CHAPTER THREE
Whack! Another insistent knock on wood, and my whole body flinched. Was this real?
“Henry!” Mama exclaimed, her eyes enormous and filled with shock. “Is that you?”
Whack, whack!
A strangled yell of joy broke through Mama’s lips. “My darling!” Her eyes glittered with tears. “My darling, you have never come to my call before.”
Whack, whack!
Clarence flinched, squeezing my hand. It startled me, and my breath hissed out. This couldn’t possibly be real—Mama must have enhanced the theatrics somehow. But... the joy on her face was genuine, as were the shaking floorboards.
The guests’ eyes darted around the table, but no one broke the chain.
“Mama,” I said. “How do you know it’s Father?”
“Because he says so,” Mama replied.
Whack, whack!
My breaths came faster. In the candlelight, I could see steam puff from my mouth. When had the room turned so cold?
“B-but,” I quavered, “couldn’t the spirit be lying?”
Whack! The whole room shuddered, and the lamps rattled.
“Why would he do that?” Mama’s voice was high and quick with elation. There was something else in her tone. Fear. But was it fear that it wasn’t Father? Or fear that she might lose her only chance of meeting him again? Either way, all her concern for presentation or entertainment had vanished. “Of course it is your father.”
Whack, whack!
“Great heavens, Henry, I’ve missed you.” Her smile gleamed in the candles’ glow. “Who would like to invite Henry into our realm?”
No one answered. All of the guests sat stiff and wide-eyed.
“Eleanor, why don’t you invite your father in?”
“No, Mama,” I said. I freed my hand from Clarence’s grasp. Could the spirit still enter if our hands were not connected? Did a spirit’s entrance actually hinge on invitation? The rules of the séance were probably all dramatic nothing, but either way, I didn’t think the spirit had entered the room yet. Maybe there was still a chance to send it away.
I gulped. “You must listen to me, Mama. Make sure it’s Father.”
Whack, whack, whack!
Mama blinked at me, her eyes like empty holes. I knew the hollow desperation she felt. What if it was Father? What if this was our only chance to see him, to talk with him?
But this was not Father. He was love and warmth; he would never turn the room so cold.
I pushed to my feet. “Mama, please, this isn’t Father. We must not let it enter!”
“It is Henry,” Mama shouted over me.
“Make sure!” I leaned over the table, my hands reaching for her. “Ask him a question.”
Clarence sprang up, and his chair toppled behind him. “Mrs. Fitt, you must listen to your daughter.”
“No!” Mama rose and lifted her head high. “I know when my husband is near. I was his wife for fifteen years, and this is my house and my séance. I will invite him in if I wish.”
Whack, whack!
Around the table, the other guests watched us, but frightened, amused, or entertained, I didn’t know.
“Beloved Henry,” Mama called, “know that you are welcome in this house.”
“Help me!” I shrieked at the guests. “Stop her!”
“You are welcome to our bread,” Mama continued.
“Mrs. Fitt!” Clarence yelled.
Mama clasped her hands to her chest. “You are welcome to move among us.”
An icy wind blasted through the room, and with it came the smell of dark, moist, ancient soil. Grave dirt.
The air and the smell cloyed at my nose and slid into my throat. I wanted to gag, but I couldn’t breathe. Time had frozen, and it was as if I viewed the room from some distant place. Even the flames of the candles stood still. Then my breath returned with such force that I crumpled back onto my seat. Cries and whimpers burst out around the table.
The spirit had joined us.
Breaking the chain of clasped hands had done nothing, and this spirit felt strong—evil.
I lunged forward and grabbed a candle. What had Mama done? I should have stopped her.
I lifted the flame high and scanned the room.
“You’re not welcome here. Go back!” I waved the flame this way and that in search of the spirit’s location. “Go back!”
And then I saw it, crouched beside the door, an unnatural clot of black in the darkness—shapeless, sentient, and waiting.
Everyone was paralyzed. My own mind screamed, though no sound escaped. All I could do was stare.
Until it moved. The darkness elongated into the rough shape of man, but thinner and taller, with arms that stretched to the floor. I forced my body to move, my nerves refueled by terror. I brandished the candle toward the evil, and the flame almost sputtered out.
“Leave,” I rasped. “You’re not welcome here.”
The shape undulated forward—one moment like a man, the next like a gaping shadow.
And it was moving toward me.