I’m not so old that I can’t remember my childhood. I don’t think of it often. But, then again, I don’t think of anything very often. Except the screams; those refuse to be ignored.

With the exception of being shorter than just about everyone else, I was a normal boy. I loved frogs and mischief; I hated girls and taking baths. I let my blonde hair grow long to look like the neighborhood kids. A freckle-faced red head like me had to do whatever it took to fit in. And even more to prove himself.

In the end, the only thing I proved was how dumb boys can be.

It began innocently enough, or so I thought. I was at a make-shift club house with the rest of my friends just shooting the breeze, telling dirty jokes, burping, farting – the usual guy stuff. One of the older boys brought in an Ouija board for giggles and grins. I’d heard of the game before. I knew it was a bunch of hokey, but decided to play along anyway.

About four of us, myself included, had our hands resting on the triangular shape of the floating pad. We each took turns asking stupid questions and silently wondered which one of us might be secretly moving the triangle. Of course, we each denied any control of its movements.

The oldest asked if it was OK to look through his dad’s stack of nudie magazines hidden in the attic. The triangle moved then stopped with the circular cut-out hovering over the “YES” reply printed on the board. We all laughed till our sides hurt.

Another asked if there was really a God and received a swift “NO” in response. “We can do what we want without consequence,” one of the on lookers said. “What’s the difference,” another asked, “we do that now.” We laughed again, knowing that it was closer to the truth than our parents realized.

When my turn came, I decided to ask a question that required more than just a simple yes or no answer. “What will I do in the future?” I asked. I tried to push the triangle towards the “W” so I could begin spelling out “wealth.” It sounded good, so why not?

I couldn’t budge the triangle. I increased pressure toward the “W” but the device crept toward the “S” despite my best efforts. I glanced around, trying to see which of my friends were working against me. None of them gave any indication of trickery. Each of their hands looked the same as mine, barely touching the triangle.

I felt something then. I’m still not sure what it was. A dark presence pressed down on my shoulders, like a scene out of The Exorcist . Both dread and terror swept over me, but I swallowed my fear like a bitter pill and continued on.

When I looked back down at the board, the triangle was leaving the “C” and heading toward the “R.” I no longer thought this game fun, so leaned on the triangle with the palm of my hand, intending to shove it off the board. The triangle didn’t even detour as it continued its leisurely stroll to the “E.”

I shouted for them to stop; I saw no humor here. Two of them immediately removed their hands while my third friend looked up at me, wondering why I was so upset. Despite the fact that he wasn’t looking, the triangle hovered over the “A” before moving on yet again.

By the time he looked down once more, the triangle came to a stop over the “M.” We both snatched our hands away from the triangle as though it had sent an electrical current through our fingers. It didn’t move again.

“Scream,” I said aloud, putting the letters together for the first time. That was the moment when my eyes exploded in burning pain. It felt as though someone had poured acid in them. Darkness enveloped me as the boys nearby panicked and ran as though the Devil himself was after them.