YES/GOODBYE
Sunlight poured out the open windows, spilling across the hardwood floor. The air clinked with the distinct sound of metal on metal. The room dimmed lightly as Debbie slid her new curtains in place. The ladder creaked as she stepped down.
“Sky blue was definitely the color for this room!” she exclaimed to herself.
She nearly tripped over the old hallway runner, skipping toward the dining room. Debbie kicked it in defiance, scolding it quietly, knowing it had only a few days left before the new one she bought arrived. She kept it in its place for now, annoyed by all the scratches in the floor that would show if she removed it. Little nicks that made her imagine luxury parties from the fifties, where women’s high heels would scratch the floor as they danced.
Finally turning her attention back to the dining table, she looked through the mountain of boxes and searched for another LIVING ROOM label. She found one that said RANDOM and rolled her eyes. Only her mom would label a box RANDOM because that’s so helpful. Debbie opened it to find an Ouija board sitting right on top. She remembered having it when she was a kid, playing with her friend Lane when they were too young to believe in evil. Then they watched a particular horror movie one Halloween night, and the board got tossed in her closet, never to be seen again.
Until, of course, when it rested right on top of her other things, Debbie gingerly lifted the board and gently set it on the table in a clear space. She rifled through the remaining contents of the box. Near the bottom was the planchette that accompanied the board. Not what she was looking for and freaking her out as childhood fear crept to the surface. She placed the triangle on the board without caring where it landed.
Debbie continued to scour the box, finding a few trinkets she didn’t mind placing in the living room. As she walked around the table, a couple of paces toward the hallway, a loud SLAP smacked the air. Debbie froze in fear, her typical response. When nothing else happened, and her brain started working again, she slowly turned to see the Ouija board on the floor. She could feel her heart racing as she watched the planchette moving across the board all on its own. Tears stung her eyes; blinking became a second thought. She just stared, clutching the random items in her hands.
Finally, she regained her voice and shouted a firm, “Stop!”
The planchette froze before sliding over two corners. YES, then GOODBYE.
Still terrified by the paranormal encounter, Debbie backed out of the room, hitting different walls as she did so. She threw the trinkets onto the couch and snatched her phone from her back pocket. She typed in her password and went to messages before her brain said, we’re being ridiculous. At least, she reasoned, she’d sound silly even to Lane.
Instead, Debbie decided to simply leave the house for a while and come back when she felt safer—or saner—whichever came first.
It was late into the night when she finally did go back into the house. Her boyfriend told her an old wives' tale about looking through the planchette’s glass eye and seeing the ghost trying to communicate with her. They were unofficially broken up for the moment.
When she opened the front door, she didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. The air still smelled of cleaners, that ripe lemon no one ever said they liked. Everything was still in the same spot, except for the board. As she walked around the table, intent on getting rid of it, she saw that it was on the table and not on the floor where she swore she had left it. Debbie began second-guessing herself. She gave the board a wide berth as she walked, grabbing the RANDOM box.
She shook her head, assuring herself that what she saw was real. If the board was back on the table, that could mean this was a friendly ghost. After all, it did do as she said.
Debbie carried the box upstairs into one of the empty rooms she had designated for her office space. While it wasn’t a massive house by any means, it still had more bedrooms than she really needed. An office gave her a nice work space away from her bedroom, she had reasoned, and a guest bedroom wasn’t such a bad idea. But while the guest bedroom already had its furnishings, the office was more like storage. Everything she didn’t know what to do with went in that room.
Her phone chimed as she set the box on the floor. She checked it to see her mom had texted:
Debbie thought about it, and temptation bubbled in her chest. She hadn’t gotten to see her grandma before she died. The thought crossed her mind before that it was a friendly ghost. Plus, Ouija boards were designed to make talking to spirits easier.
She stared down the stairs toward the dining room. She should really just burn the damn thing. Debbie jogged down the stairs with determination bouncing in every step.
Apparently, a little too much. A board snapped in half under her weight, clawing at the skin of her calf. She collapsed backward, finding a step to sit on safely. She pulled her foot away and examined her leg. She was bleeding on the outer side, a little stream flowing down over her heel—which dripped into a hole in the stair that was more cubby-like than she expected.
She ignored the discovery for the moment to go back up the stairs to the bathroom and the first aid kit under the sink.
Damn old wood, she hissed mentally, fucking breaking and ruining everything.
Even though she wasn’t the most flexible woman in the world, she grabbed her foot, lifting it over the lip of the sink to clean the wound. She had to stand on her other foot’s tiptoes in order to make any progress. Debbie washed the area with water and used her phone’s flashlight to check for any splinters that may have worked their way under the skin. Satisfied with the absence, she took out the largest bandage she could find in the first-aid kit, ripping off the paper encasing it. Centering it on the puncture marks, she slapped it into place as her father had when she was little.
Teaches the “boo-boos” who’s boss, he used to say. Even as she cried because his large hand slapping her injury wasn’t exactly gentle.
She grabbed her foot again and, using the sink for support, guided it back down to the ground. She peered over her shoulder like she was in an action movie.
To the invisible camera in her mind, she said, “Now, let’s find out what’s hidden beneath the floorboards.”
With careful steps, Debbie reached the splintered wood. Inside the cubby-like space, she discovered a beeswax-sealed vial of salt, a small piece of glass that oddly resembled a planchette’s eye, and a voodoo doll. Well, that’s what Debbie assumed, seeing the felt-made girl with Xs for eyes and similar Xs portraying the mouth. On the hand of the doll, some of Debbie’s blood had stained the fabric.
Her hands shook as she carefully stood up. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and typed "Catholic churches near me" into the search bar.
Thank you for reading YES/GOODBYE. You may already be aware that I am a proponent of ethical AI use. This story was not aided by AI in the actual writing of the story. However, a lot of time went into preparing such a short story. The length caught me off guard, and while reading through my thread with ChatGPT, I think you’ll understand why. However, as is often the case when I write, I prefer my characters to make rational decisions. Debbie’s choices were accurate to how I might respond to this situation, and it felt right not to push the story any further. But the real reason I want to show you my process is because sometimes what authors do with ChatGPT can be very different than what gets written. There is a balance to respect and you can see how ChatGPT informs my writing more in my Conversations with AI thread.
For a bit of context, the project was based on the idea that bad movies could be rewritten to be better. Brainstorming with ChatGPT gives me an opportunity to put all my ideas down in word-vomit form and it formats it in a readable way for me.
A E Bruce:
Will you create a three act structure outline for the movies I give you?
ChatGPT:
Of course! Give me the titles of the movies you’d like me to work with, and I’ll create clear three-act structure outlines for each one. Do you want them in a simple beat-by-beat breakdown (setup, confrontation, resolution) or in more detail, like with inciting incident, midpoint, climax, etc.?
A E Bruce:
I’m wanting something where I can see the main points where I could rewrite it narratively.
ChatGPT:
Got it — so you’re looking for three-act outlines that emphasize the main turning points (the beats where the story pivots), so you can clearly see how to shift or rewrite them narratively.
