It was a typical Friday night in the city or at least, that's what Sarah told herself as she rummaged through the cluttered closet in their 14th floor apartment. The kind of night where boredom gnawed at you like a bad itch, and the four roommates; Sarah, Clara, Fiona, and Stella needed something to shake off the week's grind. Rent was late again, the fridge hummed emptily, and their "beauty loan" side hustle had hit another slow patch. "Girls," Sarah called out, emerging triumphant with a dusty box under her arm, "found it. Ouija board from that garage sale last Halloween. Who's game?"
Clara looked up from her phone, scrolling through deployment updates from her boyfriend overseas, her face lit by the screen's blue glow. "Seriously? Those things are fake. But... sure, why not? Beats staring at walls." Fiona, nursing a lukewarm beer on the sagging couch, shrugged. "As long as it doesn't summon my landlord." Stella, always the opportunist with her crimson nails and sharp smile, leaned in. "Make a wish for our loans to blow up public offering, baby. I'm in."
The room felt wrong even before the game began.
Can't, breathe wrong. Too warm, yet a shiver crawled under the skin. They shoved the coffee table aside, unrolling the worn rug, and dragged over a low table from the kitchenette. The 14th floor apartment sat high above the sleeping city, but inside, everything felt too close walls leaning in, ceiling pressing down, air thick like someone had exhaled but never inhaled back. Sarah lit three candles scavenged from the junk drawer: one by the window, one near the door, one dead center, their trembling flames painting the girls' faces in restless orange.
Sarah, Clara, Fiona, and Stella sat cross legged on the worn rug, knees almost touching, backs brushing the cramped furniture behind them. The curtains were half-drawn, leaving a slice of night visible black glass, a faint reflection of the candlelit room, and the blurred pattern of distant city lights far below. The building groaned occasionally, a deep, tired sound that made the windowpane tremble.
In the middle of the table lay an old Ouija board, its wood scratched and dulled with age. The alphabet sprawled in two uneven arcs A to M on top, N to Z below YES and NO glaring from the top corners like judgmental eyes. Instead of the usual plastic planchette, there was a single coin a tarnished, heavy looking silver dollar Sarah had insisted on using, saying it was "more authentic." It caught the candlelight in a dull, oily sheen, as if reluctant to shine, resting now over a blank spot near the center.
"Okay," Sarah said, trying to sound casual. Her voice came out quieter than she expected, swallowed by the room. "Everyone put a finger on the coin. Light touches only, no pushing."
Their fingertips brushed as they obeyed. Stella's nails were painted crimson, the color too bright against the cheap, faded coin. Clara's hand was cold and slightly damp. Fiona's bracelet jingled with a nervous clink as she settled her finger on the metal edge. For a moment, they just sat there, listening to the candlewax crackle and the distant hum of a passing elevator.
"It's getting stuffy," Clara muttered, glancing at the closed door. "You sure you don't want to open a window?"
"It's better like this," Stella said. "Spirits don't like drafts." She smirked, but it looked forced, the corners of her mouth fighting a tremble.
Sarah inhaled slowly. Even the air felt heavier around the table, as if the circle of candles had trapped it. "All right. No one lets go, no matter what. Got it? That's the rule."
Clara swallowed. "Yeah. Sure."
"Say it," Sarah insisted, eyes flicking from face to face, pupils wide in the candlelight.
"No one lets go," Fiona echoed.
"Fine. No one lets go," Clara agreed, though her voice wobbled.
Sarah closed her eyes for just a second, then opened them and fixed her gaze on the coin. "Spirit of the board," she began, words slow, rehearsed. "You are my past life. I am your present life. If we are fated, move this coin to YES."
The surrounding silence tightened. Somewhere in the apartment, the fridge clicked off, making the quiet even louder. The candles hissed softly, tiny halos of smoke curling upward. Their breaths sounded too loud in the cramped room.
Clara's nervous laugh broke the tension. "This is so stupid," she said, but she didn't move her finger.
"Then go next," Stella said, almost too quickly. "Wish for something. That's how it works, right?"
