Just Guyton

It was March 1994, and four teenage girls were gathered around a table in my living room for my birthday sleepover.

One girl on each side.

It was about as close to a circle as four teenage girls sitting around a table could get.

And sitting in the middle of us was a Ouija board.

At first, it was exactly what you would expect from a group of teenage girls at a sleepover.

We laughed.

We giggled.

We asked questions.

And the minute that little planchette started moving across the board, the accusations started.

“Who’s moving it?”

“Are you moving it?”

“No! Are YOU moving it?”

We even made each other take our fingers off because everybody was convinced somebody else was responsible.

It was funny.

Until it wasn’t.

One of my friends started acting strange. Not like herself.

Then everybody started acting weird.

The entire atmosphere seemed to change.

Whatever had been funny a few minutes earlier suddenly didn’t feel very funny anymore, so we stopped using the board.

We went back to my bedroom to hang out.

That’s where things got really weird.

One of my friends kept saying that she was possessed—that something had possessed her.

Then two of my friends started fighting.

I watched one of them, who couldn’t have weighed much more than 80-something pounds, pick up another friend who was probably around 110 pounds and literally throw her across the room.

It looked like an impossible amount of strength coming from someone so small.

The fight also managed to destroy some brand-new things my stepfather had just installed in my bathroom.

Happy birthday to me.

Eventually, we decided we were done with the bedroom.

We moved back into the living room. The plan was to watch a movie and sleep out there.

I don’t even remember whether we actually watched the movie.

What I remember is trying to go to sleep.

My friends were lying together on a pull-out mat on the floor, and I was on the couch.

Every light in the house was off.

And then I looked toward the hallway.

Something was standing there.

Between the washing machine and my brother’s doorway, I saw what I can only describe as a dark, mist-like figure with glowing eyes.

I started screaming bloody murder.

I screamed for my mother and stepfather, who were in their bedroom.

“Come get me!”

I wanted them to come into the living room and get me because I was too afraid to walk past that hallway myself.

I kept telling them there was something in the hallway.

I kept saying I was scared.

My friends laughed at me.

Then they started getting irritated because I wouldn’t shut up.

But I couldn’t shut up.

I was terrified.

They weren’t seeing what I was seeing.

Earlier that night, they had experienced their own versions of something strange—things I hadn’t personally experienced.

Now it was my turn.

More than 32 years later, merely describing that figure still makes my skin crawl. My eyes water. I can feel the anxiety rise in my body.

That fear never completely left the memory.

There’s something else you should know about the house where this happened.

It was already no stranger to things that went bump in the night.

Before that night, I had heard whispers and unexplained noises. There were stories about other things happening in the house too. For example, I was told that small punch-bowl glasses once flew from the top of the refrigerator and nearly hit my stepfather while he was washing dishes.

I didn’t witness that.

It’s somebody else’s story, so I won’t tell it as though I did.

And honestly, before the Ouija board, most of what I personally experienced could potentially have had ordinary explanations.

Old houses make noises.

People hear things.

There are plenty of explanations for something going bump in the night that don’t require anything paranormal.

After the Ouija board?

That was a different story.

That was when, in my experience, we got the whole shebang.

I saw objects appear to move on their own. Electronics turned on without anyone touching them. I saw things seemingly fly across rooms. I saw dolls appear to move. I heard voices and whispers.

Could somebody find an explanation for every one of those things?

Maybe.

I’m not writing this to prove the paranormal exists.

I’m telling you what I experienced.

And I’m telling you what I believe.

I believe what I saw standing in that hallway that night was real.

I believe playing with that Ouija board opened a door I had no business opening.

I believe what I saw was demonic.

And I believe that presence followed me until I got saved.

That’s my belief.

You don’t have to share it.

As a Christian, I remember what the Bible says about consulting the dead, mediums, and divination. Passages like Deuteronomy 18:10–12 and Isaiah 8:19 are reminders I choose to keep for myself when deciding what I will and won’t participate in.

What anybody else chooses to believe or practice is their business.

I don’t go around telling people what they should or shouldn’t believe. I’m not here to tell anyone how to live, and I’m certainly not here to belittle someone whose beliefs are different from mine.

I simply ask for that same respect in return.

Maybe you think a Ouija board is nothing more than cardboard, plastic, and a game sold in a box.

That’s your choice.

I played with one exactly once.

Once was enough.

I will not participate in another séance. I will not use another Ouija board. And if I walk into a place where somebody pulls one out?

Count me out.

You can call that superstition.

You can call it coincidence.

You can call it the imagination of a frightened teenage girl at a birthday sleepover in 1994.

I call it experience.

My faith tells me where my boundary is.

My experience made sure I never forgot it.

—Guyton