Here’s what I can do for each movie you give me:
Three-Act Narrative Rewrite Template
Act I – Setup
World-building & character introductions
Inciting Incident (the event that disrupts the status quo)
First Turning Point (the choice or event that propels the story into Act II)
Act II – Confrontation
Rising Conflict (complications and challenges)
Midpoint (a reversal, revelation, or escalation that raises the stakes)
Second Turning Point (the “darkest moment” that sets up the climax)
Act III – Resolution
Climax (the decisive confrontation or transformation)
Falling Action (aftermath of the climax)
Resolution (how the story and characters settle into their new normal)
Each outline will be tailored to highlight the narrative seams where you could make changes — like shifting who makes a choice, altering a reveal, or restructuring a relationship.
👉 Just drop me the first movie you want me to start with, and I’ll create a detailed three-act outline for it. Do you want me to keep the beats fairly broad (so they’re easy to adapt), or go scene-level specific (so you can see exactly where you’d insert rewrites)?
A E Bruce:
I’m looking at Ouija (2014)
ChatGPT:
Perfect — Ouija (2014) is a clean example to map, since it uses a pretty standard horror three-act structure. I’ll break it down in a way that shows you the key beats and pivot points, so you can see where narrative rewrites could slip in.
Ouija (2014) – Three-Act Structure Outline
Act I – Setup
Opening World: Two childhood friends, Debbie and Laine, are shown playing with a Ouija board as children. This plants the board as a central object and sets up their bond.
Status Quo: As teenagers, Laine is established as the responsible one; Debbie is her close friend. Laine has a boyfriend (Trevor), a younger sister (Sarah), and a group of friends.
Inciting Incident: Debbie plays with the Ouija board alone, breaks the “rules,” and dies by hanging herself — an apparent suicide.
Call to Action: Laine refuses to accept Debbie’s death as suicide. She finds the Ouija board and decides to use it to contact Debbie for answers.
First Turning Point: Laine gathers Sarah, Trevor, Isabelle, and Pete to use the Ouija board. They seemingly connect with Debbie’s spirit, but this summons something else instead. The game is now on.
Act II – Confrontation
Rising Conflict: Strange occurrences plague the group (lights flickering, objects moving, unsettling visions). They realize they’ve unleashed something.
Investigation Phase: Laine digs deeper into the history of the board. She discovers the connection to a girl named Doris Zander, who died tragically in the house where Debbie lived. Doris’s mother stitched her mouth shut after death.
Midpoint (Big Revelation): Laine learns that it wasn’t Debbie they contacted — it was Doris’s spirit, malevolent and seeking freedom. The group has been tricked.
Escalation: One by one, the friends begin to die: Isabelle is killed in a violent bathroom scene, Pete is killed after seeing visions, etc. The group dwindles, tension spikes.
Second Turning Point (Darkest Moment): Laine tries to “help” Doris by untying her spirit’s bindings, believing this will release her. Instead, she unleashes Doris fully. Now the haunting is unstoppable, and Laine feels she caused it.
Act III – Resolution
Climax: Laine, Sarah, and Trevor confront the spirit. Laine realizes Doris was never the victim — it was her mother who bound her for a reason. Laine burns Doris’s body and stitches her mouth shut to stop her.
Falling Action: The house seems calm, the spirit contained, and the survivors think the nightmare is over.
Resolution / Final Beat: The Ouija board remains intact. The cycle isn’t broken; the evil lingers, suggesting it could return.
Why This Structure Works for Rewriting
Here’s where you could narratively shift things if you’re adapting:
Inciting Incident Swap: What if Debbie didn’t die, but went missing? That changes Laine’s motivation from grief to rescue.
Midpoint Twist Variation: Instead of Doris being the villain, you could flip it so the mother is still alive and using the board as her own weapon.
Climax Alteration: Instead of “sewing the mouth shut,” maybe Laine has to take Debbie’s place to contain the spirit. This would raise emotional stakes.
Resolution Rewrite: Instead of the board surviving, what if Laine destroys it — but the haunting follows her anyway, implying the evil is tied to her, not the object?
Would you like me to keep going like this for other movies — a baseline structure + possible narrative rewrite entry points — so you can see both the skeleton and the “remix opportunities”?
A E Bruce:
I find that this movie gets undone by many of the points made in Ouija prequel origin of evil.
ChatGPT:
Yes — you’re absolutely right. Ouija: Origin of Evil (2016) retroactively reframes much of the 2014 film, and in doing so it undermines the logic and impact of the original.
Here’s a breakdown of why the sequel-prequel undoes Ouija (2014) structurally and narratively:
How Origin of Evil Undoes Ouija (2014)
1. Spirit Identity Conflict
2014: The main antagonist is Doris Zander, whose spirit was bound by her mother after death. The group mistakenly frees her and unleashes evil.
2016: We see Doris alive in the 1960s, possessed by a demonic entity after her mother uses the Ouija board during séances. Doris becomes the vessel for something far darker than just a “restless spirit.”
➡️ Undoing Effect: In 2014, Doris is treated as a single ghost who tricks the kids. In 2016, Doris isn’t truly Doris anymore — she’s a host for an ancient demon. This retroactively makes the 2014 board encounters misleading at best, contradictory at worst.
2. The Mother’s Role
2014: Doris’s mother is positioned as someone who silenced Doris’s ghost by sewing her mouth shut — implying a history of supernatural protection.
2016: Alice (the mother) is portrayed as loving, grief-stricken, and tragically misguided, not malicious. Her attempt to use the Ouija board is rooted in loss, not cruelty.
➡️ Undoing Effect: This changes the moral framework. In the prequel, Alice’s tragedy sparks the evil. In the original, she’s reframed as complicit in Doris’s silencing. The two depictions don’t match.
3. Timeline Contradictions
2014: Debbie’s house is haunted specifically by Doris’s ghost, tied to the board and the house itself.
2016: The Zander family tragedy is sealed away in the basement walls, with Sister Lin later blessing the house. Doris’s possession and death in 1967 should’ve locked the evil down more conclusively than what we see in 2014.
➡️ Undoing Effect: By the time Laine and her friends encounter the board, the evil should already be contained. Instead, the sequel-prequel’s ending makes it feel like Doris’s spirit/demon is just hanging around loosely for decades.
4. The Rules of the Board
2014: The “rules” (never play alone, always say goodbye, etc.) are treated as essential supernatural laws.
2016: Those rules are de-emphasized. The danger is less about the etiquette of the game and more about the board being a gateway to demonic possession.
➡️ Undoing Effect: This makes the 2014 deaths feel avoidable and a little trivial. The kids in 2014 are punished for breaking etiquette, whereas the prequel reframes it as inevitable demonic corruption.
5. Tone and Stakes
2014: Plays as a teen horror movie — atmospheric but conventional, focused on hauntings and “ghost rules.”
2016: Has a stronger emotional core (a grieving family, financial desperation, maternal love), plus the possession/demon angle.
➡️ Undoing Effect: The richer emotional stakes of Origin of Evil make the 2014 movie feel shallow and disconnected. Watching in chronological order, you’re left thinking: why would Doris only act like a trickster ghost in 2014, instead of unleashing the full demonic horror we saw in 1967?
Narrative Opportunity for Rewrite
If you’re looking at this narratively, here’s how you could “fix” the continuity:
Unify the Spirit/Demon – Rewrite Ouija (2014) so that the kids are not contacting Doris alone, but the demonic force that first possessed her. Doris is more like a puppet or mask.
Reframe the Mother’s Role – Instead of painting her as sinister, make her the failed protector. Her attempts to stop Doris left behind traces that the 2014 kids misinterpret.
