The words they told me that night replayed in my mind over and over again. “It’s just Ouija board Margaret, what are you so afraid of?” I never stop sweating. I can’t think without hearing the voices. She’s inside of me now. The child who burned in the fire of the abandoned house we all sat in that night. She speaks through me now. The girl has not yet told me her name but each night she wakes me, pulling me sending me hovering above my bed and laughs. Even my own screams don’t over power the giggles of the poor child. No one believes me. They’ve all heard rumors, ‘Margaret is just crazy’, and ‘she begs for attention ’, ‘such a drama queen.’ No one listens to me. The nameless girl is trapped inside of me and the only way to get her out is to revisit the home where she passed. But I can’t do it alone. Some odd nights later here we are again, in the same positions, at the same home, with the same Ouija board. I begin talking to the girl, demanding her to leave. Everyone is laughing. Until it happens. I hovered into the air, higher than I ever had before. My back arched and jaw locked open. Screams and a high pitched voice “get me out of here” were coming through my body, but it isn’t me talking. Everyone went silent and I dropped heavily to the ground. I’m paralyzed, I can’t speak nor move on my own. My body flinches once more, and then she rose. Leaving my body is the girl, oddly familiar. With long brown curly hair, hazel eyes and tan skin stood in front of me. With a name tag on her chest from the first day of kindergarten, it read “Margaret”. And that’s when I realized, the little girl trapped inside myself was me. Beaten, battered and dead from the fire of 2011 that killed my family and my childhood.