7 October 2004

It's almost Friday again!  It has been a looooooooooooooong week but I want to thank those of you who wrote.  I'm glad you like the story and I thank you for your comments.

I don't have too much to say this week except that you should pay attention to the Author's Note at the end of the chapter.  Don't scroll right there.  Read the chapter first; it'll make more sense if you do.

Stay safe and enjoy the story.

Kindest regards. 

Michael Garrison

Let's see...I know I left that story around here somewhere....  AH!  There it is.......

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story also deals with love and consensual sexual activities between men. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by such themes, do not read further and leave this site now.

The author retains all rights to this story. Reproductions or links to other sites are not allowed without the permission of the author.

Two Lives – Two Loves

Chapter 25

There was an odd pause as Ron and Hunter looked at each other, each trying to figure out the other. I was half expecting them to start drooling in the tub.

“We got the tanks recharged before lunch,” I said. “Everything’s in the truck. Let me go get it,” I offered, getting out of the tub.

“Getting a little close to dinner for a diving lesson, isn’t it?” Jon said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, pausing to check my watch. “You can get a fresh start in the morning, then; you’re staying the night, right?”

“Planning on it,” Ron said.

“Yeah, I brought my stuff. I’m off tomorrow, anyway, so no worries there,” Hunter said, glancing at his watch. “Think we’ve got some rough weather moving in, too. Feel that change in the pressure?”

“No,” Ron said. We all looked at Hunter like he was a little off. None of us felt anything. “How do you feel the change in the weather?”

“In my ears,” he said. “You know how like when you go diving and have to equalize the pressure in your ears? It’s like that only more subtle.”

“You learn that in the Navy?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, you pick up a few things along the way. Got to, or else your buddies razz you all the time.”

“So the fact that it’s clouding up didn’t tip you off?” Ron asked, poking Hunter playfully in the arm.

“Well, that might’ve helped some, too,” he grinned. I’d have to pay attention to that pressure change thing, though. That was an interesting little tidbit.

We went through another round of beers and talked about nothing in particular. However he’d divined the weather forecast, Hunter was right. The clouds were getting darker and we decided to cut our tub time short before it started to rain. It was that weird time of year when thunderstorms could just crop up out of nowhere; and, personally, I did not want to be one of those lightning statistics you read about. Swimming with sharks was safer, frankly. We took the party inside and went upstairs to get showered and changed.

“They seem to be getting along well. Maybe you’re right…for once,” Jon grinned as he peeled off his trunks.

“Oh, please,” I said. “You see Ron doing that poking shit o’ his? Once is just foolin’ around, more than that and he’s coppin’ a feel. I counted three times, myself. You?”

“I wasn’t keeping count.”

“Hmmm, well, trust me. He’s interested.”

Jon and I got showered. As we stood in the billowing steam, scrubbing each others backs, he wondered. “You think Hunter knows we’re gay?”

“No,” I said. “You’d think he’d suspect after he saw us go into the same bedroom but he doesn’t. I was thinking about telling him, though.”

Jon turned quickly, giving me his dog-puzzled look again.

“Dude, you know?” he began, trying to make his brain push the words out. “You have got to be the strangest fag I’ve ever met.”

“And just how many do you know?” I smirked.

“I mean, we talked about this, keeping it quiet; now you’re gonna start telling the whole town one at a time. Like, what’s up with you?”

“Well, I figure it like this. Ron knows we’re gay already,” I began.

“Yeah, that was your first slip-up.”

“Oh, have a little faith,” I said, giving Jon a light slap across the back of his head. “Anyway, I figure that if we tell Hunter, then he might not be so worried about coming out of his shell, you know?”

“In English, please,” Jon said.

I sighed. “Look. If Hunter knows we’re gay and Ron knows that he knows,” I began.

“And if he knows that we know that he knows that Ron knows…” Jon chirped like a school girl.

“Quit it,” I said, smacking his tight butt. He just wouldn’t stop chuckling at his little joke. “Can I go on?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We can give it a shot.”

ANYway,” I said. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…If they both know, then they might not be so worried about opening up as they would if they thought we were straight. Whadda ya think?”

