Kids see no ghosts: what happens at a cemetery seance

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I recognize the seemingly ignorant and brash appearance of doing a seance after Halloween, but considering this is me, afterall, it figures. I set out on this seance journey with the goals of contacting some “spirits” and maybe finding a fortune for my future.

I don’t believe in any of this heebee-jeebees type stuff (not that that means I’m a fearless daredevil), but when I was younger I most certainly did. I’ve had tarot card readings, medium readings and performed ouija board activities in the past. When I was in sixth or seventh grade, I did a seance with junior Emma Norris and talked to three different spirits. One of them was a distressed woman who told us she was in trouble and said “goodbye” very aggressively. All of this brewhaha may have been caused by a psychological phenomenon where people subconsciously push the mouse of the board around and formulate spirits, or maybe it was real?

Now I’ve come back, revitalized and missing spooky season. It flew by so fast that I’m searching for something to sustain my urge to be thrilled for another 11 months.

But first, I did some research. I browsed  three notable articles with the first about how ouija boards are as presumed just subconscious movements, while the second and third were about the contrary belief that ouija boards are not toys and can cause devastating consequences,such as possession. So while the journalists at Vox soothed my belief that ouija boards aren’t real, the country homestyle mama blogger articles only reassured that not only was it a mistake to play around with the board, but also that there was an imminent threat that I could be taken over by a spirit. One article, in particular, mentioned a powerful demonic spirit named Zozo who has been known for at least 700 years in the spirit lore. Zozo was one of many concerns for the evening of conjuring, especially since we decided to ouija in a cemetery, one of the only places you should never do so (according to the hometown cooking country mama Junebug).

So come Monday, Nov. 11, after four consecutive people said they had too much homework on the three day weekend, we were left with just four conjurers for the ritual: myself, senior Megan Woolard, and juniors Serena Lum and Amy Liu. What a squad.

The night began surprisingly early, with dusk at a mere 4:30-something and a brisk drive to the local Oswego Pioneer Cemetery. We came looking for a one Dr. Linus Pauling, the only man to ever win two separate Nobel Prizes without sharing with someone else, to ask how he was doing. Our plans were foiled when we arrived at the cemetery, pitch black and too dark to find his grave. Nonetheless, we carried on, narrowly avoiding stepping on people’s graves. Finding a spot under a tree, we positioned lanterns and phone flashlights for that delicious upward facing white light, and then oui-ed the ja.

Except, nothing happened. The spooky vibes and the howling wind emanating from the cemetery was, sadly, not enough to conjure enough spirits. The planchette moved around and pointed “no,” a few letters and numbers and circled on top of itself, but otherwise nothing really horrifying took place.

We hypothesized that the spirits were too tired from Veterans Day to come and hang out with a group of teenage girls. Regardless, the legend lives on.

After all that, Megan and I adjourned to Stanford’s to each dine on a 12 ounce prime rib that to which our waiter responded, “Wow, okay.” As well, we feasted on a skillet-baked cookie and discussed our questioning relationships with Jesus after the evening.

Stay spooky, Lakers.