The Devilâs Messenger
by Terry Spear
Sixteen-year-old, airman Staff Sergeant Walter Wilde studied the brown paper-wrapped parcel from his mother as he sat stiff-legged on his bunk bed in Snetterton Heath, England while B-25s roared overhead. The barracks were nothing more than Quonset huts–buildings made of corrugated sheet metal with no insulation or covering on the inside. A small coal stove in the middle of the building crackled away as it provided the only heat.
âHey, Wilde,â another staff sergeant said, as he punched him in the shoulder. âYouâve been eyeballing that package from home for over an hour already. Let us have a look-see.â
Walter touched the string criss-crossed binding, the package dated, October 4, 1943, from his hometown of Seattle, Washington. The big man stepped over to the bunk and peered down at the mail. âCome on, Wilde. Everyone else has shown off their packages from home. Maybe itâs some homemade cookies you can share with the rest of your good buddies here.â
âYeah, besides,â another crewman said, âif you donât hurry, we may be called up for another mission before you get the chance.â He handed Walter a knife.
âBy the time he ever opens the package,â the first said, âthe war will have ended.â
Taking a deep breath, Walter sliced the knife through the string, hoping his mother wouldnât have sent something embarrassing. Not once had she sent him anything the whole time heâd been in combat. He ripped the package open. Inside, he found an Ouija board. He shook his head, relieved it wasnât something really awful. âNothing good to eat.â
One of the crewman grabbed up the Ouija board and smiled. âCome on, letâs play a game.â
Another held up the cards he was playing at a game of poker. âPlay a manâs game. Thatâs kidâs stuff.â
Another shook his head. âThis isnât kidâs stuff –itâs not something you should mess with. Get rid of the thing, Wilde. Itâs the devilâs messenger.â His voice was shadowed with concern.
âDonât listen to him. Heâs just superstitious!â The airman laid the board on a table, then pulled up a chair. Walter sat on the edge of his bed across from him to play the game.
After a moment, the board seemed to move on its own. âYou did that,â he accused. Walter wasnât superstitious normally, but the crewmanâs words had his skin crawling.
âNo,â the airman responded as he held his hands up in the air. âScoutâs honor.â
âYou were never a Scout!â one of the poker players retorted as he threw a pillow at him. The pillow slid across the table, knocking the Ouija board to the floor. Walter looked down at the board and could have sworn he saw it move again.
***
This is based on a true story.
My dad had numerous near-death experiences from the time he was three-yearâs old. So by the time he was sixteen, signing up to fight the war illegally, he was a pro at living through whatever danger life threw at him. We swore a Guardian Angel watched over him until his death at 74 years of age.
I donât believe the Ouija board is the devilâs messenger, and yetâŚwho really knows.
What do you think about Ouija boards? Have you played one? Anything spooky ever happen?
Part 2 tomorrow…
Terry
âGiving new meaning to the term alpha male where fantasy is reality.â
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