Keeping track of the occult mishaps of unsuspecting college students can be a full time job, even if its more of a personal mission than any sort of official post. Unfortunately, there are times of the year when a little 'mishap' can lead to far bigger problems. One of those times approaches...

Part 1 of my contribution to this season's Samhain competition.

Part 1

As with most college parties; the house was mainly filled with loudly talking, hormonally charged, young adults in as little clothing as physique and blood alcohol level permitted. The furniture was cheap, mostly second or third hand IKEA by way of a couple Thrift shops, and heavily worn. Not a single piece matched another in color or style. The carpets looked to have been vacuumed sometime recently, which might actually have been more preparation than half the parties in town that weekend, but three of the four bedrooms looked to be in a state of chaos that suggested that someone had planned to leave those doors closed and the party contained to other parts of the house. A slight haze of smoke filtered through from the few students who couldn't do without their cigarettes, even though the rule was 'no smoking inside.' There was also a fairly heavy smell of incense, which could have been responsible for the rest. A slightly too sweet smell also suggested that someone was indulging in something more recreational than legal. The expected pounding loud music from two contrasting play-lists filled the house, classical rock riffs filling the main floor while a repetitive dance club throbbing of bass could be felt through the floor from the rooms below.

In the lone clean and somewhat uncrowded bedroom, a spiky haired pixy-ish acting major dressed in traditional Rom garb was doing Tarot readings for a guy I knew vaguely from a chem lab we'd shared in our freshman year and his date for the evening. The pair of them were done up in Prohibition era outfits, most of which even looked decently period. I'd heard good things about her readings from someone I trusted, that she was insightful if not truly gifted with the Sight. There really was no need for me to find someone to read my cards, of course; I was perfectly capable of doing my own readings with cards, runes, stars, or fractals. However, what she saw when reading me would give me a lot of insight into her abilities... and whether she might need to be distracted or helped. If a chance arrived, I would arrange to be read tonight. With any fortune, it would be the only excitement this Samhain.

Unfortunately, as I looked the rest of the costumes were clearly store-bought or poorly hand made... a combination of Thrift shop and Walmart pieces. My own fell into that category; though to be fair, my intent was far more practical than authentic. It was geek-gamer chic. The basic shape of it was the habit and scapula of a Benedictine monk; but instead of a rope girdle, it was held in place by a combination of leather belt and baldric that held sword and dagger where they would be freely accessible and yet out of the way of the 7 foot gnarled wooden staff I was currently leaning on as I studied my surroundings. The blades were not the slim rapier and main gauche combination that would be more often carried in that fashion, but they did convey a certain elegance that contradicted the sixth century style of the clothing. In place of the traditional cross, three separate stones hung caged in silver mesh and tied by soft leather thongs around my neck. In a hand rigged sheath on my right leg, over the sweats that kept the wool of the habit from driving me batty, were slim wands of rowan, ash, hazel and oak.

If it sounds like something out of a bad supernatural romance novel, you're probably closer to the truth than you know. It's more along the lines of a Jim Butcher wizard's council Warden. Without the convenience of a council's direction, organization, or potential for backup if things go south. In fact, my Warden-ship, if you will; was more self-assumed than assigned by any esoteric organization. I did what I believed was necessary to keep things running sanely for those who didn't have the ability to look out for themselves. Only a few of us have a natural ability, gift or curse, to see or influence that part of the world; but that didn't mean that the occult world could only affect us few. You don't have to believe in or even know of the duwende to anger them and become the target of their mischief in your house. Can't ever find things you know you always put down in the same place, always blowing a fuse even though your landlord says there's nothing wrong with the circuit? You've upset your household spirits, appease them and you'll find that your home life will go much smoother. Whether that involves leaving a bowl of milk on the doorstep for the fey, offer apologies to the duwende, or ensure that your home is built with proper feng shui; depends entirely on how you want to approach the situation.

Any way you look at it, though, I was doing something of a patrol of the parties around the college hoping to head off any trouble before it really got under way. You would think that with a small city to cover and the number of people doing stupid stuff on a regular basis, that it would be an entirely 'reactive' job, cleaning up messes after they'd already happened. The likelihood of being in the right place at the right time to prevent one of these disasters is so small as to make math majors chortle as they work out the probability. But no... I'm actually conveniently given a front row seat to most of them... do you believe in coincidence? I don't.

Speaking of... tonight's trouble waiting to happen was a Ouija board. It wasn't one of those cheap Hasbro numbers, either. The board was an old, well-oiled wood, so dark it was almost black. Scattered across its surface were the letters and numbers, the words yes and no, and a few glyphs that looked Egyptian. These were engraved into the surface and then filled will some sort of lacquer in some fashion that made them much lighter than the surrounding wood without actually using some other material to fill them. The planchette itself looked to be ivory or maybe bone. And old. Old enough that board and planchette probably predated the use of the Ouija board by that term, when it had simply been called planchette writing. The current users of the board were all male and had reached the point where more accusations about who is moving the planchette than writing is going on. Predictably, tempers peaked and one of four stormed away from the table. The others pulled back, taking drinks from nearby glasses, and then called for someone else to join them before returning to what they were doing. As the fourth hand joined them, they began from the beginning again; running the planchette in the counter-clockwise circles used for Opening the board to the other world.

