Mireya was worried about my purchasing a Ouija board—whether it was a computer device made by Mac in the 80's or otherwise, she saw it as an instrument for the occult arts. I saw it quaint as a Victorian typewriter.
A frosty silence descended upon us.
We didn’t talk for the rest of the afternoon and by the end of the workday she was nowhere in sight.
It was after nine that evening when I finally found time to relax by the fire with a glass of Shiraz and try out The Gypsy Board.
I placed the smooth, pressed board table on my lap, letting my fingers lightly touch the mouse.
I had some idea of being gently guided by mystic spirits, but found the mouse, augmented by the ball-bearing supported plastic mover, a bit too free and erratic in the way it skittered across the board.
I realized The Oracle was intended for use by two, or even more players, and my using it solo wasn’t going to work.
I elected to use the automatic writing mode, and almost immediately there was a charged atmosphere in the room.
The window curtains began moving as if billowing in a breeze, and yet the windows were closed. The lights began to flicker and the fireplace flames began to dwindle and glow blue.
I felt an icy tingle as the hair on my arms stood up. I wanted to shut off the machine, but before I could react I watched in morbid fascination as the cursor on the screen spelled out a message.
Is anybody there?
I experienced a breathless, bone-chilling frisson as I stared in awe at this communication from some mysterious entity—and then, it hit me. It must be a pre-programmed response.
I had to admit it was very convincing and clever—it had me going for a moment.
I typed back. I am Cole Michaels. Who are you?
I was aware that The Gypsy would record the entire conversation along with the date and times and the entire dialogue would be stored on MacWrite. It would be an interesting conversation piece with which to tease Mir tomorrow at The Bakery.
The machine replied: My name is Adella Constable and I live in Maryland.
I was a bit perturbed at that response. It seemed too detailed and specific to be pre-programmed into the computer memory.
I decided to be flippant. Are you real or a bot? I don’t want to get a virus.
The machine responded immediately quickly typing out a message:
I assure you, Sir, I am real and the only infection to which I succumb is the seasonal grippe. You can talk to me and will not be infected with measles, smallpox or diphtheria—or, should you live on a farm, hoof and mouth disease.
My skin began to crawl. The only time I encountered such stilted prose was in a third year Lit class at university when I was compelled to read Jane Austen.
I felt this was a classical Turing experiment gone wrong and I was confusing a computer with a real person or vice versa.
I elected to keep the tone light and see where it would take me.
I feel I’m no longer in Kansas, I typed jokingly, It's like talking to the wizard behind the curtain.
The cursor typed again.
I see you’re familiar with the writings of L. Frank Baum. I teach children the book and had the opportunity recently to see the musical on Broadway.
I love the Wizard of Oz and I sure wasn’t aware of any Broadway musical.
Are you sure you saw the musical recently on Broadway? I asked, adding, I’m not aware of any recent productions.
The reply was immediate. Of course, I’m sure. It starred Anna Laughlin as Dorothy Gale. It was enchanting.
I decided to Google the production and what I found made my blood freeze.
There was a production of the Wizard on Broadway starring Anna Laughlin, but it ran for 293 performances from January 21, 1903, to December 31, 1904.
This conversation was surreal.
I humoured her. Do you recall the date of the performance you saw, Adella?
Of course—it was New Years Eve, 1904.
That was a long time ago, I joked.
I expected her to respond with levity but she didn’t.
It was not really so long ago. It’s been less than two months. Today is Valentine’s Day.
I was puzzled. Are you saying today’s date is February 14, 1905?
Unless they’ve changed the date of Valentines—Yes!
I began shaking. This was insane—impossible. There was no way this conversational thread could have been pre-programmed into The Mac Ouija.
What the hell was going on?
