The moment the candles went out, I knew âgoodbyeâ hadnât worked. Weâd pushed the planchette to the corner of the Ouija board, fighting it the whole way, both of us shaking so hard the cardboard rattled under our fingers. The second it hit GOODBYE, every candle in the room died at once. No gentle flicker. Just darkness. For a few seconds, there was no Christmas tree, no cheesy movie in the next room, no safe family house. Just the sound of our breathing and the crushing feeling that something tall and black was still standing in the doorway, watching. Later, in my own apartment miles away, I woke up at 3:13 a.m., paralyzed. I couldnât move, couldnât speak, couldnât even blink fast enough to escape what I was seeing. In the corner of my bedroom, where the light from the street didnât quite reach, that same shadow stood there. Taller than the doorframe, faceless, darker than the dark around it. It didnât walk toward me. It slid. The weight on the room was so heavy it felt like the air had turned to water. My chest screamed to move, my body wouldnât listen, and all I could think was: We thought we ended it. We thought âgoodbyeâ was enough. And whatever we contacted that night followed me home anyway. Keep reading