Strengthen the Rules – Instead of the Ouija etiquette rules being the issue, emphasize that the demon adapts to whoever plays. This would align with the escalating power we see in Origin of Evil.
Tie the House Together – Make the 2014 haunting explicitly about the basement’s seal breaking down over time, so the evil resurfaces naturally.
👉 Do you want me to take both movies together and create a single three-act outline that smooths out the contradictions? That way, you’d have a blueprint for a rewritten version where Ouija and Origin of Evil actually function as one coherent story.
A E Bruce:
Yes but first, I want to address the main teenagers because why are they being targeted?
ChatGPT:
Great question. If the teens are just “random victims,” the story feels cheap. Let’s give the entity clear targeting logic that (a) fits Origin of Evil and (b) creates rewrite-ready beats for Act I–III.
Why the teens are targeted (pick 1–2 and you’re golden)
Proximity + Invitation (canonical fix)
Logic: The demon bound in the Zander house can only act on those who use the board in that house and invite it (ask for answers it can exploit).
Payoff: Keeps Debbie/Laine central; the house is the trap, the board is the key.
Rewrite seam: Show Debbie using the board alone in the cold open because she’s worried about breaking up with Pete / a fight with Laine. That personal ask becomes the demon’s hook.
Shared Wound Resonance
Logic: The demon latches onto unresolved grief, shame, or secrets. Each teen “offers” a different kind of wound.
Payoff: Mirrors the prequel’s grief engine and gives everyone a tailored haunting.
Rewrite seam: During the first session, each teen asks the board one personal question (about mom, guilt, future). That’s the binding.
Bloodline/Legacy Thread
Logic: At least one teen is connected to the house’s history (landlord’s descendant, the priest’s family, a former nurse at the asylum). Others become collateral once they participate.
Payoff: Explains why now and raises stakes for Laine or Debbie.
Rewrite seam: Laine finds a deed/old photo: her grandmother sublet the Zanders’ place; Sarah wears a passed-down pendant that belonged to a board sitter from the 60s.
The Mark of the Planchette
Logic: The planchette’s “eye” marks whoever looks through it (a literal tagging). Marked teens can be stalked off-site.
Payoff: Justifies deaths outside the house and gives you visual business (eye motif).
Rewrite seam: First session: everyone takes a turn peeking; quick insert shots show a faint sclera shadow that worsens later.
Broken Seal / Debt Collection
Logic: Someone (Debbie) unintentionally breaks a containment act left after 1967 (rosary in the wall, stitches-in-effigy, Latin sigil). The demon then hunts the entire circle until the “debt” (a voice, a body, a sacrifice) is paid.
Payoff: Aligns with Origin of Evil’s idea that the evil was contained, not cured.
Rewrite seam: Debbie finds a hidden compartment and tosses a brittle rosary; tiny snap → breath of cold → she’s tagged.
Plug-and-play beat map (uses 1 + 2 + 5 for a tight, coherent fix)
Act I – Setup & Targeting
Cold open (Debbie alone): She asks the board if she should tell Laine “the truth.” Planchette twitches; YES. She peeks through the planchette → marked. In cleaning, she breaks a seal object (e.g., rosary tucked in a vent). The demon is now loose but house-bound.
Funeral/after: Laine finds the board. Each friend agrees to “say goodbye properly.”
First session: Everyone asks one personal question = consent + resonance
Laine: “Did Debbie suffer?” (guilt)
Sarah: “Will I get out of here?” (resentment)
Trevor: “Am I good enough for Laine?” (insecurity)
Isabelle: “Will my mom forgive me?” (family shame)
Pete: “Did Debbie love me?” (jealousy)
Each gets a tailored “answer.” They all peek through the planchette → all marked.
Act II – Confrontation & Cull
Investigation reveals the containment: A 1967 priest’s note / Sister’s diary: The thing speaks through mouths; bind the mouth, bless the house, leave a seal.
Midpoint (reversal): They think freeing Doris = mercy. In reality, they break the last seal (they cut stitches on a hidden doll, or remove a linen gag from skull remains). The demon is now house-agnostic—it can follow the marked.
Tailored attacks escalate:
Isabelle: haunted by a whisper that mimics her mother → bathroom kill.
Pete: sees Debbie “confess love,” then the mouth-rip motif.
Trevor: proves himself to Laine, but every reflection shows his mouth sewn shut.
Second turning point (darkest moment): Laine realizes Debbie’s “truth” was never spoken; the demon’s debt is a truth offered freely or a mouth permanently silenced. She believes she caused this.
Act III – Resolution & Rule of Mouth
Climax: In the basement, they reconstruct the binding rite correctly: not cruelty—protection. They must either (a) restore the mouth-binding to the right remains or (b) speak the unspeakable truth Debbie tried to tell (the demon feeds on secrets; confessed truth closes the door).
Preferred fix (emotion + mythology): Laine speaks Debbie’s truth (e.g., Debbie was going to leave the friend group / reveal a betrayal / confess a pregnancy / expose a past séance); the spoken truth + re-sealing the relic stitches the mouth of the demon, not Doris.
Falling action: House quiets; marks fade from the survivors’ eyes.
Resolution (ominous but coherent): The board survives—but powerless while the seal + truth stand. If someone removes the seal or plays seeking lies, it reactivates.
Character-specific hooks (quick install)
Laine (protagonist): Empath-to-a-fault. Her need to know invites the entity. Rewrite beat: she’s the only one who doesn’t peek—until she tries to protect Sarah; that late peek marks her last, explaining why she lasts longest.
Sarah (younger sister): Wants out / autonomy. Demon tempts with visions of her “future self” who escaped—mouth stitched (price of silence).
Trevor (boyfriend): Insecurity arc. Demon impersonates Laine’s voice asking him to “prove it,” leading him into traps. He’s a moral canary: when he tells his truth (he almost left Laine), his mark dims.
Isabelle: Family shame. Demon mimics her mom’s accent/phrasing. Bathroom mirror fog writes “SAY IT.”
Pete: Unresolved romantic triangle with Debbie. Demon weaponizes closure. He dies after accepting a false confession because he chooses comforting lies over truth.
Quick rules you can state on-screen (clean, memorable)
Rule of Invitation: Asking the board a personal question = permission.
Rule of the Eye: Look through the planchette and you’re marked.
Rule of the Seal: Break a relic, the thing walks. Restore it, it sleeps.
Rule of Mouth: Lies feed it. Truth binds it. (Sews the “mouth” of the demon shut.)
These rules make the targeting feel precise (not random), honor Origin of Evil’s mouth/voice motif, and give you clear rewrite beats at every turning point.
Want me to lock one combo in (I suggest 1+2+5) and then draft the unified three-act outline that merges Ouija (2014) with Origin of Evil using these rules?
A E Bruce:
Can you do a 1, 3 and 4 combo
ChatGPT:
Perfect — let’s build the teens’ targeting logic using 1 (Proximity + Invitation), 3 (Bloodline/Legacy), and 4 (Mark of the Planchette). This gives the story a clean supernatural logic while tying the kids personally to the Zander history.
Unified Targeting Logic
Proximity + Invitation: The demon is bound to the Zander house and board. It can’t act unless invited by someone who uses the board inside the house.
Bloodline/Legacy: At least one teen (Laine) is unknowingly linked to the house’s past — her grandmother may have been a tenant or connected to Sister Lin’s blessing. The demon recognizes her lineage and targets her circle.