Ritual is a funny thing. It's purpose is to ease the path between two points. When you can't see clearly through a storm, trying to find a place you've never been before might seem to be a nigh impossible task. But if someone has gone before you, paved a road and provided clearly lit signposts for you to follow, and handrails along the dangerous parts to keep you from straying off that road; it suddenly seems a lot more feasible. That's how ritual works. Someone who can see how to accomplish the task has created a pathway to follow that even those who cannot see, who cannot feel the world moving around them or hear the songs of life all around us, can follow and manipulate it in some way. And as more people use a ritual, that path becomes more well worn until even the skeptic can create an impact. Opening a Ouija board is one such ritual. An Opening is meant to be followed by a Closing.

This board had clearly been Opened far more often than it had been Closed this evening. It hadn't yet become an open doorway to the Other quite yet, but on a night like this when the Veil was already as thin as it was? It was only a measure of luck that nothing had torn through already. And while I'm sure none of the guys at the table had noticed, the planchette had slowly continued moving toward no while no one had their hands on it when the previous user had left the group.

It wasn't the first time I'd run into problems with Ouija boards. But usually, it was easier to deal with them. Accidentally spilling drinks on the board usually gave you aggressively wipe it off, conveniently using a clockwise rotation to do so. It also made the board slightly sticky and the cardboard surface to ripple, which discouraged further use. If that wasn't enough to stop them, it was enough to get me close to the board to lock it shut so no casual use of the usual ritual had any hope of opening a doorway. I browsed the board game shelves at all the local toy stores regularly, unobtrusively locking boards before they ever even reached an owner who might use them without caution. I couldn't bring myself to spill a drink on this board. Even just seeing full glasses near it made me cringe at the risk to what had to be a priceless family heirloom. Was it possible that the owner didn't even realize how rare, how unique this thing was? No... the only way to be certain was to join the group and resist any contact that was made and then ensure that when the board was Closed again, that it was Closed tightly enough that it wouldn't accidentally be a risk again.

I was about to join the group at the table, to feign interest in what they were doing, and thus work my way into being one of the users when a delicately fingered hand caught my arm.

"Hi! I wondered" interrupted the lyrical voice of the actress I had observed earlier, "if you would like a Tarot reading?"

I shifted so I could look at her more directly. She looked... earnest. Somewhere between eager and anxious. I took another look back at the Ouija board and the group using it. Something was there, touching the planchette from the Other side... but no more than it should with proper usage of the board. And more than likely, as long as it remained in contact like that; the board wouldn't attract anything else. Then when they finished, it would be Closed. And I wouldn't...

"Sir Monk?" she interrupted again.

"I'm sorry... it's Bill," I apologized, giving her my full attention. She was as I had remembered her, fairly typical of the college actress: a petite ingenue, looking both innocent and wicked at the same time. The hair also said sassy while keeping her clearly feminine. I'd also her one or two rumors about her sexuality that suggested that while she might play the flirt with me to get what she wanted; it would only be play. Not that there was any guarantee that the rumors were true. "If you don't mind my asking... I'm sure you have lots of people wanting readings, probably more than you have time for. I admit I planned to ask too at some point, but why come looking for me?"

"Sophie," she introduced herself, reaching for my hand. I let go of the staff to take her hand, turning her handshake into a more chivalrous exchange. The kiss the merest brush of my lips across her knuckles, not the slobbering nonsense performed by the modern knight in anachronistic armor. I gave her hand back, too, unlike those who use that initial contact to claim permanent possession of the limb of a member of the opposite sex. She paid none of it any mind at all, her attention was completely on the staff at my side. "How... how does it stay like that?"

I put my hand back on the staff, which had remained perfectly steady without my support.

"It's balanced," I deadpanned.

"Oh... it has so many knots and twists to it... it doesn't look like it could be," she added, still focused on the staff.

You'd think after all these years, I'd know better than to do something so stupid but... I couldn't resist, "It's like a Weeble." She looked at me with confusion. "You know... Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down." I took my hand off the staff again and nodded towards it, encouraging her.

She reached out, touching it lightly, which caused it to wobble a little... then tried again a bit harder, causing it to sway almost thirty degrees off vertical. It swung like the striker on a bell, upside down, until it balanced out again. Fortunately, there weren't any engineering students in the immediate vicinity because it might have broken someone.

"That's really cool... how does it do it? Is it weighted? Is it..."

"It's magick," I explained, once again in a deadpan.

She looked at me with a smirk, clearly not believing that explanation. Then she took a second look at my face, suddenly unsure if I actually might have meant what I'd said. I put my hand back on the staff, forestalling her next attempt to test the staff's Weeble-ness. An experiment that would have had it bouncing off the floor in clear violation of entirely too many rules of physics. She pouted at me as I reminded her, "I have admitted to wishing a reading, but you haven't answered my question yet."

"Oh... well, I actually... I've wanted to do a reading for you for a while now," she managed to get out, suddenly shy and uncertain. Or at least acting as such.

"I'm not sure whether to be intrigued... or worried that you're stalking me," I told her with a grin pulling at my lips.

"A little of both, probably," she agreed, relaxing a little. "I suppose I could tell you, it's magic."

"You could," I nodded. "I might even believe it. Except your reaction to my staff suggests that you don't really believe in magick."

Her smile grew tight.

"So why don't you tell me the real reason?"

She looked at me again, carefully like she had when she'd reconsidered my comment about the staff. After a moment, she seemed to find whatever answer she was looking for and gestured for me to follow her into the bedroom where she had been doing the reading earlier. A shiver ran down my spine, causing me to hesitate; and I quickly looked around the room again. The Ouija board was still under control, nothing especially unusual was going on with the rest of the party that I had seen. I shrugged, hoping my personal guardians were watching out for me; and then I followed her.