What the OUIJA AWOKE

Back in 2005, when Ouija boards were virtually unknown in India, six hostel students in Vadodara decided to create one out of sheer curiosity—and boredom. One winter night, after a failed group study session, the group began sharing ghost stories. That’s when Shekhar, one of the more imaginative students, recalled a strange incident from his school hostel days in Bangalore. Inspired—or perhaps haunted—by that memory, he suggested making their own Ouija board.

Using a rough sheet of paper, pen and a one-rupee coin, Shekhar assembled the board. “Everyone has to keep a finger on the coin, focus on the candlelight and no one should push,” he instructed. 

The plan was simple: call upon a spirit and see what unfolds. 

What happened next would remain etched in their memories.

As they sat in the dim glow of a single candle, fingers gently placed on the coin, a faint movement was felt. Accusations flew—Ravi blamed Vikas and Sunny scolded Ram. But as each one swore they weren’t responsible, the coin began spinning. 

Slowly. 

Deliberately.

 Round and round. 

I am not doing this- all said simultaneously, making it loud and clear. 

An eerie silence fell over the room.

“Shekhar, what is happening,” asked Sunny and Shekhar asked out aloud- “Who is this?”

The coin glided letter to letter: Z A F A R.

The name echoed in the silence. In Gujarat, ‘Zafar’ quickly became ‘Zafar Bhai’. 

But what started as thrill gave way to dread. The coin spun wildly again and the group sensed agitation. Vikas started chanting prayers, while Sunny began panicking. 

Shekhar, trying to control the situation, ended the session abruptly—throwing the coin to the floor and tearing up the board. He was afraid if Sunny became hysterical, the word would reach the warden, leading to serious consequences for playing Ouija in the hostel.

The chain of his thoughts was broken with the sound of the coin which now continued to spin-on the floor-In the dark.

Two students fled the room and didn’t return that night. Others left too one by one, except Ram—since it was his room. Shekhar took the coin of the ground and before leaving, slipped it  back into Ram’s cupboard from where it was taken. He returned to his own room down the corridor.

By 1:30 AM, Ram was alone. At 3:00 AM, he was jolted awake by a metallic sound—the unmistakable clink of a coin spinning inside his iron cupboard. 

Fear rooted him to his bed. In the morning, he searched through the pile of coins but couldn’t identify the one from the previous night.

Over time, the sounds faded. Life returned to normal. 

A month later, the other hostel mates came back—with photos of gods and incense sticks—and set up a small altar in the room. No one dared mention Zafar Bhai again.

Until one night.

Ram knocked on Shekhar’s door for their usual late-night chat. But Shekhar wasn’t his usual self. Visibly disturbed, he hesitated before revealing what had been happening.

“Shekhar, what’s wrong?”

“He has been haunting me,” he whispered. “Zafar Bhai. It’s him.”

He explained how his radio had started acting up—turning on and off randomly. Each time, there was a strange static, followed by a muffled voice. One night, out of desperation, he asked aloud, “Is that you, Zafar Bhai?”

The voice answered— a muffled but unmistakable YES.

Since then, the static, the eerie whispers, and the feeling of being watched only grew stronger. Two decades later, Shekhar still occasionally senses a presence. 

(All names have been changed on request)