Mark of the Planchette: Whoever looks through the planchette is tagged. Once tagged, they can be hunted even outside the house.
Together, this makes the demon’s targeting feel inevitable but not random: the teens are bound by blood, choice, and ritual.
Three-Act Outline (Ouija + Origin of Evil Reconciliation)
Act I – Setup
Cold Open (Debbie): Debbie uses the board alone in the Zander house. She asks a personal question (about a secret she’s keeping from Laine). She peeks through the planchette → marked. In cleaning, she accidentally dislodges a rosary/Latin seal hidden in the house. She dies.
Aftermath: Laine is devastated. At the funeral, she learns Debbie wanted to tell her “something important” before she died. Laine’s need to know sets her on the path.
First Session: Laine, Sarah, Trevor, Isabelle, and Pete gather. Each asks the board one personal question = invitation. Each takes a peek through the planchette = marked.
First Turning Point: They believe they’ve reached Debbie — but the board actually connects them to Doris/the demon.
Act II – Confrontation
Early Hauntings: Tailored experiences attack the group (mouth motifs, whispers, reflections).
Bloodline Clue: Laine discovers her grandmother once rented from the Zanders after the 1967 tragedy, and may have helped with Sister Lin’s blessing. This ties Laine’s family to the house, explaining why this group was chosen.
Midpoint Revelation: The entity they freed isn’t Debbie but Doris, possessed by something older. The seal Debbie broke was part of Sister Lin’s blessing — without it, the demon is loose again.
Deaths Escalate: Isabelle is killed after looking through the planchette a second time; Pete dies believing a false vision of Debbie. Trevor tries to protect Laine but grows weaker as his mark deepens.
Second Turning Point (Darkest Moment): Laine tries to “free” Doris’s soul by unbinding her effigy/stitches — but instead, she strengthens the demon’s hold. Now even Sarah is marked for death.
Act III – Resolution
Climax: Laine pieces it together:
The planchette marks mouths as gateways.
The seal’s breaking allowed the demon to slip free.
The bloodline connection means she must be the one to restore the binding.
Truth is the key: the demon feeds on silence and lies. Debbie’s secret (what she never told Laine) was the last seal.
Laine confesses the truth Debbie hid (it could be betrayal, a love triangle, or a generational secret about the house). Speaking it aloud, paired with resealing the relic, stitches the demon’s mouth shut again.
Falling Action: The haunting ends; survivors’ marks fade.
Resolution: The board remains intact, inert for now. But if someone in the Zander line ever lies to the board or looks through the planchette, the seal could break again.
Why This Works
Not random: The demon doesn’t pick teens arbitrarily — it targets this group because (1) Laine’s family is linked to the house’s past, (2) they all invited it by asking questions, and (3) the planchette marked them.
Continuity: This logic honors Origin of Evil (demon possession, Sister Lin’s blessing, mouth motif) while restructuring Ouija (2014) into a more coherent sequel.
Rewrite Opportunities: You can dial up different layers — make Laine’s bloodline more explicit (grandmother = nurse, tenant, or even one of Sister Lin’s charges), change Debbie’s secret, or emphasize the planchette mark visually (darkened scleras, stitched reflections).
Would you like me to sketch character-specific arcs under this combo (Laine, Sarah, Trevor, Isabelle, Pete) so each haunting feels personal to them? That way, the targeting logic becomes not just supernatural but emotionally tailored.
A E Bruce:
What if Doris’ sister’s daughter is Laine? Laine could rent out the house after the sister went to a nursing home. Debbie is the renter and finds the cleansing objects during a deep clean. The serial killer that possessed Doris in Origin, then uses that form of young Doris to fool Debbie into talking (introducing the Ouija board)
ChatGPT:
Ooooh, yes — that’s a strong fix. Making Laine part of the Zander bloodline not only explains why this group is targeted, it also locks the 2014 film neatly to Origin of Evil. Let me sketch how this works with your idea:
Laine as Doris’s Niece – Revised Continuity
Backstory (1967 → 2014)
In Origin of Evil, Doris is possessed by the entity (serial killer + demon). She dies, her mouth is stitched, and Sister Lin blesses the house.
Doris’s older sister (Lina) grows up, leaves the house, and has a child — Laine’s mother. Eventually Lina declines mentally and is placed in a nursing home.
Laine grows up unaware of this family history. When Lina enters care, Laine arranges to rent out the Zander house for extra income. Debbie is her tenant and best friend.
Act I – Setup
Cold Open: Debbie is cleaning the house, finds hidden objects (rosary, stitched effigy, protective wards from Sister Lin). She discards them, unknowingly breaking the seal.
Doris’s Manipulation: Doris, still possessed, manifests as the young innocent girl. She befriends Debbie, pretending to be lonely, and coaxes her into trying the Ouija board “to talk to her family.”
Inciting Incident: Debbie dies after playing alone. Laine, grieving, decides to investigate.
Act II – Confrontation
First Session: Laine gathers her circle (Sarah, Trevor, Isabelle, Pete). They play the Ouija board in the Zander house. Each looks through the planchette → marked.
Hauntings: The entity tailors attacks to each teen, but keeps appearing to Laine as “your aunt Doris” — muddying whether it’s ghost or demon.
Bloodline Reveal: Laine learns from her mother or nursing home records that her grandmother was Lina Zander. This makes her Doris’s niece and directly ties her to the curse.
Midpoint Twist: Doris wasn’t just a victim — she was possessed by a serial killer’s spirit, and the demon uses her body as a mask. The teens never contacted Debbie, but the killer-demon.
Darkest Moment: Laine believes it’s her family’s fault the evil lives on. Her attempt to “help” Doris only strengthens the demon.
Act III – Resolution
Climax: Laine realizes the entity feeds on lies and silence. Debbie’s fatal mistake was believing Doris was just an innocent child. Laine embraces her bloodline truth and restores the cleansing ritual.
She confronts Doris/demon in the basement, reseals the relics Debbie disturbed, and speaks the truth Debbie never got to tell. The demon’s “mouth” is bound shut again.
Falling Action: Survivors recover. The house falls quiet. Doris’s image fades — but not destroyed.
Resolution: Laine closes the board, but the mark of her bloodline lingers. As long as the Zanders live, the entity will wait for another slip.
Why This Works
✅ Motivation clarified: The demon targets this group because Laine is Doris’s blood relative and Debbie broke the seals.
✅ Origin of Evil continuity fixed: Doris isn’t a random ghost — she’s a permanent mask for the serial killer–demon.
✅ Debbie’s role deepened: She’s not just a disposable victim; she’s the bridge character who reawakens the curse by trying to help.
✅ Laine’s arc sharpened: She must accept her family’s cursed history and actively take responsibility to end it.
👉 Question for you: Do you want me to expand this version into a full beat outline (scene-level turning points with Laine-as-Doris’s-niece built in), so you’d have a complete rewrite skeleton that could replace Ouija (2014) while flowing from Origin of Evil?
A E Bruce:
Yes, but the only change being Lina lived in the Zander house until she had to move out. Laine is given the house but she rents it out instead.
ChatGPT:
Perfect — that’s a clean and elegant continuity bridge. We keep Origin of Evil’s events intact, with the one adjustment: Lina (Doris’s sister) remained in the Zander house until old age, then moved to a nursing home. Laine inherits it but chooses to rent it out. Debbie, as the renter, becomes the one to disturb the seals.