“Sounds too complicated to me. Wouldn’t you rather just slip Hunter a note after Fourth Period Chemistry?” Jon’s snickering bounced around in the steamy fog and off of every hard surface in the bathroom. I don’t know what got to me first: the heat, the laughter, or the small beads of water running down his face. The expression on Jon’s face quickly changed to surprise when I muscled him against the marble wall of the shower and put our faces together.

“Just shut up,” I whispered, forcing my mouth onto his. He didn’t object; I felt his fingertips edging their way between my cheeks, massaging me. We moaned softly. For a while.

Ron and Hunter were waiting for us in the kitchen. They were on the couch doing some channel surfing.

There’s something about the smell of freshly scrubbed guys that’s almost as intoxicating as when they’re drenched with sweat. Something about the scent of the soap, that light, clean smell. The damp hair combed back. It was almost enough to start my head spinning. I decided to stick with the beer, though, before I got myself in some kind of trouble.

It was starting to rain again. Again. I mean, with all the rain so far, the mushrooms around here were going to be the size of pumpkins. I figured, what the hell; it wasn’t raining inside and the beer was cold. Jon fished us out a couple of fresh rounds.

“Hey, guys!” Ron called as he quickly flipped through the channels. As usual, there was nothing on. Looks like it was going to be a movie night.

“Hey,” Hunter echoed. “Where’d you get to? Thought we’d lost you.”

“Just getting showered,” I said.

“He likes to hog the water,” Jon added.

Not wanting to be rude, Ron and Hunter switched off the TV and joined us at the island counter while we watched Jon go about his routine. He poked around in the refrigerator, trying to figure out what to do for dinner.

“So what’s for supper, Ma?” Ron joked.

“Looks like it’s gonna be chicken necks and greens with gopher gravy,” Jon shot back, doing a fairly good ‘granny’ voice.

“Mmmm, mmmm,” Ron said, following right on with Jon. What a pair. They had to be brothers or best friends or something from one of their past lives Alicia’d talked about. Hunter cringed at just the sound of the menu. He was amused at the easy banter between the two but had that ‘fifth wheel’ sort of look on his face.

“Boy, I feel like the odd man out in this group,” he noted.

“Don’t,” I said. “You’ll get used to it.”

Ron took this as a minor challenge, not wanting Hunter to feel left out. “So, Hunter, you ready for the séance?” Somehow I knew Ron was just baiting him, but it was entertaining to see. He was genuinely trying to include him in.

Hunter perked up. “Séance? Really?”

Jon turned around carrying a couple of packs of ground beef, nodding his head in agreement. “Yep, that’s at 8:30,” he said. “But at 7:30 we’ve got a chain-rattling scheduled, followed by the parade of skeletons in the front hall,” Jon continued, his cocked grin starting to show. “It’s our most popular attraction.”

Ron stifled a laugh. Hunter grinned sheepishly, knowing his leg was being pulled.

“Look,” I interrupted. “You two chuckleheads be nice,” I said, giving Ron a gentle squeeze around the back of his neck. “The man’s just curious, is all.”

“Hope you’ll be satisfied,” Jon said as he started to mold the beef into numerous patties.

“Well, I mean, seriously,” Hunter began in the tentative way of a newcomer. “Like, the place looks so normal. What goes on around here? Seen anything? Heard anything?”

Ron set his beer down. “Brad, I think you might want to field this one,” he said, prodding me to tell the stories.

I sat down at the end of the counter and filled Hunter in on everything while we watched Jon do his prep work. I told him about the dreams, things moving around, my little visitation in the upstairs bathroom. I did not go into the DVD sighting at all; that one was just for Jon and me, but I think I said enough. Hunter’s mouth had slowly dropped open while he listened. I left out the part about being psychic. No need to make him think I was too nuts right away.

“You’re drawin’ flies, son,” I said, pointing at his mouth. He closed it immediately but he still looked dumbstruck.

“Oh, my God,” was about all he could manage to say. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Not one bit,” Jon noted, crossing his heart.

“That’s too freaky, man.”

“Sure you still want to hang around?” Ron asked.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” he said.

“You’ve gotta remember, though, it’s not like it happens on cue.” I said. Jon and Ron both shook their heads in agreement. “Could be nothin’ happens.”

“That’s okay. If nothing happens, nothing happens; I’m having a good time either way,” he said, taking another draw at his beer. “Jon, what are you making, anyway?”

