Truth Or Dare

Truth or Dare

The basement is dingy, smelly and dark. The creep factor is definitely high, it's perfect. We have all the pieces we need for a perfect séance: Haunted house, candles, matches, Ouija board, a few tools for breaking and entering, and a carton of beer.

Mark finds a dry spot for the Ouija, and Sarah begins surrounding it with a candle arrangement. She lights them delicately and continues to arrange and rearrange them into the most aesthetically pleasing shape.
It's hardly what the dark ceremony needs, not to mention her inch of blonde regrowth now shining in the candlelight.

We stick all our fingers on the planchette and wait. The dripping in the corner of the basement tells us the passing of time. Five drips, five minutes. Ten drips, ten minutes. Fifteen drips. Fifteen minutes. After 20 drips we uniformly give up.

“Guess the spirits aren’t chatty today.” I announce.

“Maybe there are none here?” Mark adds.

“At Michelle’s party we played truth or dare and that seemed to get everyone talking”

My eyes shut under the weight of the stupidity of Sarah’s suggestion. What kind of self-respecting supernatural being would want to play a silly game of truth or dare.

“I don’t think spirits are wasting their time with truth and dare.”

“Wasn’t a young girl murdered here? She might like it?”

She’s just trying to act smart in front of Mark. What is she doing hanging around with Michelle and those bimbos anyway? They only care about how they look and how many likes their Instagram pictures get. Fine Sarah let’s try and then we can laugh when it blows up in your face.

“Fine, let’s try.”

We all reconvene our fingers back on the pointer. I release a very deliberate sigh and throw in an eye roll for effect.

“Okay spirits. Truth or dare?”

The piece guides our fingers to the “T”. I’m not looking but I can feel smugness radiating off her face. She probably pushed it. Regardless, I’m the most experienced with this kind of thing so I take the lead as speaker.

“Okay a truth. What is your name?”

We announce each letter as it comes.

A. Z. A. E. L.

Then the board is still.

“Azael?”

Mark flips through his little book of demon names, but closes the book with a shrug and a shake of his head.

“Okay, your turn. We want …”

Mark and Sarah are mouthing truth. Sarah is screaming her whisper. I let them dangle for a moment and have a sip of my beer. I finally end their suffering.

“Truth.”

We all place our fingers back on the wheel and let the spirit direct us

B. A. P. T. I. S. E. D?

The question catches us all of guard. So much so that paranoia kicks in. The top of my head burns ever so slightly.

“Ok who’s pushing it?” Mark asks.

“C’mon let’s keep him interested. No we are not” I inform the basement.

We place our hands back to the board and again ask for truth or dare. The pick has barely landed on the T before Sarah is blurting out.

“Ask him if he is a good spirit.”

“Are you a good spirit, Azael?”

We wait for a response. Finally the pointer drifts to “No.”

This immediately kills Sarah’s excitement for the game.

“I think we should go”

“It’s ok Sarah, we will just stick to truths, right?”

I don’t remember Mark being soft. Under Mark and Sarah’s guidance, we lamely ask for another truth.

V. I. R. G. I. N. S? The board asks.

Immediately my body turns tight with embarrassment. Luckily my face is already flush with alcohol. My eyes go from Sarah to Mark, who are equally awkward. They have been spending a lot of time together, could they have? I don’t want this discussion so I jump out in front of it.

“Let’s just say yes. Y’know for a laugh.”

No one is game enough to divulge their hand. They look to each other and agree, but only with a nod.

“Yes we are. Azael.”

We go through another round. The drips keep dripping. Azael breaks the trend and asks for a dare.

Before anyone can suggest anything I ask for him to blow out a candle. Suddenly one of Sarah’s candles flickers and dies. Sarah’s eyes nearly fly across the room.

“What do we want truth or dare?”

“Um, let’s say goodbye it stinks down here.”

Sarah has tears in her eyes. I press my advantage.

“We can’t leave yet. This is unbelievable.”

We have a staring contest. If she didn’t want to be here, she didn’t have to come. You wouldn’t go all the way to Amityville to just to look through the window. At some point, you need to man up. The cans of bevy are having an effect. I’m feeling warm and charged

“Dare.”

My announcement horrifies Mark and Sarah. This time we don’t even need to touch the pick. We instead watch the centrepiece zip around the board on its own volition. The candles flicker, some fail and turn to smoke.

S. T. E. P. I. N. T. O. C. L. O. S. E. T.

“Step into closet.”

No one adds anything further to Mark’s statement. The cans are now making me feel queasy. The warming sensation rising to my head has dropped back into my stomach with a sickening thud.

“There!”

Mark points out a large closet up against the basement wall. Invisible on our arrival, the small candlelight and adjusting nocturnal eyes reveal the hidden piece. It’s oddly well preserved in the wet basement.

“Let’s just go!”

Sarah is pleading to no one in particular. She is looking at me and at Mark.

“Mark come on, please”

"Jane. I think Sarah is right. Let's get out of here. This is too creepy."

"Too creepy?! What did you think we are doing here?"

That's typical Mark, one little set back and he runs away. He is just standing there with his stupid face on, nothing to say. Running away somewhere else to someone else. It's not that I didn’t like you or want to, I just wasn't quite ready. It has nothing to do with my weirdo Catholic parents. I hope this is all contained in my head, because they're are starting to look at me funny. It doesn't matter now anyway. I'm walking towards the closet. I think Sarah is screaming, all I hear is the drips. Drip, drip, drip. Seems to take an age to get there. They'll stop me in a minute. Mark will lurch forward and grab me. I shift a can out of the way with my foot. Pull me away kicking and screaming. I'm at the door. Still nothing. There is a crashing ocean in my ears. I'm watching myself pull open the door. Stale, mouldy air burps into my face. Last chance.

I step in and the door closes behind me.