True story: When my mother was pregnant with me, she and her friends got together to do a Ouija board. The story goes that the glass moved around, and then smashed. My mother told everyone that they should finish things up properly, and “put the spirit away,” or some such thing.
They laughed, and ignored her. Over the next few weeks, everybody present at the séance had an accident. My mother fell out of her car while leaning out the door to reverse. Luckily, her hair was styled in a bun, which cushioned the impact.
Did this make me superstitious? Nope. In fact, the first thing I thought when I saw this Ouija Book Cover Case (€66 or $87) from Etsy maker Joe V was “if you’re able to look into the future and communicate with the other side, Mr.V, then why the hell is the screen of your iPad so scratched up? Surely you should have seen that coming?”
Skepticism aside, the leather book cover looks like the perfect Christmas gift for Cult of Mac’s own resident mysticist John Brownlee aka. Dr.Crypt. Or should I say “pagan midwinter fertility-festival gift”? The hefty tome is etched with the alphabet, numbers from one to zero and — of course — the words “yes” and “no.” Thus equipped, our hard-working editor will be able to check up on us minions without even entering our Cult of Mac chatroom.
“Will Charlie finally write a serious post?” he will chant in monotone, as the empty diet Coke can moves all by itself over to “no,” yet again.
“Whose post will get the most page views next week?” he will continue, and the can will scrape drily across the leather towards the letter “B.” Then, as it slides down and right towards the “U,” Dr. Crypt will hurl the can aside in petulant frustration. “Damn you, Buster Heine,” he’ll shout, “Damn you and your interesting, reader-friendly posts!”
Then, as Mr. Brownlee’s harsh words float down onto the aging cowskin, something happens on the other side of the country. As Buster picks up his morning beverage and relaxes with his iPad to read the news, the air suddenly grows chill, and the screen doors start to flap and slam in the rising breeze. Buster looks up to see the livid, contorted face of his editor swirling in the mists now whipping in through the open windows. He starts, and the iPad slips from his hands, cracking the screen in one corner.
If only he’d had it in a sturdy, witchcraft-proof case.
