The Devil’s 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.

“Hey, Wilde,” another staff sergeant said, as he punched him in the shoulder. “You’ve been eyeballing that package from home for over an hour already. Let us have a look-see.”

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. “Come on, Wilde. Everyone else has shown off their packages from home. Maybe it’s some homemade cookies you can share with the rest of your good buddies here.”

“Yeah, besides,” another crewman said, “if you don’t hurry, we may be called up for another mission before you get the chance.” He handed Walter a knife.

“By the time he ever opens the package,” the first said, “the war will have ended.”

Taking a deep breath, Walter sliced the knife through the string, hoping his mother wouldn’t have sent something embarrassing. Not once had she sent him anything the whole time he’d been in combat. He ripped the package open. Inside, he found an Ouija board. He shook his head, relieved it wasn’t something really awful. “Nothing good to eat.”

One of the crewman grabbed up the Ouija board and smiled. “Come on, let’s play a game.”

Another held up the cards he was playing at a game of poker. “Play a man’s game. That’s kid’s stuff.”

Another shook his head. “This isn’t kid’s stuff –it’s not something you should mess with. Get rid of the thing, Wilde. It’s the devil’s messenger.” His voice was shadowed with concern.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just superstitious!” 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. “You did that,” he accused. Walter wasn’t superstitious normally, but the crewman’s words had his skin crawling.

“No,” the airman responded as he held his hands up in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout!” 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-year’s 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 don’t believe the Ouija board is the devil’s messenger, and yet…who really knows.
What do you think about Ouija boards? Have you played one? Anything spooky ever happen?
Part 2 tomorrow…

Terry

“Giving new meaning to the term alpha male where fantasy is reality.”

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