We’d noticed that Jon seemed to be making an awful lot of hamburgers, even for four guys, and was arranging a lot of toppings ahead of time. “They’re called stuffed hamburgers.”

“Huh?” Ron deadpanned.

Jon smirked. “It’s real simple,” he began to demonstrate. “You take your patty, you top it with your onion and your cheese or your mushrooms or whatever. Then you put your other patty on top and press it down around the edges like this.”

“Damn, never heard of that,” Hunter said.

“It looks good,” Ron added. “But what’s it taste like?”

“Trust me,” I offered. “If he cooks it, it’s good.”

“So I take it you had nothing to do with breakfast this morning?” Hunter asked Jon.

“Not one damn thing,” he said quickly. “You can thank the Iron Chef over here for that little fiasco,” he added, jerking his head in my direction as he worked with the food.

When we were ready, Hunter and Ron got the grill fired up under the canopy while I helped Jon slice up some potatoes. The burgers turned out to be surprisingly good. Simple, but good and we were hungrier than I thought. This was something I was definitely going to have to have Jon teach me. It was really nice eating out on the patio with the rain coming down. It was just one of those gentle soaking rains that made for a nice, quiet dinner. We didn’t talk a whole lot, a mumbled word here and there. I noticed that Ron and Hunter seemed to be playing hide and seek with their eyes, though.

We helped clean up a little afterwards, then went back out to the patio with Jon and a bottle of his Sambuca in tow.

“Damn,” Hunter said as he took a sip. “This stuff’d make you sass your grandmom!”

“Go easy on that,” Jon said, remembering other days. “It’ll give you a truly memorable hangover if you’re not careful.”

“As we all know,” Ron said, eyeing Jon from beneath his brows.

“Yes, as we all know,” I confirmed.

Jon rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“No,” we said, laughing as we said it together.

Hunter looked between us, confused. “What happened?”

“Inside joke,” Jon said, not wanting to hear the recounting of his being falling down drunk, amongst other things. We were quiet for a while, just sipping our drinks, listening to the rain. Through the glass of the table, I noticed Ron’s leg situated close enough to feel the heat coming from Hunter’s smooth legs as it could get without touching. I looked at Jon, wondering if now was the right time. He knew what I was asking. He just rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Hey, Hunter?” I began. “There’s something I wanted to tell you. Well,” I paused. “Something we wanted to tell you.”

Hunter fixed me with his attention, setting his arms on the table as he took another sip. I’m fairly certain that Ron sensed what was coming and carefully drew his leg away from Hunter’s.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Jon and I know it bothers some people,”

“What? The house?”

“No, not the house,” Jon interjected. Ron knew then exactly what I was going to say and suddenly found the bottom of his glass to be intensely interesting.

“No, it’s not the house,” I paused.

“What? Did I do something?”

“No, no; nothing like that.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re cool,” Jon added.

“Then what?”

“Well, Jon and I were talking and we thought, in the interest of friendship and forthrightfulness…’forthrightfulness’…is that a real word?” I asked Jon.

“Would you just get to the point,” Jon said. “Jesus!”

I loved watching him sweat. “Yeah, well, anyway, just so you know where we’re comin’ from, we thought we should tell you right up front that we’re gay.” There. I said it.

“We know it, like, well, bothers some people a lot, so we wanted to just let you know in case…you know, whatever,” Jon added. For an intelligent guy, Jon could sure have trouble forming a coherent sentence now and then when his thoughts started tripping over themselves.

Hunter didn’t say anything for a few seconds and stared at the table top, pondering. I couldn’t read him at all. His head bobbed knowingly. He pursed his lips and looked at Ron.

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” he said weakly. “I already knew.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“Not for me to say,” Ron said, leaning back, meeting Hunter’s gaze directly. “It’s their lives, not mine.”

“That’s cool; I respect that,” Hunter said, tapping his glass with his fingernail, pondering some more. “Well, let me just say,” he began, “while we’re in the spirit of sharing and ‘forthrightfulness’”, he grinned, “…that I am, too.”

Jon sighed like a weight had been lifted from him and stuck out his hand, “My, brother!” he smiled.