Clara licked her lips. The air felt like it was sticking to the back of her throat. "Fine." She stared at the board, eyes tracing toward YES. "I… I hope my boyfriend comes back safe from deployment," she whispered. "Spirit… if you hear me, move to YES."
Nothing happened at first.
The coin sat cold and unmoving beneath their fingers. The candles flickered, throwing the shadows of their hands onto the walls long, clawed shapes that reached up toward the ceiling.
Fiona leaned forward, hair falling into her face. "My turn," she said, trying to sound breezy. "I hope my unfinished house finally gets built. Spirit, if you're listening, move the coin to YES."
The coin twitched.
It was tiny, just a faint scrape like metal shifting on wood, but all four girls stiffened. Clara's eyes flew wide. "Who did that?" she hissed.
"It wasn't me," Fiona said, though her voice suggested she wished it had been. "Sarah?"
Sarah shook her head. "Just keep going."
Stella wet her lips, glancing at the door, then the window. The room felt even smaller now, the edges of her vision darkening around the candle glow. "I… hope our beauty loan company goes big next year. Really big. Public, even."
Clara shot her a look, but held her tongue.
"Spirit," Stella murmured, pressing her fingertip a fraction harder into the coin, "if we're destined for that, move to YES."
A draft slipped through the room, though no window was open. The flame of the candle near the window bent sharply, throwing the light sideways. The shadows in the corners fattened and deepened, swallowing the plaster cracks and stains. The coin shivered, then dragged itself almost imperceptibly toward the top of the board, scraping faintly over letters as if something reluctant was pulling it from beneath toward YES.
Clara's breathing quickened. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck. The walls seemed closer now; the room felt a size smaller, like it had exhaled and never drawn breath again. The air pressed against her chest.
"This isn't funny," she whispered. "One of you is pushing it."
"Look at my hand," Sarah said through gritted teeth. Her finger barely touched the coin, knuckle white from holding back pressure. "I'm not doing anything."
"Then who—"
A shape slid past the window.
Not a shadow from a car, not a trick of the light, something tall, vaguely human, gliding across the glass from one side to the other, where no balcony, no ledge should be. For a heartbeat, the candles dimmed, as if something outside had leaned close and sucked away their glow.
Clara jerked, face draining of color. "Did you see that?" she choked. "There's someone out there. On the fourteenth floor. There's someone—"
"Don't let go!" Sarah snapped, panic flaring in her own chest now. Her voice cracked, echoing too loudly in the tight room. "You know the rules. If you break contact, the spirit curses you."
Clara's gaze darted between the window and the board. The coin now rested nearer to YES, though none of them had felt it move. Her breath grew shallow, ragged. The candle nearest the door guttered, its light shrinking, stretching their shadows into grotesque shapes.
"I'm serious, Sarah," Clara whispered. "It feels like something's in here with us. The air… I can't—"
"Stay," Sarah said, though her own throat felt constricted. Sweat slid down her spine, cold against her skin. The coin suddenly felt heavier, as though something invisible was pressing down from the other side. "Just a little longer."
The coin scraped again, a slow, grinding shuffle toward YES. The sound was soft, but in the stifling room, it was deafening.
Clara yanked her hand back.
Her finger broke contact; the invisible tension snapped like a wire. The coin gave one violent jerk and spun a fraction in place, then went still near NO. The candle by the window flared bright, then shrank until its flame was a thin, struggling needle of light.
"You idiot!" Sarah hissed, heart slamming against her ribs. "What did I say? You don't break contact!"
"I'm done," Clara gasped, pushing herself away from the table so fast her heel knocked the rug askew. The room seemed to lurch with her movement, edges tilting. "I don't care about your stupid rules. I'm not—"
A faint tapping came from the window.
Three slow, deliberate taps. Not the random tick of pipes, not the rattle of wind. It sounded like someone tapping from the outside with bare knuckles.
The girls froze.
Even the candles seemed to hold their flames still, the fine threads of smoke steady in the air. Sarah's mouth went dry. Fiona's hand slipped from the coin, leaving only Stella and Sarah touching the cold metal.
