Have you ever had contact with a ghost?  My first experience with one was during my freshman year in college.  Vanessa, Becky, and I were celebrating after our Psych 103 exam when we got the idea to contact Laurelyn through the Ouija board.  Laurelyn was the spirit that occupied my sorority house.  Actually, I wasn’t even a “sister” yet.  I pledged the following year, and I still don’t know if it had anything to do with that night. 

Vanessa and Becky lived in the sorority, and after a few beers they broke the promise not to mention the ghost to non-sisters.  They explained that Laurelyn was the former mistress of the house.  Laurelyn’s spirit remained there, and since she had no children of her own, she adopted each sister that stepped into her home. 

So there we were in my dorm room, sitting Indian-style with the Ouija board balanced on our knees.  Several candles showered their light across the board.  The three of us were hunched over, hands gently touching that tear dropped shape made of plastic.  There was a slight tingle in my arms as Laurelyn’s spirit conducted her thoughts through my arms to my fingers.  The tear shaped object, nicknamed the ‘oracle’, circled around the board as Laurelyn answered most of our questions in an uncharacteristically direct manner. 

The hours ticked by and my curiosity peaked.  It was time to test this ghost.  I didn’t know Vanessa and Becky very well, so all of this could’ve been a prank or some type of recruiting technique—“Join our house and you too will have a guardian spirit for life!” 

“Will you show us a sign, please?”  I asked, remaining sincere and polite.

The oracle circled slowly before it answered.  “Yes, soon.”

“How about making the candle go out?”  I persisted.

The oracle jutted towards “no.” 

Several minutes passed as Becky and Vanessa busily asked questions that Laurelyn answered.  I glanced at my watch -- 2:49 a.m. on December 23.  My back muscles screamed so I rolled my shoulders and arched my back; relief for at least two minutes.  Most of my floor and friends had gone home for Christmas, and the dorm seemed strikingly quiet. 

    Unexpectedly, the phone rang and I jumped in response.  Afraid of breaking the connection with Laurelyn, I kept my hands lightly on the oracle as I looked to Vanessa and Becky.  They nodded and I reluctantly stood up to answer the phone.  Annoyed, I lifted the receiver with a tightened grip and uttered a short “hello.”

    The phone was dead.  That was the only way to describe it.  I didn’t hear a click to suggest someone hung up when they realized it was a wrong number, and there wasn’t any sound of breathing or rustling to suggest that someone was afraid to say something.  I didn’t have a boyfriend, so I knew it wasn’t for me, and my roommate had left yesterday.

    Still puzzled, I hung up the phone and sat back into my three-hour position.  My fingers rested on the oracle.  As if I triggered it with my touch, the phone rang again.  I rolled my eyes and shot up without a second thought.

    “What?”  I demanded.

    Again, nothing greeted me on the other end─that same dead silence.  I squinted and shook my head.  “There isn’t anyone on the line.  Does anyone know you two are here?”

    Vanessa shook her head, and Becky said, “If Mike knew I was doing this, he’d kill me.  Besides he already went home for the break.”

“And we definitely didn’t tell anyone in the house; they freak out every time we use the Ouija,” Vanessa said with a brazen smile.

    Again, I hung up the phone and sat down.  As if I were experiencing a déjà vu, the phone rang the moment my fingers rested on the oracle.  Vanessa and Becky met my stare with the same questioning look. 

    “Is that you Laurelyn?” I asked.

    The oracle shot over “yes.” 

    “Will you stop?”

    The phone’s second ring was cut short.  My heart seemed to also stop and then start as the oracle circled in the same rhythmic way.  Tears stung my eyes as they involuntarily streaked down my cheek and one landed smack on the board.  I was baffled, but my tears were the silent indication that I was also frightened.  Funny, I hadn’t felt that scared until the slight tremble in my raised hand outwardly announced I wasn’t as collected as I’d tried to be.

    The oracle circled, waiting for another question.

