One day, while hanging out with friends in a basement, we discovered an Ouija board. It was a finely crafted wooden piece, not mass-produced plastic, with intricate hand-carved celestial designs of moons and stars. Initially preoccupied with hunting black widow spiders, we ignored it until boredom set in after playing Xbox. A friend suggested we try the board.
When he brought it over, it seemed larger than before—a curious detail. Our questions to the board yielded no response, prompting another friend to search online for an ancient druid chant to "open a vortex." He printed out a page of strange word combinations and summoning phrases. Feeling silly, we proceeded. The same friend then foolishly asked the board for a sign, despite the website's explicit warning in bold capitals NOT to do so.
Embarrassed but undeterred, we waited half an hour. Nothing happened, so we resumed playing Xbox. Around 9 p.m., we heard my friend's parents return home early. He hid in the garage to jump-scare them but, after waiting ten minutes, saw no one. Suddenly, he heard a loud lip-smacking sound just inches from his ear. Spinning around revealed nothing, and he sprinted back to the basement.
Soon after, we heard doors slamming and rhythmic knocking overhead, as if someone was kneeling and pounding the floor. Then, blood-curdling screams echoed from the hallway. Peering down the hall, I saw a transparent, hunchbacked figure limping toward us. Its movement was erratic and glitchy, like a malfunctioning computer, jerking forward, backward, and sideways. Terrified, I bolted from the house, my friends following close behind. They hadn't seen the figure but were snapped from their trance by my flight.
No major incidents occurred afterward. I only returned briefly to move the TV and Xbox upstairs. It might have been the chant, but I believe it was the invitation for a sign that provoked the encounter.