jml297

The Blue Moon Block party was a first for the residents of Orana Court. Three months ago, when Noreen was still alive, gatherings of more than two residents in the courtyard garden at the back of the block were frowned upon. Noreen had been one of the original residents, and had seen many tenants come and go. And it wasn’t long before new residents worked out it was easier to put up with Noreen’s directives on what was acceptable at Orana Court than push against the boundaries. Noreen was president of the strata association and could make life uncomfortable in different ways.

But Noreen had died from a ruptured brain aneurysm. It was sad, of course, but it didn’t take long for rumours to spread about the cause. Had someone left their washing on the clothesline overnight? Or forgotten to separate their recycling? It was minor irritations such as these which had seemed to tip Noreen into a fury.

Within weeks, a relaxed vibe had filled the place. People gathered in the corridors, chatted without fear of being hushed, and no longer moved around with eyes lowered as if needing to scuttle through the building. Then flyers appeared in everyone’s letterbox, inviting all residents to a Blue Moon Block party. It was to be held in the courtyard on Friday 13 May.

It was a mild night, and by dusk everyone had arrived. A couple of BBQs had appeared and there was the heady scent of meat cooking and people gathered at small tables which had been scattered around the space with snacks and cold drinks in buckets filled with ice. Someone had brought a speaker system, and a deep bass beat enticed even the most awkward residents to tap their feet.

After a hearty meal and some impromptu toasts to celebrate the new era of enjoyable living at Orana Court, most of the residents wandered back to their units. But a handful stayed, drinking spirits and sharing stories. As midnight approached, Dawn from Unit 6 pulled out an ouija board that she’d tucked into the bag beside her drink esky.

Much laughter and silliness followed as the small group gathered around the table, clear now except for the board. An empty shot glass was commandeered, and they sat and swayed as Dawn called upon the spirits and their wisdom. The giggles faded away as the glass began to move. It was slow at first, then it moved with greater speed and accuracy.

Dawn’s voice, usually light and warm, became brittle and low as she sounded out the words that were forming as her hand was guided in quick, angry movements across the board.

‘Inconsiderate ruffians, making noise, no respect for others.’

The small group looked around at each other, and the murmurs began to get louder.

‘You don’t think?’

‘Surely it can’t be?’

‘I mean, she’s dead. But she can’t be here?’

The glass moved again. ‘Clean up this mess. Quietly. And get to bed.’

And so they did.

This piece was written to a prompt on the Writer’s Digest website. We’ve Been Trying to Reach You: someone unexpected (and unwanted) is communicating through the Ouija board.

Photo: circle of friends