The afternoon of my fifth grade graduation I organize the

seance that might sound odd or offbeat but where I come from circles of

children trying to speak to the dead is pretty common phenomenon.

The affinity towards conversing with spirits that Czech kids of the 90s had

is most likely a byproduct of the nation's status as the second most atheist country in the world.

Much like our parents, we would still categorically deny the existence of higher power, but

when it came to life after death, my generation was a bit more loosey-goosey with its beliefs.

The concept of life after death is an attractive prospect for any creature that is aware of its

own mortality, and the idea of ghosts trapped in our realm has its own spooky appeal.

But there's something else that drove crowds of kids to sit in candle at circles when I was growing up.

Sciences gave us a chance to hold girls hands without drawing any unwanted attention.

So, with the hopes of getting some experience before entering my teens and finally feeling

Catherine Novakova's palms, I organised the seance on the afternoon of my fifth grade graduation. I thought that in the basement of my fifth grade graduation.

I thought that in the basement of my Soviet-era apartment block I would find a semblance of

romance, but instead in those musty dark halls I discovered a dark power beyond my comprehension.

There were six of us sitting in the basement preparing for the ritual.

A summer thunderstorm was prefacing its arrival with quiet drizzle on the window

that revealed the feet of the outside world. As me and Catherine drew the

pentagram, the rest of the group intermittently chatted about other senses they had attended and tips and tricks

and now to make a Tamagocchi live forever.

Every time the elevator would grow into life, all conversation would cease. In retrospect, I don't think any adults would have had an issue with us

trying to commune with the dead, but in that moment it felt like we were doing something that would

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