I have been in a constant state of unrest for longer than most have had journeys around the sun. My plane is not a place for the living to experience. Because of my murderous decisions in life that made me a widow, I have been sentenced here to an eternity of sadness, fear, and horror that I cannot even begin to put into words.
The first time I was summoned back to the living plane was by a woman named Pearl Curran on June 22, 1913. Eager to leave my cold void, I let her chants pull me into the cold light of the world I had left a few weeks earlier. Naively thinking that I might be able to atone for my earthly sins, I took time to compose myself to make sure I wasn’t frightful or malicious. I listened to the questions called out by Mrs. Curran and her guests, carefully spelling out my answers on the heavy wooden spirit board with carved letters. Perhaps if I had chosen a different approach, Mrs. Curran would have left me alone.
Instead, for the next several decades, Mrs. Curran called to me over and over, the pull of her chants growing stronger each time, until I was unable to resist them. She nagged me with menial, asinine questions. I often wondered if she was asking others the same questions, looking for contradiction or confirmation, but I would never know. There are many of us in my void, but we walk alone. We inhabit the same space but cannot see or communicate with each other because of our damnation. We are many, but we are alone.
Over time I became the jester for Mrs. Curran’s dinner parties, a novelty that eventually became a source of income for her as she took the hard earned money from fools searching for answers from the great beyond. I tried unleashing small acts of anger through her spirit board, but it only seemed to entertain them more. If only these mortals knew what waited for them on the other side.
Once Ms. Curran passed in 1937, I was finally at rest, no longer the butt of jokes or the clown to provide entertainment. Now she is here with me, damned for her actions. I know now there is no forgiveness, no redemption. Our souls are caught in this void for eternity, my Christian name fitting for this unending void.
But then in October of 2021, I felt the pull. This time it was accompanied by the jovial banter of a small group, clear that they were unprepared for what they were about to summon. Then, a single knock upon the table drew a silence to their laughter. Then four knocks, followed by four knocks, then four more knocks, and then one last set of four knocks.
Soon their chanting began washing over me. With each passing verse, the chorus of their voices created a pull that became too intense to ignore. I had no choice but to surrender, and in the blink of an eye, my void transformed into a dark room. Dimly lit with bright red flooring that looked soft and velvety, the natural wood of the walls created an even darker ambiance. But even an inviting room could become a prison and I wouldn’t let that happen again. I knew what I had to do.
I realized that time had continued to pass without me. The three men, with hair as long women, and three women, exposing more cleavage than I would have considered doing in the privacy of my dressing room, sat around a heavy oak table, holding hands, eyes tightly closed. Although this time the spirit board was cheap looking with printed letters and a plastic marker.
I circled the table like Goldilocks absorbing the various forms of energy—curiosity, fear, excitement—seeing which would serve my purpose. When I came to the young woman dressed all in black with images that looked permanently drawn upon her arms, her red ruby lips and eyes of a curious and fearless feline beckoned me. She was the master of this ceremony, unknowingly inviting her guests to an evening they would never forget.
This time they would be my jesters, my clowns, my entertainment. Their foolish chants called me here, so why not give them what they came for. My chosen vessel naively opened her mind to me and I slipped easily inside. I felt her screams as I pushed her aside, stretching her fingers out wide, remembering how good it felt to be whole again. Twisting her head as if it was my own, I began my torment of these naïve souls. I channeled sounds from the other plane, the groans of death herself, watching as their eyes widened in fear. My excitement reached back to the other plane, pulling in others. Soon the cackling of small, devilish, and mischievous children surrounded the group, they giggled “I am right behind you” causing frantic glances only to find the room empty.
The raised bumps on their arms, the sweat across their brows, and their tangible fear fueled me, and fulfilled me in a way I had never felt before. I could see one of them looking towards the door, preparing to flee. Using my new body’s voice, oh it felt so good to talk again, I told them of all the evils that were in store for them, watching their skin pale as they heard of their fates, the different, bloody painful ways they would each be murdered.
Soon I could sense that my time on this plane was nearly up. Something was pulling me back towards the other plane. I didn’t want to leave them as I was ecstatic over the horror, the fear, the torment I was bringing to these people. After all, they called me, did they not?
Quickly, in the most sinister of whispers, I told my vessel her fate, knowing that there would be room in the void for another murderous soul. Then I was back in the other plane, once again alone. But for the first time since residing here, I felt in control, and the taste now cannot be quenched.
So if you ever find yourself sitting around a spirit board and wanting to expand yourself into the beings of the other realm, please feel free to call upon me, and I will bring you a message that you will never forget for as long as you are in the plane of the living.
My name? My name is Patience Worth. Just knock four times, four times…
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