The Mystical Talking Board

By Tidia & MOG, October 2006

Words: 1.322

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 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 polite.

“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 aggravation.

“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 letter.

“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 counter.

“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 necessary.

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. . . ."



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