Ouija

Thriller Stories | Mar 9, 2015 | 2 min read
28 Votes, average: 3 out of 5
She'd been gone a year. But to Seymour, Crystal's fleshy shell still provided him with SOME comfort in difficult times---as much as her memory could give. He just wished it really was her behind those blue eyes, instead of something else.

"C'mon, honey. You must be hungry," he said, holding out a butter-cookie. It was one of her favourite snacks---or used to be. She stared up at him, untrustingly. As if he'd never been trustworthy enough before she died in that canoe accident. He told her to wait up---why couldn't she listen, just once?

He'd hoped whatever entity was now inside her body would at least do SOMETHING that would tell him she wasn't really gone. Not just because he missed her greatly, and already forgetting the little things she'd do that he missed so much. He was tired of hiding her in various places of the property, and of coming up with lousy explanations for the neighbours every time they heard awful growling and snarling coming from the tool-shed. It would only be time now, he knew, before they---or SOMEONE---found out what he'd done. Found out that he'd replaced Crystal's soul with the first thing that came through the Ouija-board.

She---it---hissed, swatting a hand at him. Seymour dropped the snack. He left the shed, locking its doors with a paddlock. It didn't matter that he'd already hooked Crystal up with a short chain-link leash thick enough to withstand a good amount of strain. He wasn't sure just how much strength this thing inside her body really had. He kept a safe distance anyway, despite the heavy restraint.

"I shouldn't have done this," he barely muttered. But with being the only embalmer for the town's mortuary, what else could he have done? He'd always told Crystal playing with a Ouija-board was weird, but when he had her naked body lying on a cold gurney in front of him, he figured it wouldn't hurt to try something---ANYTHING---to bring her back. But like an old damp foundation, Seymour was beginning to slowly chip away.

He wondered how he could keep his little secret locked-up any longer, away from the neighbourhoods's suspicious and curious eyes. Seymour suddenly thought of the wide-mouthed shovel still in the basement. He'd left it there the last time he had buried chunky-bits of reported-missing neighbourhood cats. But he had to feed the thing in the shed SOMETHING it responded to, he'd reasoned.

It won't be pretty, but it's for the best, he thought. He rushed to the house.

In the basement, Seymour soon heard knocking. He dropped the shovel. He knew he'd have to answer the front door before whoever it was got curious and helped themselves inside. He'd left it unlocked; his new fiance planned on coming over and she'd promised to wear the lilac-printed dress she had on when they first met.

upstairs, Seymour searched the house but found no one. In the kitchen, he heard a shriek coming from the backyard. He scampered out, immediately noticing the shed-door left open. Did someone pick the lock? He checked his pockets and couldn't find the key. Hands beginning to shake, Syemour feared the worst. He crept closer to the shed, and could hear low but audible grumbles coming from inside.

Slowly peeking in, Seymour found Crystal sitting in the middle of the floor. Legs crossed, her hands stuffing a peice of what was left of his fiance's flower-printed dress into her mouth. A high-heel lay near her, smeared with blood. Seymour stared, blankly.

"Guess I'll keep you both," he said.

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