I took his hand, too. A round of relief went around the table but stopped at Ron. I expected him to either fall out of the chair in surprise or jump Hunter right then and there, but he didn’t move, didn’t say a thing. With all the half-baked flirting he’d done in the tub, I was expecting a bit more relief from Ron than I was feeling.

“How about you, Ron? You’re being awful quiet,” Hunter asked.

I started to feel bad for Ron. This was really putting him on the hot-seat and I had to think that maybe he really wasn’t sure. Maybe he just wanted the excitement of flirting around the edges without really having to put up or shut up.

“No, I…I,” he stammered, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“ ‘kay,” Hunter nodded as Ron excused himself. He made no pretense now of watching him as he went inside.

“Cute,” he noted to us. “He a friend? Kinda feels like one.”

“Not sure,” Jon said.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he is. I think he’s just afraid to say it,” I said. “So are you out to anyone but us?”

“Pffftt! Around here?,” he said, waving me off. “Only if I wanted to get dragged behind a pumper truck. My old man’s about the only one around here who knows; that’s why he put me in the Navy to begin with,” Hunter offered, “Said it’d make a man out of me.”

“And did it?” Jon asked, winking.

“The Navy was cool,” he nodded. “They taught me responsibility and teamwork and all that. But I was always a man, just like I was always gay. Took me a long time to realize that.”

“So, you got a boyfriend?” I asked.

“Hey,” Jon interjected, “you’ve got to pardon my matchmaker friend here…”

“No, it’s okay,” Hunter said. “There never were many of us around here; least-ways many that I knew of. I used to know a couple other guys but one went to New York; he and I got along great, but this place wasn’t for him. We keep in touch online, but it’s nowhere near the same, you know?”

“What about the other one,” Jon asked.

Hunter took a deep breath. “Ooooh, let’s just say he was one of my first recovery dives after I joined the department and leave it at that. Found him right near where you were this morning.”

Aghast doesn’t begin to describe what Jon and I felt like then. Hunter could tell that we were curious but didn’t want to pry. He gave in.

“It’s kind of tough going for a midnight swim when you’re wrapped in chains, know what I mean?” he offered quietly, taking a stiff swallow of the burning liqueur. Jon topped him off. “So I kinda keep to myself.”

What could we say? Hunter had seen more than we ever wanted to see and it gave him a harder edge, it built those walls he guarded himself behind.

“Didn’t the police do anything about it?” Jon asked.

“Oh, you betcha!” he laughed. “They filed a report,” he said, his tone switching quickly from sarcastic to somber.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Yep, that’s the whole enchilada,” he said taking another pull at his Sambuca. He winced and shook his head as it slid down his throat. “Damn, that’s good stuff.”

We sat in silence for what felt like forever, even though it was only a minute or so, not knowing what to say but paying a sort of homage, a moment of silence for a guy we didn’t know but who was a friend nevertheless. Under different circumstances, it could have been any of us. Murdered by pig-ignorant, and I must offer my apologies to pigs of the four-legged variety, bigoted bastards who hate you for being you, for being different in some way. I just couldn’t understand that kind of blindness. Each of us kept our thoughts to ourselves.

“Sorry; didn’t mean to take so…,” Ron said as he returned to the table, his words trailing off when he saw our glum expressions. “What? I got toilet paper hanging off me or something.”

“Nah,” Hunter said, forcing his smile back. “You’re okay,” he added, patting the seat of Ron’s chair.

“Yeah,” Jon said, “Hunter was just telling us about a friend who passed away not too long ago.”

“He means murdered,” I corrected.

There was another long silence after Hunter recounted the story for Ron. For a long while we sat, sipped at our drinks and listened to the rain. It was a good tonic for our moods but was starting to come down heavier. We decided to move our little ad hoc wake indoors when the drops started splattering on our legs.

“C’mon, guys,” I began, “Let’s do something.” I was feeling bad enough, but I was also picking up on the gloom coming from the three of them. It was tough enough dealing with my own feelings without adding theirs to mine. I didn’t like that feeling at all and wanted to get their minds off of it.

“ ‘kay; what about that séance thing you mentioned?” Hunter asked. “That sounded pretty hot.”

“I was just kidding,” Ron said.

“Yeah, that was just for grins,” Jon added. “We don’t know how to do that. Or do we?” he asked, turning to me.

