The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen

Ha!

Standing behind Sheila’s chair is the barest outline of a young girl, about seventeen, with curls combed forward over her ears. She’s in her same dress, with the low neckline with the bow in the middle, and loosely gathered elbow-length sleeves, the one Eastlin thought was stolen. As I stare she becomes more distinct, as if she were being reconstituted one atom at a time, growing gradually denser and more real.

Her eyes are bottomless pools of black, and she’s smiling at me.

She holds a finger up to her lips.

Then, behind the medium’s head, she waves her fingers and forms her mouth into an O, as if she were saying Woooooo! She tiptoes around in a circle, exaggerating like a mime, pointing at the medium and making faces at me.

I can’t help it. I start cracking up. I press my lips together tightly to keep myself from laughing out loud.

Annie sees me fighting not to laugh and then covers her mouth with one hand, pointing at me with the other. She swans around, pretending like she’s wearing a sheet. Then she mock-rattles some imaginary chains, rolling her eyes and moaning.

“Dude,” I burst through my laughter, my eyes tearing up. I let go of the others’ hands and collapse, laughing on the table.

Sheila must have noticed that I’ve stopped participating or something, because all at once the lights flood on and Tyler screams, “Holy crap!”

He staggers to his feet and reels backward, a hand on his chest like he’s having a heart attack.

“What’s going on? What are you trying to pull?” Sheila shrieks at us.

Annie’s frozen in the middle of the room, arms raised, like she’s playing freeze tag.

Tyler is gaping at her, his eyes so wide I can see the whites around his irises.

“Holy crap!” he cries again. “You were serious!”

“Who was serious? What’re you talking about?” Sheila MacDougall says, gathering her little crystals and stuff to her chest as if she were worried we’re going to steal them.

My eyes bounce between Tyler’s horrified-yet-fascinated face, and Annie’s smiling one. She’s let herself become un-pretend-frozen, and is shaking out her skirts and patting her hair back in place. Sheila, though, is just looking at Tyler.

In a flash I figure it out.

Sheila doesn’t see her. But Tyler does.

“Hi, Annie,” I say aloud.

“Hey, Wes,” she says sweetly. She comes over and perches on the card table next to me. She leans her mouth close to my ear, and with a mock-concerned look at Tyler says, “Is your friend okay?”

“Annie?” Sheila spits, getting to her feet. “What, Annie? What is this? Are you putting me on?”

Tyler’s face has gone ashen.

“Oh my God,” Tyler says. Then he says it again a couple more times, for good measure.

“I told you it wasn’t just me who could see you,” I say to Annie.

“You were right.” She nods. “How did you know? I think he might need a glass of water.”

“You boys get out of here,” the medium shouts, her voice getting strident.

“Sheila,” I say, pulling my video camera out of my shoulder bag and powering it up. “Here.”

I pass it to her and indicate the viewfinder.

“What the hell is this? Don’t try to con me, kid.” She glares at me.

“I’m not,” I assure her. “Just look. Maybe start with the shot on Tyler, and then pan slowly over to me.”

Tyler’s collapsed to the floor, staring openmouthed at Annie and me.

“She’s the one in my movie,” he finally manages to say. “She kept moving around. In the different scenes. She was never . . . I could never get her to . . . Oh my God.”

“I’m sorry he’s acting so weird,” I say to her. “He’s okay once you get to know him.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “It’s all right. How did you know he’d see me, too?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

Meanwhile, Sheila has accepted my video camera with a cross look and is training it on Tyler.