"We're on the fourteenth floor," Fiona whispered, voice barely audible. "There's no balcony. Nothing to stand on."
Sarah forced herself to look at the glass. At first, she only saw their reflections, four pale faces, shadows under their eyes, candles glowing like halos around their heads. Then, behind the faint reflection of Clara's shoulder, something else appeared.
Fingers.
Pale, thin fingers, pressed against the glass from outside, splayed as if searching for a grip. The skin looked wrong, too smooth, almost waxy, yet smudged with what might have been dirt. As Sarah stared, the fingers slowly slid downward, leaving no mark behind.
The room tightened further, as if a giant hand had wrapped around it and squeezed. The air felt thick enough to chew. Somewhere down the hall, a door thudded shut, but it sounded far away, like it came from underwater.
"That's it," Clara choked. "I'm leaving." She scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over the candle near the door. The flame bobbed and spat, throwing wild, jerking shadows across the ceiling.
Fiona rose after her, hand pressed to her chest as if holding her heart in place. "Yeah. I'm out. This is too much."
Stella stayed seated, jaw clenched, fingers still on the coin. Her eyes were glued to the window, where the fingers had vanished. "It's just nerves," she said, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her. "Candles. Old building. Coin tricks. That's all."
Sarah swallowed hard, throat burning. She wanted to believe that. She really did.
Clara fumbled for the light switch near the door, flipping it up. The ceiling bulb flickered, buzzed, then died without a glow. The candles remained the only light, their flames shrinking again, hunched low as if afraid of something above them.
"Great," Clara muttered, but her bravado was gone. "Perfect. Just perfect."
"Go then," Stella said, tearing her eyes away from the window. "I'll put it away. It's just a party game."
Clara didn't need telling twice. She wrenched open the door; the hallway outside looked surprisingly normal yellowish light, empty corridor, the faint hum of the elevator machinery. Still, the contrast made the apartment feel even more suffocating by comparison, like a sealed box of shadows.
Fiona slipped out after her, brushing past Stella with a mumbled, "Text me if you see anything weird."
The door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded far too final.
Now only Sarah and Stella remained in the cramped, flickering room. The coin rested under their fingers, cold and unyielding. The candles spat quietly, their flames small but stubborn. The Ouija board's letters glowed faintly in the dim light, as if waiting.
"See?" Stella said, forcing a laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Nothing happened. They're just scared."
Sarah exhaled slowly, though the air didn't seem to move. The room still pressed in on her, walls inching closer in her imagination. "You saw those fingers," she said softly. "Don't lie."
Stella didn't answer for a moment. Her gaze drifted back to the window on its own, as though dragged there. The glass was empty now, reflecting only the candles and the two of them hunched over the board.
"Maybe it was a trick of the light," Stella muttered at last. "Maybe it was…"
Another sound broke the silence.
Not from the window, not from the door, this time, it came from directly beneath their hands. The coin gave a slow, grinding lurch and scraped decisively across the letters at the bottom, spelling out G-O-O-D-B-Y-E one deliberate letter at a time before halting.
Both girls flinched.
Their fingers were barely touching it, enough to feel the movement but not guide it. For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed. The candles burned low, two of them flickering dangerously, dripping wax in fat, slow tears down their sides.
Sarah swallowed. Her voice came out in a whisper. "Did… you move it?"
Stella did not look away from the board. Her lips had parted slightly, a tiny tremor moving along her jaw. "No," she said. "I thought—"
The last candle, it was the one in the center, closest to the board suddenly flared tall, then snapped out, plunging the middle of the table into darkness. Only the two outer candles remained, their light weak and stretched, barely reaching the edges of the Ouija board.
In the dimness, with the coin resting after spelling GOODBYE and the air heavy as a held breath, something unseen seemed to lean in between them, filling the space where the flame had died.
Sarah's skin crawled.
"Maybe we should say it out loud," she whispered.
Stella forced her eyes down to the letters the coin had traced. Her throat tightened. Her finger twitched on the coin, but the metal didn't move.
The room felt even smaller now, the silence more crowded, as if the apartment was no longer holding just the two of them.