Here’s the full beat outline with that single continuity shift built in:
Ouija (2014) – Unified Rewrite with Origin of Evil
(Laine as Doris’s niece, Debbie as renter)
Act I – Setup
Opening (Prologue / Cold Open)
Debbie, renting the old Zander house, is doing a deep clean. She discovers odd relics: a stitched doll, rosary beads, Latin scripture tucked in vents, wax seals along the basement door.
She dismisses them as creepy junk and throws them out. This breaks Sister Lin’s blessing from the 1960s.
That night, Debbie sees a young girl (Doris) in the house. Doris speaks kindly, convincing Debbie she can use the Ouija board “to talk to family.” Debbie plays alone, peeks through the planchette, and is marked. She dies, staged as suicide.
Laine’s Normal World
Laine is introduced: caring, responsible, living nearby with her sister Sarah and boyfriend Trevor. She and Debbie were lifelong best friends.
After Debbie’s death, Laine struggles with grief. At the funeral, she learns Debbie wanted to tell her something important before she died.
Inciting Incident
Laine discovers the Ouija board among Debbie’s belongings. Convinced Debbie left a message, Laine decides to play it — despite the “never play alone” rule.
First Turning Point
Laine gathers Sarah, Trevor, Isabelle, and Pete to help her play in Debbie’s rented house.
They each ask personal questions → invitation.
They each look through the planchette → marked.
A spirit answers, pretending to be Debbie, but it’s actually Doris/demon.
Act II – Confrontation
Early Hauntings
The teens experience escalating supernatural events tailored to their personal fears (mirrors fogging “SAY IT,” stitched-mouth shadows, voices mimicking loved ones).
Doris keeps appearing to Laine as a lonely child, deepening the deception.
Investigation / Bloodline Reveal
Laine visits her grandmother Lina in a nursing home. Lina, fading mentally, mutters warnings about “Doris” and “the mouth that must stay shut.”
Laine pieces it together: Lina is Doris’s sister → making Laine Doris’s niece. The house she inherited is the Zander home. Debbie unknowingly broke sacred seals.
Midpoint Revelation
Laine learns Doris wasn’t just a ghost — she was possessed by a serial killer’s spirit from the asylum beneath the house, plus the demon that amplified it. The child’s form is a mask to lure victims.
The demon has been waiting for the seals to break so it can act again.
Escalation / Deaths
Isabelle is killed after being lured to look through the planchette again.
Pete is tricked into believing Debbie loved him, and his mouth is ripped open.
Trevor tries to protect Laine but grows weaker as his mark worsens.
Second Turning Point (Darkest Moment)
Laine tries to “free” Doris’s spirit, believing she can release her from suffering. Instead, she unravels the last of the protective rites, fully empowering the demon. Sarah is targeted next.
Laine blames herself, believing her bloodline cursed her friends.
Act III – Resolution
Climax
Laine realizes:
Invitation gave the demon permission.
Bloodline ties make her the key to binding it.
Planchette marks mouths as gateways.
Truth seals, silence feeds: the demon thrives on lies and hidden words.
In the basement, Laine reconstructs Sister Lin’s blessing with Sarah’s help. To finish it, she must speak the truth Debbie died with — a painful secret (could be betrayal, pregnancy, or a falling-out Debbie feared would ruin their friendship).
By voicing the truth aloud, Laine denies the demon its power. She reseals the relics, metaphorically “stitching the mouth shut” again. Doris’s apparition screams as the seal locks.
Falling Action
The house goes still. The remaining survivors’ planchette marks fade. Doris’s form vanishes.
Resolution
Laine inherits the house officially, but it remains tainted. She boxes up the Ouija board, refusing to destroy it, knowing her bloodline means she’ll always have to watch over it.
Final sting: Sarah hears faint whispers from the board as the screen cuts to black.
Why This Works
Debbie isn’t random: She’s the renter of the Zander house who disturbed the cleansing wards.
Laine isn’t random: She’s Doris’s niece, unknowingly tied to the haunting by bloodline.
The entity isn’t random: It’s the same serial killer–demon from Origin of Evil, using Doris as a mask.
The rules are unified: Invitation, bloodline, planchette mark, and truth vs silence all tie back to Origin.
Would you like me to now map character-specific haunting arcs (Sarah, Trevor, Isabelle, Pete) under this rewrite — showing how each death/temptation ties into the demon’s use of Doris’s mask? That way every teen’s targeting feels personal instead of generic.
A E Bruce:
Let's start writing our cold open
ChatGPT:
Excellent. Let’s treat this like a screen-novel hybrid opening — cinematic pacing, but written in rich, narrative prose so you can later adapt it to script format or prose fiction.
We’ll open with tone first: dread born from domestic normalcy, a hint of grief beneath quiet light. Here’s a draft of your Cold Open, using your new canon (Debbie as renter, Laine as the owner, Lina as Doris’s sister).
COLD OPEN – “The Cleansing”
INT. ZANDER HOUSE – DAY
Dust floats in amber sunlight. The house breathes old air — the kind that smells faintly of wax and wood polish, as if someone has been trying too hard to forget what happened here.
DEBBIE (early 20s) hums to herself as she moves boxes across the living room floor. A cleaning rag hangs from her back pocket. She’s on her third cup of coffee and third playlist of the morning.
“Almost done, Laine,” she murmurs, though Laine isn’t here. She says it like a promise.
She’s rented this house for six months, a favor to her best friend — the owner — who’s too sentimental to sell the place her grandmother left her. Debbie likes its strange charm. Likes it less today.
She kneels to scrub a stain by the baseboard. The rag comes away streaked black. When she leans closer, she sees that the wood isn’t dirty — it’s sealed.
A thin strip of wax, carved with symbols she doesn’t recognize, runs the length of the wall. Beside it, tucked between two planks, something glints. Debbie pries it loose: a rosary, the beads worn to powder where the crucifix meets the chain.
“Huh. Weird old Catholic stuff.”
She tosses it in the cleaning bucket.
The temperature drops.
A door creaks open down the hall — slow, deliberate. Debbie looks up.
“Hello?”
Silence.
When she checks the hallway, everything is still except for a faint draft seeping from the basement door. The seal across its frame is cracked.
INT. BASEMENT – CONTINUOUS
Debbie switches on her phone flashlight. The beam slices through a fog of dust.
She finds a box wedged behind the furnace, covered in wax residue and cobwebs. Inside: a wooden Ouija board, its planchette clinging to the board like a sleeping eye.
Debbie laughs nervously.
“Classic horror-movie junk, right?”
She sets the box aside, but her gaze lingers on it.
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Debbie pours wine, FaceTimes Laine — voicemail. She looks at the Ouija board on the coffee table, half-daring herself.
“Just a game,” she whispers. “One question.”
She lights a candle. Places her fingertips on the planchette.
“Is anyone here?”
The planchette trembles. Moves.
S–I–S–T–E–R.
Debbie freezes.
“Lina?”
A cold giggle ripples through the air.
“No,” a child’s voice says softly. “I’m Doris.”
Debbie’s phone flickers. The screen shows the FaceTime icon, but Laine’s number has already been disconnected.
“You’re the one renting my house,” the girl’s voice adds. “Would you like to see me?”
The candle sputters out.
