Goodbye

GOODBYE: A Short Story by C. Flemish

Max dropped the Ouija board on the clubhouse table, nervous energy in his hands. His fingers tapped the wood before he tucked them away. “This thing is so old, it smells like sadness,” he said, forcing a grin to hide the worry lines around his eyes.

Benny leaned in, biting his lip. “Where’d you get it?” His voice softened with a mix of curiosity and unease, as if he were anticipating what the board might reveal.

Max grinned, trying to appear casual. “Found it in Brett’s closet. Way in the back, under all his incense and that weird scarf he thinks makes him mysterious.”

Eli raised his eyebrows and shivered, fiddling with the chain around his neck—a nervous habit. “You went through Brett’s stuff? Isn’t he, like, halfway to starting a cult?”

Max shrugged. “He’s not scary. Just thinks Nirvana wrote every song ever.”

Ash picked up the board. It was basic. Nothing spooky. Just the classic Parker Brothers style: alphabet, numbers, “YES,” “NO,” and the word GOODBYE printed clean across the bottom. The Planchette was made of light plastic, still in good shape.

“It’s so normal,” she muttered. “That’s disappointing.”

“That’s how it gets you,” Eli whispered, half-joking.

They were huddled in Cody’s shed, known to them as The Clubhouse, their unofficial headquarters. The inside was decked with Christmas lights and posters of TV shows and bands they liked. The sagging couch and posters of Evil Dead and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre set the mood. A whiteboard with “YOUTUBE TAKEOVER PLAN” scrawled in red marker was left abandoned halfway through a brainstorming session.

But today, the air felt charged. A strange chill seeped through the walls. Shadows seemed to pulse, shifting even with steady candles.

“We should stream this,” Cody said, pulling out the tripod. “Ouija at midnight. No edits. Just pure, unfiltered creep.”

“I want proof,” Cody replied. “If something happens, we’ve got it on tape. If nothing happens, we make Max scream and still get likes.”

“I’m right here,” Max said.

They set up everything: candles, camera, and Max’s phone as a backup. Midnight ticked closer.

“Okay,” Cody said. “Rules of the game: don’t take your fingers off the planchette. Don’t be a troll. And when we’re done, we have to say goodbye.”

Ash looked around the table. “Seriously. We have to say goodbye. That’s how you close the session.”

Everyone nodded.

They placed their fingers on the planchette.

Cody started. “We welcome any spirits who wish to speak. Please answer truthfully. We mean no harm.”

The board sat quietly.

Then the planchette twitched.

Ash flinched. “Who moved it?”

No one answered.

It slid, smooth and slow.

H. I.

Eli’s voice came out shaky. “Are you… friendly?”

Pause.

N. O.

They stared at one another.

The room seemed to shrink.

Cody leaned forward. “What do you want?”

Y. O. U.

“Okay,” Benny said, pulling his hands back, “I’m out. That’s enough.”

The planchette jerked violently.

S. T. A. Y.

The candles blew out all at once.

Ash’s voice was barely a whisper. “We need to end the session. Say it. Say goodbye.”

But before they could speak…

The shed door slammed open with a bang.

Everyone turned.

Max was gone. His seat was empty. His phone was still recording. An unnatural rustling, like dry leaves caught by an unseen breeze, whispered through the room. It seemed to emanate from the shadows where Max had vanished moments before. Something flickered in the corner of their eyes—a shadow that darted away just as quickly as it appeared.

No scream. No sound.

No goodbye.

They didn’t even close the clubhouse door.

They just ran.

Ash screamed the whole way. Benny tripped over a hose and scraped his chin. Cody dropped the flashlight but didn’t go back for it. Eli tried to say “goodbye”, but he actually started to, but no one heard him over the chaos.

They didn’t stop until they hit Cody’s porch.

“What the hell just happened?” Benny gasped.

“Max…” Ash doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Where did he go?”

“He just vanished,” Cody said, pale. “Like, one second there, next second just… gone.”

Eli was the only one not pacing. He stood frozen, arms crossed tight over his chest. “We didn’t close the session.”

Everyone stopped.

“What?”

“We didn’t say goodbye,” Eli whispered. “We left the board open.”

Meanwhile, back in the clubhouse, the livestream continued to roll.

Camera angle unchanged, focused perfectly on the Ouija board sitting untouched on the table.

At first, there were a few dozen viewers. Curious. Then a few hundred.

Then 1,200.

Then 4,000. Then 20,000. A tweet from a popular influencer suddenly appeared on every timeline, exclaiming, “You have to watch this! #OuijaLive”. Soon after, a news anchor paused during a morning broadcast to mention the “chilling live event consuming the internet right now,” fueling the livestream’s rapid ascent.

The chat exploded.

“This is fake, right?” “WHERE IS MAX?” “BACK IT UP. SOMETHING SLITHERED BEHIND THE BOARD.” “WHY IS THE PLANCHETTE MOVING ON ITS OWN??” “LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE.” “NOOOO GET OUT OF THERE”

New viewers flooded in, reposting and sharing. The hashtags lit up like fire.