“Hey, man,” I said, raising my hands, “don’t look at me. I’ve only seen those things in the movies.” Hunter looked a bit disappointed.

“Hey, I know,” Ron asked. “What about a Ouija board?”

“A what?” Hunter asked.

“A Ouija board,” Ron repeated. “It’s a board with letters and numbers on it and you use a thing to ask it questions and stuff. My grandmother had one we used to play with.”

Hunter had no idea what Ron was talking about but was game for anything. “Sounds cool. You mean like you talk to ghosts or something?”

It was the ‘or something’ that bugged me, I think.

“Yeah, something like that,” Ron nodded. “My grandmother used to say it was the spirits moving the thing around, making the words.”

“Sounds interesting, but we don’t have one of those,” Jon said.

“We can make one,” Ron said. He was starting to really get into this idea and Hunter was catching his enthusiasm. “That’s what people did before Parker Brothers made it into a game board.”

“Outta what?” Jon asked.

“We need, like a big piece of cardboard or something,” he said, indicating the size with his outstretched hands, “a marker pen and a glass or something like that.”

Jon knew right where to look for everything and quickly scrounged a piece of cardboard from the basement. Ron took the board and a pen and busied himself writing down the alphabet and some numbers in a wide arc across the board. In opposite corners he wrote ‘yes’ and then ‘no’ finishing with ‘goodbye’ at the bottom.

“Now what?” Hunter asked, clearly interested by the prospect for some kind of communication with who-the-fuck-knew what.

“We need a glass.”

“For what?” Jon asked.

“The glass moves around and spells out the words,” he said. “You got a small one? Kinda short?”

Jon went to fish around in the Butler’s Pantry and came back with a small highball glass. “Will this work?”

“Oh, yeah; that’s perfect,” Ron said. “C’mon, let’s take this in the dining room and spread out!”

Ron lead the way. We all followed him and sat down around one end of the table. Jon got a little tape to anchor the board with. I have to confess that I really wanted to get in on all the excitement but I just couldn’t. Something was really gnawing at my stomach and my little voice just kept telling me ‘bad idea bad idea bad idea’ over and over and over again, like one of those old vinyl records that got stuck in the groove. But would I listen? Oh, no, no, no! Alcohol has a way of just flat out beating the snot out of common sense and leaving it lying in a gutter somewhere until the next morning. I mean, I can’t say that I was drunk, but I can’t exactly say that my CPU was recognizing the network, either, if you know what I mean. That gnawing feeling just wouldn’t go away.

“Hey, how’s about we kill the lights and get these candles going?” Hunter said, picking up two of the candelabras.

“Excellent!” Jon said, catching their enthusiasm.

“Yeah! Let’s get some atmosphere in here!” Ron said.

Jon and Hunter got the candles lit and turned out all the lights. It was just us, this homemade board of Ron’s and the rain pattering steadily against the house. I have to admit that it was kind of sexy, but it was also kind of creepy.

“It works best with at least two people,” Ron said. “Who wants to go first?”

“Your idea,” Hunter said. “You first.”

“I’ll go,” Jon said. “Let’s do this.”

“Jon, are you sure you want to,” I started.

“Oh, c’mon, mom,” he said, “it’s just a game, you know?”

“Yeah, c’mon Brad,” Ron echoed, “What’s gonna happen? We’re just gonna ask some harmless questions.”

I held up my hands. “Okay, pay no attention to me.”

“You’re next, by the way,” Jon said, smiling as he patted me on the shoulder.

“Hey, great,” I drawled, taking another sip of my drink as I unconsciously inched my chair a little further away from the table.

Does art imitate life or is it the other way around? This was one of those weird party moments that everyone probably goes through at some point. I’m sure everybody but me has had the experience of watching two friends, two allegedly, and I emphasize that word ‘allegedly’, bright, intelligent people hover over a board with their fingers perched on a glass or what have you, to ask about things they probably have no business asking about to begin with. The darkened room is apparently optional but highly recommended. It’s like a scene from one of those really ultra-cheap horror pictures that Jon likes where a bunch of girls talk their boyfriends into it and gather around one of these things, asking a bunch of stupid who-am-I-going-to-the-Prom-with kind of questions and end up conjuring some ancient Babylonian demon or something by mistake. Just complete lunacy.