Debbie lifts the planchette to her eye — curious, trembling — and peers through the glass.
For a breath, nothing.
Then a pair of eyes stare back — too close, too old.
Debbie gasps. Drops the planchette. The board jerks violently, spelling out: TALK TO ME.
Upstairs, the front door slams on its own.
Debbie screams as the lightbulbs burst — one by one — until only the faint hum of the furnace fills the silence.
FADE TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD: OUIJA
Would you like me to keep the rest of the opening scene sequence going — through Debbie’s death and Laine’s first appearance (the “post–cold open fallout”)? That section would solidify the emotional handoff between victim and protagonist.
A E Bruce:
I'm not looking for a hybrid, I want to write it as a novel
ChatGPT:
Got it — you want it written as pure novel prose, not screenplay format. Perfect. Let’s reset the tone: immersive third-person narration, atmospheric, slow-burn dread, grounded in sensory realism. This version treats Debbie as a character, not a victim of convenience — so her choices feel tragic and human.
Here’s your Cold Open rewritten as a novel opening scene.
Chapter One – The Cleansing
Debbie always liked the Zander house better in daylight.
When the sun came through the front windows, it made the old wallpaper shimmer as if the patterns were breathing. There was a sweetness to the air in the mornings—lemon soap and old wood—that faded as soon as the shadows lengthened.
She’d promised Laine she’d take care of the place. It had been a family house, inherited from Laine’s grandmother, left empty when the old woman was moved to a nursing home. Laine didn’t have the heart to sell it, so Debbie moved in to keep the rooms from collapsing into silence. She told herself she was doing a favor for her best friend, but sometimes, when the pipes moaned at night, she wondered who she was really helping.
It was supposed to be a cleaning day.
Debbie worked methodically from room to room, humming under her breath, dragging sunlight with her wherever she went. Dust clung to her jeans. Her playlist looped something bright and fast—music to drown out the loneliness that came with living among other people’s memories.
By afternoon, her knees ached, but the kitchen and dining room gleamed. Only the living room remained, with its heavy drapes and old furniture that smelled faintly of wax. When she pulled the couch away from the wall, something caught her eye: a fine strip of wax running along the baseboard, scored with tiny symbols. Not random scratches—letters, maybe.
She frowned and rubbed the line with her rag. The wax cracked. Beneath it, something small glinted. She reached down and pried out a string of beads. A rosary. The chain was rusted, the crucifix broken.
“Okay,” she muttered. “That’s weird.”
She set it on the coffee table, planning to ask Laine about it later. Then she noticed another wax line running along the hallway doorframe. And another above the threshold to the basement. Each seal was marked with the same cramped symbols.
The air felt heavier suddenly, thick enough that she had to swallow twice before calling out, “Hello?”
No one answered, of course. Still, she felt watched.
Her phone buzzed with a notification from Laine. A text: Don’t worry about the weird stuff in the house. Grandma had some kind of superstition.
Debbie laughed, more from nerves than amusement. “Figures.”
But she couldn’t leave it alone. Curiosity had always been her worst habit. She tugged at the wax on the basement door until it split like brittle glass. A soft exhale of cold air brushed her face, carrying the scent of dust and something faintly metallic.
There was a box at the foot of the stairs, half-buried beneath an old sheet. Inside lay a wooden board etched with letters, numbers, and the word GOODBYE. A small heart-shaped planchette sat beside it, its glass center dull with grime.
A Ouija board.
Debbie laughed again, uneasy this time. “Of course.”
She carried the box upstairs and set it on the coffee table beside the broken rosary. The board looked hand-carved, maybe older than the house itself. Part of her wanted to shove it back into the basement and pretend she’d never seen it. Another part—smaller, hungrier—wanted to see if it worked.
By nightfall, that smaller part won.
She poured herself a glass of wine, turned on the lamp, and sat cross-legged on the living room floor. The board waited, silent and patient, the planchette resting in the center.
“Just one question,” she whispered.
Her fingertips brushed the wood. It was cold.
“Is anyone here?”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the planchette twitched. Once, twice. Slowly, it slid toward the word YES.
Debbie’s pulse quickened. “Who’s there?”
The board began to move.
S… I… S… T… E… R.
Debbie blinked. “Lina?” she asked softly. She knew the name from Laine’s stories—Laine’s grandmother’s sister.
The candle flame beside her quivered, elongating until it leaned toward the board like it was listening.
A small voice answered from the dark corner of the room.
“No. I’m Doris.”
Debbie turned. No one stood there. Just the open doorway and the faint sound of a child’s laughter echoing from the hall.
Her phone flickered on the couch, FaceTime screen opening on its own. The contact name read Laine, but the call connected to static.
“Doris?” Debbie whispered. “You’re Laine’s aunt, right?”
“I’m your friend,” the voice said. It was close now, a whisper right behind her ear. “You can see me. If you look.”
The planchette scraped against the board. Debbie lifted it, heart thudding, and raised the glass window to her eye.
The world narrowed.
For half a heartbeat, she saw nothing but the reflection of the candle’s flame. Then something blinked back at her—a pair of eyes, far too close, far too old.
She dropped the planchette with a cry. The board slid toward her, the pointer jerking across letters with mechanical precision.
TALK TO ME.
Every light in the room went out.
Debbie’s scream caught in her throat as a shadow unfurled across the ceiling, long-limbed and crawling. The broken rosary rolled from the table and stopped beside her knee, the crucifix facing up.
The voice in the dark giggled again.
“I’ve missed this house.”
The next sound was the shatter of glass, and then there was nothing at all.
Would you like the next section — the transition into Laine’s POV, where she learns of Debbie’s death and starts uncovering the mystery — to follow directly after this? That’s where we can begin seeding the bloodline thread and the emotional hook for Laine’s arc.
A E Bruce:
Let's back up, what should we retitle this story? Let's make several options
ChatGPT:
Love this. Here are grouped title options that fit your rewritten canon (bloodline, house inheritance, the board as a gate, “truth binds/silence feeds,” stitched mouth motif, planchette mark).
Evocative & Literary
The House That Would Not Speak — warns of the mouth/voice motif.
Inheritance of Silence — bloodline + secret-keeping.
What We Don’t Say — truth-vs-silence theme up front.
The Mouth of the House — the home itself becomes the “mouth”/gateway.
Where the Words Won’t Go — lyrical, secret-swallowing vibe.
Mythic / Folkloric
The Stitched Girl — Doris-as-mask and the binding ritual.
The Bound Mouth — ritual name that could recur in sequels.
The Blessing and the Bite — Sister Lin’s blessing vs demonic bite.
The Keeping — implies both caretaking and containment.
The Unsaid — compact, ominous, folkloric ring.
Directly Thematic (Truth vs Silence)
Speak or Be Taken — clean rule-as-title.
Say It Aloud — the binding requires truth spoken.
Only the Spoken Hold — ritual mechanic embedded in title.
Tell Me, and Live — the demon’s taunt turned rule.
Truth Binds — blunt, memorable.
Object/Mechanism Focused (Board/Planchette/Seal)
The Planchette’s Eye — marks the teens; iconic image.
Marked by the Planchette — series-friendly; YA-crossover feel.
The Seal in the Walls — Debbie breaks it; ties to house history.
Letters and Teeth — board letters + mouth/teeth horror.
YES / GOODBYE — board words as title; stark and stylish.
