Mystical Talking Board
By Tidia & MOG, October 2006
Authors’ Notes: This is a missing
scene to In My Time Of Dying. Okay, we don’t think we were the only
members of the viewing audience who a) read that box when Sam pulled it
out of the bag and said ‘Mystical Talking Board? Who calls it that?’
and b) thought ‘Why the heck is it just in an unmarked, brown paper
bag?’ Here’s our solution. And yeah, we know it’s supposed to be
pronounced ‘wee-jah’, but we took comedic license.
“No, not squeegee,” Sam pointedly corrected,
“wee-gee. A Ouija Board.”
The young hunter tried to control his
exasperation as he spoke with the blue-smocked man behind the customer
service desk. The Wal-Mart store greeter, who’d been as equally
oblivious as the current employee, had quickly directed Sam to the
service desk. Sam hated the feeling of wasting time. He’d wasted enough
already and was desperate to find out if the presence he’d felt at the
hospital really was Dean.
“Ouija Board?” The older man ran a
hand over his buzz cut hair and kept his voice low, glancing around to
see who might be in the area.
“You know…,” Sam prompted, “it’s
a...a board.” He moved his hands in the air, indicating the
proportions. “With letters and numbers on it…comes with a planchette.”
The word elicited a blank stare.
“A pointer-thing,” Sam explained. He
held one hand up as if shaking a computer mouse, and struggled to keep
his frustration in check. “It’s a kid’s game, communicating with
spirits...you know, the talk-to-the-dead game.”
“A game for kids to talk to the
dead?” The man’s expression spoke volumes and Sam decided to quit being
“Yeah,” he bluntly answered, “it’s a
game, like Candyland. Do you carry it?”
“Sir, this store does not sell
anything like that,” the employee said in a hushed tone.
Sam bent his head lower to meet the
man’s height, straining to hear. The employee, however, took a step
back. Sam’s eye fell to his own cut hands and stained shirt. Then he
remembered his bruised face and the fact that he hadn’t showered in
over forty-eight hours. He looked like a crazy person.
Sam cleared his throat and lowered
his voice, hoping to sound rational. “Okay, can you call another
Wal-Mart?” He had the taxi waiting outside and didn’t need any added
“Uhh, no, sir.” The man shifted his
eyes. “Wal-Mart as a company does not get involved in the occult….”
“The occult?” Sam blurted. His day
had officially reached the level of ‘farce’ on the Winchester
Absurd-o-Meter. His brother was dying, all he wanted was a freaking
Parker Brothers board game, and this man was not being helpful.
“This is Wal-Mart,” Sam replied. “You
carry everything. Besides, it’s a game. No one believes in that stuff.”
“Exactly.” The man made a small hand
gesture, motioning for Sam to lower his voice. “And company policy is
that we do not promote anything that could, or could not, be possibly
construed as detrimental, harmful or otherwise unseemly.”
“But you carry guns?”
“That’s in the Constitution, sir.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam
threw up his hands in exasperation, half-tempted to wrap them around
the throat of the blue-smocked man. As soon as Dean was better, and
they were far away from this town, he planned to write a complaint
“No, sir.” The man stepped to the
side, attempting to move out of Sam’s direct line of sight.
Sam matched the clerk’s movement,
stepping right to pressure him to provide further assistance. This was
a store that had greeters, for Pete’s sake, the least they could do was
point in the right direction after aggravating him. “Any suggestions?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry. Wal-Mart focuses
on the ‘Happy’ in Happy Halloween.”
“This isn’t about Halloween.” Sam
hated the holiday. He hated the last week. He tried not to think about
the fact that he’d lost Jess a year ago at this same time, and now he
was at risk of losing Dean. He uncurled his fists and the scabs cracked
on his damaged hand “Look, it’s important.”
The desk phone rang and the man
smiled with insincere apology. He picked up the receiver and covered
the mouthpiece, dismissing Sam with a mumble. “Well, good luck.”
Sam spun, turning his back on the
Wal-Mart employee. He was tired, but the quest for the Ouija Board -
the possibility of communicating with Dean - propelled him forward.
He fished his cell phone from his
pocket as he passed through the automatic doors. Scrolling through his
contact list, he stopped on a familiar number and hit the call button.
As the phone rang, he held up a finger to the taxi driver, asking him
for just one more minute.
“Hey, Bobby…No change. But no news is
good news, right?...Hey, listen, I’m hoping you can help me. I’m
looking for a Ouija Board.” He rolled his eyes at the other hunter’s
answer. “Already tried, I guess they don’thave everything.”
Thirty seconds later, the taxi driver
was unfazed when Sam told him the name of their next stop - The G-Spot.
Sam couldn’t believe he was walking
into an adult ‘novelty’ store. Having no real desire to wander through
the shop, Sam stopped at the cashier's desk near the door. “Hi, do you
carry Ouija Boards?”
The college-aged girl had dark purple
hair that fell past her shoulders. Heavy black eyeliner offset pale
skin, and while the nose ring was subtle, when she opened her mouth,
Sam could see past heavily-glossed, purple-colored lips to the
iridescent blue stud in her tongue. “In the back,” she replied, waving
him toward a distant shelf.
He tried not to get distracted, but
it was difficult. He didn’t know what some of the items were, let alone
how they were meant to be used. A few looked painful. He hoped Dean
would appreciate this. A bittersweet smile tinged his lips - hell, of
course he would. He would be proud that Sam stepped into the store.
Sam felt odd; even in the outlandish
store, the Ouija Board was in the back, hidden like contraband. He saw
the boxes on a higher shelf, an easy reach with his height. Pulling one
down, he looked at the graphics on the lid.
“Mystical Talking Board,” the young
hunter read aloud, surprised at the generic title. He never considered
that the Ouija Board might have another name. Tucking it under his arm,
he walked straight to the desk to pay.
The salesgirl eyed him with
skepticism. “You really want this?”
“Yes,” Sam retorted. He could not
believe he was getting attitude from a clerk at a sex shop.
“Weird,” she commented, shaking her
head as she scanned it in.
Sam glanced at the total on the
register’s digital display, then dropped fifteen dollars onto the
“Do you want a bag?”
Sam stared at the girl for a few
seconds, convinced she was joking. However, her wary expression
indicated she was reluctant to handle the box any more than was
He bit out a reply. “Yes. Please.”
The clerk slipped the game into one
of the store’s unmarked bags, and Sam gratefully headed back out to the
waiting taxi. Now he really felt embarrassed - carrying a large brown
paper bag from a place called the G-Spot.
He dropped into the backseat of the
cab, directed the driver back to the hospital. Closing his eyes, he let
his head fall back against the worn vinyl backrest. His eyes popped
open a second later.
“How the hell did
Bobby know what The G-Spot carried?”
He tried to dismiss the thought,
willing the vehicle to go faster.
Sam walked into Dean's room. He’d
become adept at ignoring the humming machines. Now he tried to ignore
the helpless feeling that had clung to him since being in the hospital.
He swallowed, wanting to reach out and touch his brother, but scared
that this pale, defenseless Dean would be cold and vacant.
With reluctance, he pulled the
‘Mystical Talking Board’ from the brown paper bag. A small smile curved
his lips, partially from the foolish feeling and partially from sensing
that a conscious part of his brother was in the room with him. “Dean,
don’t make fun of me. . . ."
Uploaded by Majs