    Vanessa cleared her throat and said, “Laurelyn, will you show us another sign?”

    The oracle hovered over “no.”

    Becky tilted her head.  “Why not?”

    The oracle spelled out:  “Scares Allison.”    

Another tear of disbelief and slight fear of the unknown strolled down my cheek.  “Thank you, Laurelyn.  Goodnight,” I said.

The oracle glided over “goodbye” and fell off the board.

Vanessa jumped up and her eyes were fluttered with excitement.  She looked as though she were going to dance around the room.  “Can you believe it?”  Vanessa beamed.

    “Hardly,” Becky answered.  She was my reflection—bewildered.   “Allison, I don’t suppose you were…”

    “What? Me?  No, I promise I would never.  You?”

    Becky shook her head, and Vanessa gave an emphatic “no, neither would I.”  I believed them.

    Crossing my arms, a chill rippled through my body.  So, I made my way over to the window to close it.  I stepped awkwardly around the end of the 4x4 that supported the loft my brother insisted on building.  The loft hogged most of the room, but it was the most unusual and cool loft a freshman could have.  Both beds were suspended on top to make room for our “living room” underneath.  I’d forgotten we unscrewed the bed legs until my roommate, Wendy, found the bolts in her desk drawer.  Wendy had tossed the bolts on top of the desk when she packed for her second semester in Europe.

As I slid the window closed and turned around, my eyes landed on Wendy’s desk.  The bolts were now carefully positioned in a circle, standing on their heads with the threaded ends sticking straight up.  The expression, “dead as a doornail,” came to mind.  I squinted to see them since they were in a shadow in this dark corner of the room.  They were arranged in a circle with one in the middle. 

    “Vanessa, Becky…Come here!”       

     “What’s wrong?” Vanessa asked as she rushed over to my side. 

    I pointed to the bolts.  “Did you guys do that?”

    “Whatever for?” Becky asked as her eyebrows crossed in puzzlement. 

    “Neither of us has been on this side of the room.  Not to mention, you have been in the room with us this whole time.  What?  Weren’t the bolts in a circle?  I bet Wendy did that.”

    I shook my head.  “No, she had taken them out of her desk drawer this morning and left them in a heap, and that’s how they were when you got here.”

    “Perhaps Laurelyn gave us another sign,” Becky said wistfully.  “Wouldn’t that be the best?”

    Vanessa shrugged.  “That would be intriguing.  Let’s ask Laurelyn.”

    Becky and Vanessa gave me questioning stares, and I yawned in response.  “Sorry guys, but I’m tired—both physically and mentally.” 

We exchanged hugs and good wishes for the holidays.  After I closed and locked the door behind them, I flicked on all the lights, grabbed a Molsen from the fridge, and sat with my back to the wall for half an hour.  To snap myself out of it, I watched part of the Holiday Affair.  I became instantly absorbed into the infamous dinner scene in which Robert Mitchem asks the girl to marry him in front of her former in-laws, son, and current fiancé.  I chuckled to myself and clicked off the television.

****

    The deceiving sun had shone brightly through the sliding dorm windows, almost making one believe it was warm outside; that is until your eyes focused on the forming cyclone of snow made by the blistering Syracuse wind.  I lazily stretched and focused my exhausted eyes towards my digital clock. Ugh.  It was only 9 a.m.  I resisted the urge to thrust my head under the pillow; I needed to catch a flight. 

The overhead light reminded me that I had slept with all the lights on.  I was a chicken at heart.  I’d been toying with the idea that last night was a dream when the phone rang.  As I lifted the receiver to my ear, the familiar hollow silence met my answer.  I slammed down the phone, and in the same urgent motion I leaned over the side of the loft to peak at Wendy’s desk. 

I gasped.  The bolts circled around one in the middle, on their heads with the threads protruding in the air.  At that moment, I knew it wasn’t a dream—it was a sign.  I prayed that the phone wouldn’t ring again, but it did.

 Contact the Author - AnneKWalsh@aol.com