Bloodline & Home
The Zander Inheritance — stakes Laine’s lineage in the ground.
Heir to the House — simple and ominous.
Lina’s House — personal, grounded, quietly chilling.
This Is Our Curse — collective bloodline claim.
Doris’s Room — intimate, specific, creepy.
Punchy Horror (Shelf-Grabbing)
Don’t Look Through — planchette rule as hook.
Say It — imperative; fits cover art typography.
Mouth Shut — brutal, visual, unforgettable.
Open — double-meaning (door/board/gate); minimalist.
Marked — clean, adaptable to a series.
If you want, I can shortlist 5 that best match your target vibe (e.g., literary horror vs. commercial thriller) and mock up jacket copy openings for each.
A E Bruce:
now let's explore the Zander house
ChatGPT:
yesss—let’s make the Zander house a character.
Below is a novelist’s field guide you can write from: tactile details, room-by-room texture, and a few “house rules” that govern how it behaves. Use what you like, toss what you don’t. I keep the Origin of Evil continuity: Sister Lin’s blessing, the stitched-mouth motif, and a basement with old containment relics.
The Zander House
Exterior & Approach
Street presence: A narrow, early-20th-century craftsman with a deep porch and three concrete steps that always look damp, even in August. The porch swing is soundless unless someone lies—a single chain gives a single complaining creak.
Siding & windows: Cedar siding the color of old tea; wavy, original glass panes that make the world outside look slightly waterlogged. At night, the windows reflect the house’s rooms instead of the yard—like the house prefers to look at itself.
Yard: A thin lawn, two parched rosebushes, and a jacaranda that stains the walk purple in spring. The mailbox’s slot is a horizontal “mouth.”
Thresholds (the first tells)
Front door: Heavy oak, hairline cracks filled with candle wax. Someone pressed Latin letters into the wax when it was soft. If you touch them, your finger comes away cold.
Doorbell: A low buzz that lingers a second after you release it, like something under the floor is answering late.
Smell on entry: Lemon oil and starch in the day; iron and attic dust after sundown. The scent of starch fades the first time someone asks the board a personal question.
Ground Floor
Entry & Hall: Runner rug over old pine. Under the runner, the boards are etched with rules—not words, but tiny stitch-marks cut into the wood. Step on them and you’ll hear a muffled thud from below, as if the basement objected.
Living Room:
Light: Afternoon sun lays perfect rectangles that don’t shift as quickly as the clock says they should.
Focal points: A low coffee table (Debbie’s staging area), a cabinet that locks from the outside, and a gilt mirror with foxed edges that “softens” mouths in reflection.
Seals: A wax line along the baseboard behind the couch. Another crossing the mantle’s underside. Old ash collected at both points.
Dining Room: Chairs that never sit flush to the table unless you align them to the north. A ceiling vent breathes colder air when someone lies. Set a glass of water in the center and the surface trembles when a name is spoken.
Kitchen: Tile hairline-cracked like veins. The back door is more solid than the front; Sister Lin’s blessing was strongest here. Above the doorframe, a strip of vellum—flaked but legible—stitched with crimson thread. When the stitch knots face outward, nothing crosses the sill that isn’t invited.
Back Hall & Stair to Basement: The wallpaper has blistered bubbles filled with air that smells like old cotton. Pop one (Debbie does while cleaning) and you hear lace tearing somewhere far away.
Stairs Up & Landing
Stairs: One riser is hollow and holds a dried sprig of rosemary, a matchbook from a long-closed bar, and a marble with a cloudy eye. If you pocket the marble, you dream in someone else’s voice.
Landing: Family photos taken down long ago; square shadows remain. If you hang a new photo, the glass fogs from the inside.
Upstairs Rooms
Lina’s Room (now bare):
Feel: Cleanest air in the house; curtains hand-hemmed with tiny careful stitches.
Relic: A drawer with a hidden false back. Behind it: the last letter Lina wrote before the nursing home, ending midsentence. The ink line trails off as if the pen was lifted by another hand.
Phenomenon: Speak a truth here and the curtain hems lie flat; speak a lie and they pucker.
Doris’s Room (kept closed):
Air: Cold, even in July. Dust threads hang like uncut stitches.
Toy Box: Empty except for a planchette with no board; its glass center is a little cloudy. Looking through it contracts your throat.
Closet: Back panel lifts to a crawlspace the size of a coffin. The wood smells like starch and winter apples.
Bathroom: The mirror is framed in black tile. If you exhale onto it and write a question, three faint letters always appear in return—Y, E, S—unless you ask about how someone died.
The Attic (optional, if you want a final-act reveal)
One dormer, low beams, a trunk with a child’s dress folded and stitched at the mouth (collar) shut with coarse thread. You cut it; the house sighs. You keep it whole; something moves under the trunk at night.
The Basement (heart of the house)
Stairs down: Cooler with each step. The seventh tread is shorter; you misstep and instinctively swallow—as if the house timed the gulp.
Main room: The old furnace hums like a hive. A workbench with salt burns and wax drips—the residue of Sister Lin’s rites. Against one wall, a board of hand-sewn “mouths”: linen strips with X-stitches, each tagged with a date. Several tags are missing—the ones Debbie found while deep-cleaning.
Sealed Door: Painted shut, then wax-seamed. Symbols pressed into the wax (stitch marks, not runes). On the paint, five fingernail crescents as if someone tapped there, patient and polite. If you put your ear to it, you hear fabric pulled through a needle.
The Box: Where Debbie finds the Ouija board. Wax around the lid, rosary tucked beneath. The beads are worn smooth by frantic thumbs. A faint smear of soot on the inside where someone tried to burn it once—and couldn’t.
Hidden Lines & Practical Secrets
Wax seams: Everywhere a wall meets a threshold. Most you won’t notice until you break one and the temperature drops like a decision.
Air returns as “mouths”: The metal grilles whistle words you almost catch. Tape one closed and another starts whispering.
Laundry chute (if you want it): Drops from upstairs bath to a cupboard beside the furnace. Loose buttons collect there—little circles like teeth.
Loose baseboard: Entry hall, left side. Behind it: a brass key (locks the living-room cabinet), a tagged linen strip (“D. Z. / keep shut”), and a folded prayer in careful handwriting.
How the House Behaves (your “physics”)
Truth binds, silence feeds: Speak a hard truth in any room and a draught dies. Leave something unsaid and the house cools your mouth, like a dentist’s rinse.
The planchette’s eye marks: Anyone who looks through it will later find their reflection’s mouth slightly out of sync. In photos taken that week, their smile never quite shuts.
Invitation has geometry: Questions asked at the coffee table travel cleanly to the basement. Questions asked on the stairs echo and multiply. Questions asked in Doris’s room get answered in a child’s voice even when no one’s at the board.
Sister Lin’s grace is directional: It holds strongest along the north–south line. Sit with your back to the north and lies taste metallic; face south and your tongue goes numb when you try to say “goodbye.”
Sound & Weather Palette
Day: Floor creaks settle like an old person easing into honesty. Radios pick up a faint hymn if you tune too far left.
Twilight: The porch swing gives a single creak precisely when the sun drops behind the jacaranda.
Night: The furnace hum syncs with your pulse until it doesn’t. The fridge clicks and you count to three; if it clicks again on two, someone in the house has lied within the hour.
Storms: Water speaks in the walls. If you hold your breath, you can make out the shape of a name.
