christmas is supposed to be a time of loving each other and being kind," she finished.
"Hah!" Carol said. "Not when you have brothers and sisters! You should see it around here."
"At least we have each other."
"Friends for life."
"So what did you get for Christmas?"
"Some clothes and jewelry and junk like that. Some games. Oh! Guess what one of those games is. A Ouija board!"
"Isn't that a fortune-telling game? What's it like?"
"It's awesome! Two people put their hands on a pointed thing that moves around the board to spell out answers to questions."
"What kinds of questions?"
"Any questions."
"Did you try it? Does it really work?"
"Yeah, I played it with a couple of my sisters. It works, but the answers aren't always, you know, amazing. I think our own minds control it."
"What if your mind doesn't already know the answer?"
"You want to try it?"
"Sure. I have the perfect question to ask it!"
"What is it?"
"This might be the answer to my prayers. Maybe God will use it to tell me what really happened when my father died."