But the kids weren’t watching the chat. They didn’t see the moment when something black and wrong slipped from beneath the board. A shape that twitched instead of moved. The viewers saw it stretching from the floor like smoke dripping in reverse. They saw it lean toward the camera, too close, distorting the image with static …

And then recoil.

Back toward the board.

Back toward the table

 

The Next Day

“I left my phone,” Cody muttered. “It is still on the tripod. Still recording.”

“You’re going back?” Ash asked.

“I have to. It’s linked to my mom’s email. If she sees,” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“I’ll go,” Benny offered.

Cody shook his head. “You guys stay by the fence. If I’m not back in two minutes, come drag me out.” He hesitated, feeling the weight of responsibility. He left the phone and felt accountable for their safety. The danger was real, but so was his resolve to protect his friends—no matter the risk.

Cody stepped into the clubhouse. Everything looked the same: the camera was on, and the phone was upright. Candle stubs flickered shadows along the walls. Only the planchette pulsed with eerie energy at the center of the board, as if waiting for him. A chill prickled his spine as static creaked in the stillness. Something was wrong, like calm before a storm.

Cody grabbed the phone.

It was hot. Burning to the touch.

The live viewers are now at 116,000.

The chat was a blur:

“OMG HE’S BACK” “DON’T PICK IT UP” “IT’S UNDER THE TABLE” “TOO LATE” “RUNRUNRUNRUN”

Cody blinked at the screen.

“What the, “

A shape shot from beneath the board. Black tendrils, lashing upward, wrapping around his wrists, neck, face.

He tried to scream, but the sound got sucked into the board. His body folded like a cloth crumpling inward, too fast and just wrong.

The board gave a low thump, like it had swallowed something heavy.

Just like that, Cody was gone.

The phone clattered to the floor. Still streaming. Still focused on the Ouija board.

 

Waiting outside, Ash shifted. “He’s taking too long.”

Eli didn’t look up. “Don’t go in.”

Ignoring Eli, Benny hurried across the yard and reached for the clubhouse door, determination written on his face.

The angle was now tilted on the floor. Just enough to show the board and Cody’s last footprint fading in the dust.

The chat boiled over:

“DID HE JUST GET PULLED IN?!” “WHAT IS THIS THING?!” “WHY IS THIS STILL LIVE???” “THE BOARD JUST MOVED.” “I HEARD A VOICE. WHOSE VOICE WAS THAT?”

The planchette shifted. Slow.

T…W…O.

Viewers surged past 240,000.

But the kids? They still had no idea.

Ash and Eli watched the feed from Eli’s bedroom. Curtains drawn. Volume low. Eyes wide. Yet, a growing heaviness filled the air, like an invisible presence pressing down on them. A strange feeling settled in their stomachs, a quiet dread that whispered something was very wrong.

They watched Cody get taken. The shadows. The way the board seemed to pulse after it swallowed him.

Max. Then Cody.

Only two left.

And on the screen, the planchette moved again.

T…H…R…E…E.

Eli whispered, “We’re next.”

They didn’t argue. They just went.

The clubhouse was colder than before. The board sat untouched. Waiting.

They sat together, trembling. Fingers on the planchette. It moved before they spoke.

W…E…L…C…O…M…E.

Ash shook her head. “We’re not here to welcome you. We’re here to end this.”

The board resisted. Pulled.

N…O.

Shadows thickened. A voice echoed.

“Ash… don’t you miss us?”

Max’s voice.

Then Cody’s.

“We’re still here.”

Ash’s eyes glazed. She saw them. Standing in the shadows. Smiling. Pale.

“Just one more minute,” Max said.

She let go. The board took her. Eli screamed. He tried to move the planchette. It wouldn’t budge.

The chat was exploding. 3.1 million viewers.

“RUN” “IT’S BEHIND YOU” “DON’T LOOK BACK” “NOOOO”

A breath touched Eli’s ear.

“Thank you.”

Eli went still. Then vanished. The board sat quietly.

And then,

The planchette shuddered as it traced a final path across the board. G…O…O…D…B…Y…E. The air in the room shifted, suddenly cold and metallic, as if the entity’s farewell left a tang on the tongue. The temperature spiked briefly, a flash of heat racing up their spines before disappearing into the void. With one last pulse, the board went silent. The stream cut to black.

 

Epilogue

Later that night, a new stream appeared. The channel and title, Midnight Ouija Challenge – LIVE, remained the same, but the surroundings had changed.

A new room, a different house, somewhere else entirely. This time, it was a clean garage with a fold-out table, bikes in the background, and a dartboard on the wall. The same board sat centered, neat, ready, as if nothing had happened.

Zero viewers. Then one, two, and before long, fifteen thousand. The chat lit up: “Where is this?” “Not the same house??” “Same board though…” “Wait, did it just move?” The planchette twitched. It seemed as if the curse had found new ground, expanding beyond its original confines. A long pause followed, amplifying the sense of impending doom, as if no place was truly safe. Then a whisper beneath the static, “Hello.”

THE END

 

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