The Ouija Man (A Narrative Horror Poem)

Across the board, the heart-shaped planchette glided
as if, by phantom fingers, it were guided
and, through all guests assembled, ran a chill
as it, letter by letter, spelled out ‘K-I-L-L’.

Yet though some screamed and some felt quite dyspeptic,
one man, named Greaves, just scoffed; a well-known sceptic.
“This proves nothing”, Greaves said, “Not one iota.
Except the effect called ideomotor”.

“Just the subconscious minds of guest and host”,
the man boldly asserted, “But no ghost”.
and yet the other guests firmly insisted,
the board had clearly proven ‘Ghosts existed’.

One aging sergeant major blocked his ears,
and said, “Sir, I’ve known Lama’s and Fakirs
and seen things that would make your hair turn white
and I, for one, say we’ve seen spooks this night!”.

But then their host, a world renowned medium;
sensing, in the sceptics eyes, some tedium,
declared, “Gentlemen, the Ouija Board merely
served to demonstrate a process more clearly”.

“A process widely called telekinesis;
which, after the life of one’s body ceases;
is, and this is what I hope to prove,
how spirits can make solid objects move”.

Then, suddenly, the man took from his pocket,
a loaded pistol and began to cock it;
and pressing its barrel against his head,
to the horror of all, shot himself dead.

All watched his body fall, dumbfounded,
then, leaping up, they gathered round it.
“Good Lord!”, asked one, “D’you think he’s dead?”.
“As a doornail”, the Sceptic said.

But they were yet further amazed
when a girl entered and, unphased
by the body upon the floor,
said, “My father has closed a door”.

“Now sirs”, said the girl in black,
“I will show you his doorway back.
It was his final wish; his plan
that I show you The Ouija Man”.

Then leading them into a room,
and lighting lamps that split the gloom,
she pointed and all saw within,
a strange, metallic mannequin.

“It’s this macabre marionette;
he hoped to move like a planchette.
Father built it to be the slave
he’d command from beyond the grave”.

Some guests were shocked and some were irked
while the firm sceptic merely smirked
but all agreed the mediums scheme
seemed like a mad and hopeless dream.

“A Ouija boards one thing”, they said,
“But mannequins animated
by ghostly puppeteers? Absurd!
The most preposterous thing I’ve heard”.

Then, leaving behind that weird Golem,
their faces startled, grim or solemn,
they all rushed out into the road
and caught cabs back to their abodes.

And all thought they could just forget
that madman and his marionette;
and lying next to wives or lovers
sighed and said, “I’m glad that’s over!”.

But late that night, while they all slept,
something, through London’s thick fog, crept.
A lumbering thing, of monstrous size
with empty, lifeless, mannequin eyes.

They say those men were killed in bed;
some strangled; some struck to the head
but all were found, the next day, dead
all except one, that is, named Greaves,
a Sceptic once, he now believes.