Yesterday, my Instagram reel showed Mars the baby hippo refusing to leave his pond, and a new platform for AI Fortune telling.

So I asked AI: “Will baby Mars leave his pond?” Then I was prompted to enter my credit card for the reply. Um, I can wait to find out about Mars the hippo.

AI as a fortune teller? Weird? Maybe. From oracles of old to a beta app predicting your future, humans have always been chasing signs of what’s coming next.

Over 3,000 years ago, the Chinese used the I Ching, 64 hexagrams of broken and unbroken lines to divine fate. By casting coins or yarrow sticks, seekers sought wisdom on love, war and the gray in between. Even emperors of the Zhou dynasty consulted it. Did it shape their reigns? Don’t count on it.

At the famous Delphic Oracle in Ancient Greece, commoners consulted the priestess Pythia, who entered a gas-induced trance to channel the wisdom of the Sun God Apollo. Were her visions always accurate? Very doubtful. Stranger than messages from the Sun God was augury, the interpretation of bird flight patterns and myomancy, reading omens from the behavior of maze running mice. The Romani people carried mystical music that never quite left the air. Originating in northern India over a thousand years ago, they moved across continents, gathering songs and stories from every land. They read palms, turned tarot cards and gazed into crystal spheres. Were their campfire interpretations ironclad? Very doubtful. Yet their skill became both survival and story.

Other divination tools include dream interpretation, vision quests, numerology, astrology and nature symbols. My favorite is alectromancy, in which a rooster pecks at letters made of grain. My favorite oracle was the Magic 8 Ball.

The beta version of the Magic 8 Ball was the Syco-Seer, a 1945 fortune telling toy in a tube. Then in 1950, Abe Bookman dropped a 20-sided die into some top-secret liquid inside a giant black plastic ball, and boom, the Magic 8 Ball was born.

I consulted my Magic 8 Ball for guidance, “Is Tommy Essex out of my league?” Without a doubt he was. In high school, we moved from childish toys to the Ouija Board. I had my fingertips on one a few times before acquiring a case of secondhand fear.

A Ouija board is marked with letters, numbers and “yes,” “no,” “goodbye.” A small heart-shaped planchette holds a magnifying glass. Across from each other, two players say questions out loud placing their fingertips lightly on the planchette. The planchette glides across the board, spelling answers that blur the line between spirit and subconscious. Are the answers factual? Better not tell you now. The incident happened one night at Lake Clear School and was relayed to me by such credible sources, in such detail, I accepted it as truth.

It was the ’80s, so getting together in person was all the craze. It started like most Ouija interactions, awkward joking and a few silly questions to prove the “players” weren’t moving the planchette.

“What color are Mike’s underwear?” the planchette spelled N-O-N-E. Heads turned toward Mike. He nodded. “I am not wearing any.” His skivvies, smarter than he, were safely at home.

“Who are we talking to?” P-E-T-E, the board responded.

“How old are you, Pete?” 1-0.

“So we are talking to 10-year-old Pete?” Y-E-S. Nervous giggles followed.

Then the planchette spelled out: C-O-M-E T-O T-H-E L-A-K-E. As the crow flies, Lake Clear School and Lake Clear were a five-minute walk through the creepy woods.

“How are you in the lake, Pete?” more giggles.

The board repeated: C-O-M-E T-O T-H-E L-A-K-E.

“Did you die at Lake Clear Beach, Pete?”

Y-E-S. C-O-M-E T-O T-H-E L-A-K-E, C-O-M-E T-O T-H-E L-A-K-E …

For decades some of my friends refused to swim in Lake Clear, certain the spirit of Pete was waiting. Maybe Pete is long gone, or, perhaps like Mars the baby hippo, likes the water. Will either leave the water? Very Doubtful.