Moonlight filtered through the curtains in Clara's living room as she set the Ouija board on the coffee table. The sharp scent of burning sage mingled with the stale odor of the farmhouse's old walls. Across from her, local medium Marisol Reyes arranged candles in a circle. Eli sat beside Clara, knees pulled to his chest, flashlight off to the side.
"This circle will protect us," Marisol whispered, tracing her fingers in the air. "But the spirits know when we're afraid."
Clara forced a calm breath. After the blood message on the trapdoor and the desecrated gravesite, she'd admitted to herself that she needed more than salt and iron. She needed answers—and Marisol's supernatural expertise.
Invoking the Whisper
Marisol lit the final candle and dropped into a cross-legged position. Clara and Eli joined her. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Marisol placed her fingers lightly on the planchette.
"Who binds the well?" she intoned, voice mellifluous but taut. "Show yourself."
Clara swallowed. The Ouija board's letters stared back: A–Z, numbers 0–9, and the words "Yes," "No," and "Goodbye."
Eli's small hand trembled on the planchette's rim. Clara squeezed it.
Marisol's eyes closed. Then—slowly—the planchette moved to "Yes." Clara started, her heart lurching.
"Can we speak to Abigail Harper?" Marisol asked. The planchette slid to A, then B, then I—spelling "ABIGAIL."
Eli gasped. "Her name."
Marisol nodded, palms raised. "She's here."
Clara closed her eyes. The silence pressed in—then, a faint echo of laughter at the edge of hearing. A whisper that spiraled through the room:
"Free me…"
A Fractured Séance
Marisol's voice grew stronger. "Abigail, we wish to help you."
The planchette jerked violently across the board:
"NO!"
Candles guttered. A chill rippled through the circle. Clara felt a breeze, though all windows were closed. Eli whimpered.
Marisol held her ground, chanting under her breath. The planchette spelled out:
"BOUND BY BLOOD, BOUND BY BONE,
YOUR CHILD IS MINE, YOU'RE ALONE."
Clara's blood ran cold. She glanced at Eli, whose pale face mirrored her fear.
"We must end this," Clara whispered to Marisol, voice shaking.
Marisol nodded and began a counter–chant:
"Spirits of earth, spirits of air,
Return this soul to silent prayer.
We break your curse, we close your door,
No whispers now, forevermore."
The Board's Betrayal
The moment Marisol intoned "forevermore," the planchette shot to "Goodbye." For a heartbeat, nothing moved—then all candles flickered out. Darkness swallowed the room.
Clara's breath caught. She fumbled for her phone's flashlight. When the beam clicked on, she shone it across the table—only the board remained, empty. The planchette was gone.
Eli shrieked. Clara whirled around. On the opposite wall, scrawled in smeared ash, words glowed:
"You called me here."
Clara rushed forward, horror squeezing her chest. The ash crumbled beneath her fingers. Footsteps sounded above, on the bedroom floor. Marisol gasped behind her.
"The cellar!" Marisol hissed. "It's using your home as a gateway!"
Together they raced to the kitchen. The trapdoor lay untouched, but a low scratching echoed from below. Clara gripped the doorknob.
"I'm sealing it shut," she said, voice fierce. "Help me, Marisol."
Unseen Hands
As Clara and Marisol shoved chairs and boxes against the trapdoor, something tugged at Eli's pajama sleeve. He looked down to see a pale handprint glowing on his chest—exactly where Clara had held him the night before.
He screamed. Clara dropped a chair to catch him in her arms. Marisol recited a quick blessing, tracing a protective cross on Eli's forehead.
The scratching below crescendoed into a roar, as if dozens of fingers scraped the boards. The entire house trembled.
Clara slammed the cabinet in place and turned the deadbolt. Marisol whispered a final protective charm. The roar stopped abruptly. Silence.
Aftermath
Clara sank to the floor, chest heaving. Eli buried his face in her shoulder. Marisol knelt beside them.
"It's enraged," the medium murmured. "You must bind not only the well, but every place it's touched—this house included."
Clara nodded, tears wet on her cheeks. "Tomorrow, I go deeper. I find the original rites used when the graves were moved—anything to close this portal for good."
Marisol placed a hand on Clara's arm. "I'll help you. But be warned: what you seek may demand more than you can give."
Clara drew a steadying breath and looked at Eli. He peered up, eyes wide but trusting.
"I will give whatever it takes," she whispered.
And somewhere beneath the trapdoor, the whispers waited—hungry, patient, and gathering strength for the next night of reckoning.