Touchstones for Scenes (quick prompts)
Debbie pops a wallpaper blister and inhales the starch of an old binding → she dreams of threads pulling through her lips.
Laine finds the linen strips in the basement; each X-stitch loosens when she says Debbie’s name, tightens when she says Doris’s.
Sarah closes every vent in the living room; the house forces one open with a crisp pop—like a mouth unsealing.
Trevor aligns all four dining chairs to true north; the fifth phantom chair scuffs the floor beside him.
If you want, I can turn this into:
a scene-by-scene walk-through where Debbie “discovers” these spaces in Chapter One (novel prose), or
a floor plan sketch with labeled scare/beats (helpful for plot choreography).
Which do you want first: a full Debbie house-tour chapter in prose, or a beat map that marks where key reveals/hauntings happen?
A E Bruce:
tell me what objects Debbie might find in a cubby-like space beneath a stair
ChatGPT:
love a good under-stair cubby. here’s a curated, story-friendly stash for Debbie to discover—each with a quick note on what it does for plot, theme, or scares. mix and match.
Wards & Relics (Sister Lin era)
Beeswax-sealed vial of salt — breaks into damp clumps; reactivates a protection circle if scattered.
Cracked rosary with iron filings — filings were mixed into prayers; iron smells like rain when the demon is near.
Linen strip with X-stitches (“mouth” band) — tag reads “D.Z. / keep shut”; stitches loosen when a lie is told.
Prayer slip on vellum (Latin + phonetics in blue pencil) — shows Sister Lin coached someone who didn’t read Latin.
Small brass bell stuffed with cotton — rings once when the board is opened, even if muffled.
Child/Doris Echoes
Marble with a cloudy “eye” — see movement at the edge of vision; dreams are in a child’s voice.
Hair ribbon stiff with starch — starch scent = binding active; goes sweet-sour when bindings break.
Paper fortune-teller (cootie catcher) — always lands on “YES.” One flap is scribbled “DON’T LOOK.”
Wooden jacks (five) — roll into a perfect pentagon around Debbie’s hand.
Hopscotch slate — numbers smudged by tiny heel-prints in dust.
The House’s Mechanics
Tin of sealing wax nubs (red, brown, dirty white) — half-melted; fingerprints impressed like stitches.
Paraffin-slicked matchbox (“St. Brigid Tavern”) — sulfur smell lingers; one match won’t wet out in water.
Old putty knife with wax build-up — perfect tool to break or repair seals; tempts Debbie to scrape lines.
Killer/Asylum Residue (Origin tie-in)
Parcel-wrapped file card (hospital index) — a patient number, not a name; corner burned.
Bone button in a twist of gauze — warmer than the others; clicks like a tooth against wood.
Handmade garrote (twine + brass washer) — innocuous at first glance; washer etched with a tiny cross.
The Board’s Satellite Pieces
Planchette lens (no frame) — just the glass; cold burns her eyelid if she peers through.
Alphabet strip (A–M only) — looks cut from an old board; stains match the basement box.
Cloth pouch of letter tiles — when spilled, they try to spell LAINE or DEBBIE before going still.
Paper Trail & Secrets
Unsent postcard to “Lina” — “The house is quiet now” … then ink trails off.
Polaroid of the living room — no people, but the mirror shows a stitched oval where a mouth should be.
Index card with “Rules” — 1) Ask together. 2) Don’t look through. 3) Tell the truth after. 4) Seal what you open.
Mundane Turned Ominous
Stick of chalk worn to a nub — draws a circle that won’t scuff away until someone speaks a secret.
Pocket watch stuck at 3:17 — ticks only when someone lies.
Key on faded ribbon — fits the living-room cabinet; lock clicks like a swallowed breath.
Sensory Triggers (great for scene texture)
Tin of starch (label foreign) — when opened, a draft dies; lace smells like winter apples.
Dried rosemary & bay sprig — crumble it and pipes stop groaning for an hour.
Moth-eaten lavender sachet — releases the sound of a needle passing through cloth when squeezed.
Lures & Traps
Child’s marble bag with one marble missing — the missing one shows up under Debbie’s bed that night.
Folded paper mouth (red crayon X-stitch) — unfolds on its own; the Xs tighten if Debbie tries to speak a lie.
Tiny mirror shard — reflects Debbie’s face with the lips slightly out of sync; pocketing it deepens the effect.
Utility for Debbie’s Choices
Small candle stub with braided wick — brighter than it should be; keeps one corner of a room “clean.”
Needle in a cork — meant for “restitching” a mouth band; pricks draw no blood if the binding is properly done.
Brass tag stamped “GOODBYE” — hangs like a key fob; touching it makes the board’s planchette tremble wherever it is.
Want me to turn Debbie’s discovery into a tight novel scene (she reaches under the stair, items tumble out in beats that escalate from quaint → wrong → targeted), or build a prop list with where each item later pays off (midpoint, climax, final sting)?
A E Bruce:
pick a few
ChatGPT:
Here’s a tight, high-impact set that plays well together and pays off later:
Linen strip with X-stitches (“D.Z. / keep shut”)
Use now: It loosens a thread when Debbie speaks a half-truth.
Payoff: In the climax, Laine “restitches” this exact strip to bind the entity.
Beeswax-sealed vial of salt
Use now: Debbie pops the wax (a tiny crack = seal breaks) and sprinkles some; the room warms briefly.
Payoff: Laine later uses the remainder to complete Sister Lin’s protective circle.
Index card with “Rules” (Ask together / Don’t look through / Tell the truth after / Seal what you open)
Use now: Debbie scoffs, pockets it, and ignores rule #2.
Payoff: Becomes Laine’s Rosetta stone for how to end this.
Planchette lens (no frame)
Use now: Debbie curiously lifts it to her eye → she’s marked.
Payoff: Any photo of the marked shows the mouth slightly out of sync.
Parcel-wrapped hospital index card (patient number only)
Use now: A corner’s scorched; Debbie thinks it’s trash.
Payoff: Links directly to the serial killer from Origin of Evil; Laine traces the number later.
Key on a faded ribbon
Use now: Fits the locked living-room cabinet containing older sealing wax and a prayer booklet.
Payoff: Without this key, Laine can’t access the supplies to re-seal.
Chalk nub
Use now: Debbie idly draws a small circle; it won’t smudge until someone speaks a secret.
Payoff: Laine redraws a full circle during the finale; it holds only if truth is spoken.
Brass tag stamped “GOODBYE”
Use now: Cool to the touch; when Debbie brushes it, the board upstairs trembles.
Payoff: In the end, Laine must hang it on the basement door to finalize the binding.
Suggested discovery order (your scene beats)
Debbie reaches into the cubby and first pulls the linen strip (noting the “D.Z.” tag), then the vial of salt (pops the wax).
The Rules card is tucked against the wood; she skims it, shrugs.
Her fingers find the cold planchette lens; she reflexively lifts it to her eye.
A wrapped corner snags her hand: the hospital index card (she pockets it).
The key on ribbon clinks free; she tests it on the living-room cabinet and discovers old wax + booklet (you can reveal those later).
She drops the chalk nub and it rolls a perfect little circle around itself.
Last, the brass GOODBYE tag slides into her palm—right as something upstairs thumps, answering.
If you want, I can write this discovery as a tight novel page with escalating dread (quaint → uncanny → targeted), using these eight props.