‘So, okay, Williams,’ I thought, ‘If it’s such lunacy, then what are you worried about?’

“Okay; let’s all be quiet,” Ron said. “Now, put your fingertips on the glass like this,” he demonstrated to Jon.

Hunter and I both watched. He sipped at his drink, eyes glued to the board. I leaned back, arms crossed and more than a little skeptical. But was it skepticism or was I afraid of something. I couldn’t tell. The left side of my brain was telling me that nothing was going to happen, you know it’s not. The right side, however, was making me watch because, what if it did? After all I’d been through you’d think I’d be a little more open to such things, but this exercise had all the…oh, what’s that bullshit word that politicians like to throw around to make themselves sound intelligent?...gravitas, that’s it!...This little exercise had all the gravitas of a grade-school sleepover. No, wait; forget I said that.

Ron and Jon hunkered over that board for a few seconds, saying nothing. Hunter couldn’t stand the inaction any longer.

“You actually gonna ask it something or are you girls just waiting to get your nails done?” he deadpanned.

That was it. I lost it.

I broke up laughing and fell halfway out of the chair, catching my foot on the underside of Jon’s seat. He backhanded my calf.

“Stop laughing,” he said, smirking at the two of us. Hunter shook as he chuckled.

“All right, c’mon, c’mon,” Ron said trying to get us back in the mood again. “C’mon; for real this time.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hunter said, hiding his amusement behind his hand.

Ron and Jon hovered over the glass again. I leaned over to Hunter, “Thanks, man. I needed that,” I whispered.

“No problem. This is too much fun.”

We watched as they got themselves mentally into it again, their fingers lightly touching the edge of the upended glass. I knew they were waiting for one of us to make some wise-ass remark. Hunter looked at me as if to tell me it was my turn, but I smiled and shook my head slightly. I wanted to see what the chuckleheads could do.

Finally, at long last, Ron asked it a question.

“How old is Jon?” he slowly whispered.

“Oh, God,” I muttered. “Could this be any more grade-school?”

Hunter snickered and they both cut us looks from the corners of their eyes, telling us to just shut up. We were all a little surprised when the glass started to move.

It shook a little at first then stopped. It started again and made a really slow but steady sweep around the board, like it was trying to find its way in unfamiliar territory. Jon and Ron kept their fingertips glued to it as it traveled, following as it stopped over the ‘1’ and then circled lazily over to the ‘9’.

“Huh!” I said, a little amazed.

Hunter’s mouth was half open again. “Is it right?”

“Yeah, it’s right,” Jon said.

“Well, hell; you’re just a little boy!” Ron quipped, winking at his friend.

“Oh…cram it,” he said. “I’m only a year and a half younger than you.”

“And trust me; ain’t nothin’ little about my man here!” I said, leaning over to pat Jon’s thigh.

“Lucky you,” Hunter said, glancing at Ron, propping his foot in one of the braces of his chair legs.

“C’mon, let’s ask it something else,” Ron said quickly, breaking Hunter’s gaze. “You ask it something this time,” he told Jon.

“Okay, lemme think,” he said, pausing for a moment. “I know; you ready?” he asked Ron. He nodded and they again assumed the position.

“Who are we talking to?” he asked.

A jolt of electricity shot up my spine. I could hear my little voice yowling at me like a banshee. Of course, I could only assume that’s what a banshee sounded like, having no personal experience myself; but, trust me, it wasn’t pretty. I knew it was too late but my mouth went into action anyway. “Jon, don’t ask it that!”

“Why, what’s the pr…,” he started to ask, just as the glass began to move again.


To Be Continued

Author's Note:

I don't want to give too much away, BUT:

I'm sure there are people who, at this point, are reaching for  some cardboard, a pen and a glass or who are reaching for their keys to run to Toys R Us to get a Ouija Board.


Believe me when I tell you that these things are neither a toy nor a party game and should not be taken lightly.  They are a tool that should only be used by someone who has years of experience and knowledge of such things...if at all.  I know they're sold right next to that cute little Magic Eight-Ball, assuming they still make those dumb things, but trust me...they're not toys.

Youthful exuberance, inexperience,
and a Ouija Board, especially when combined with alcohol, are a fool's mixture.  You don't have to believe in fire to get burned by it, so enjoy it in the story but give it a wide berth in reality.