Aftersight

by Brian Mercer

  "Okay, resume the recording."

  Emily: "I keep that there so in the morning, when I get up, I have something soft and warm to put my feet on when I'm putting on my slippers. Not long after we moved into the house, I'd wake up in the morning and it would be moved. At first it was just turned a little bit and I didn't think much of it. Then a time or two I found it under my bed or I'd find it rolled up in the corner or pushed up against my bureau. I started taking note where it was before I went to sleep and it would often be moved when I awoke."

  Tommy: "Anything else?"

  Emily: "I'd hear a rapping noise, like someone was knocking at the door, but on the wall near my bed. And always at the same time, just as I'd be drifting off to sleep. That I did tell my dad about."

  Tyson: "What did he tell ya?"

  Emily: "He said it was probably hot water pipes. Said they sometimes made a banging noise in the wall when they were warming up."

  Tommy: "Did you ever investigate this theory further? Try to start the hot water under the same conditions?"

  Emily: "Well, that's just it, isn't it? No one was using the water at the times this happened. My dad would usually be in his study and Mum would be watching the telly downstairs."

  Tyson: "How often did this happen?"

  Emily: "Two, maybe three times a week."

  Tommy: "What else?"

  Emily: "Hmm. This happened in October, I think. I was home alone one afternoon doing schoolwork and I heard footsteps in the room I was in, but nobody was there. They seemed to walk right up to where I was sitting. Then they just stopped."

  Tyson: "Were ya scared?"

  Emily: "A little. But I tried to explain it away as my imagination. I don't like being home alone and I thought I was just scaring myself. It actually happened on a few more occasions. Each time it happened it was raining and I was hoping it had something to do with the rain."

  Tommy: "Anything else?"

  Emily: "The music box. There's a music box that sits on the piano. Sometimes it plays by itself. The first few times it happened, I was playing the piano at the time and I thought that something about the vibrations of the piano triggered the music box to turn on. But then one day it happened whilst I was doing my schoolwork on the other side of the room. I've since played with the switch that turns the music box on. It's hard to move, on or off, and I can't see how it could have turned on by itself."

  Tyson: "Was the switch moved when the music box turned on or did it just play on its own?"

  Emily: "I checked each time. The switch was always moved to the on position after it started playing. Oh, and then there was that afternoon in December. I almost forgot, and this is probably the spookiest of the things that happened before the spirit board incident. I was home alone one afternoon — all of these things seem to happen when I'm alone — and I was playing in my bedroom. I heard the back door open and our housekeeper, Sonia May, walk in. I know it was her because when she's happy, which is most of the time, she likes to whistle and it's always the same song. I could hear her banging the cupboards open and closed and I'd just assumed she was putting away groceries as she always does on Thursday afternoons. Then it got really quiet, so I went out to say hello. No one was there. I found out later that Sonia May had the afternoon off that day. That really scared me, but I didn't want to tell Mum. I was worried Sonia May might get in trouble. She won't, will she? You won't tell, will you?"

  Tommy: "No one is going to get into trouble."

  Tyson: "This interview is just between the three of us. No one else needs to know."

  Tommy's team looked up from their notetaking. All eyes fell on me. "What?" I said. "It's just between the seven of us, just like I said." I winked at Archie.

  Tommy: "Is there anything else that happened before the spirit board incident?"

  There was a long pause.

  Emily: "Well, maybe just—" Her next words were garbled.

  "Hold a minute," Tommy barked. "Play that last bit again."

  Emily: "Well, maybe just—" A deep, guttural growl mangled the end of her sentence.

  "Did I just hear what I thought I heard?" Leland asked the group.

  We played it back several more times. "Does that sound like a dog to any of you?" Leland asked.

  "Or a wolf," Brooks suggested. "Holy crow, what was that?"

  "Did you hear that sound when the interview was being recorded?" Paul asked.

  I shook my head. "Silent as a tomb."

  "And she doesn't have a dog?"

  "Not a pet in the house," I answered.

  "Interesting."

  "Archie, please tag that," Tommy said. "I want to take another listen when we have time. For now, go on with the recording."

  Emily: "Well, maybe just—" The growling noise cut her voice off.

  Tommy: "How often?"

  Emily, after a deep breath: "Maybe once a week. Maybe twice. I can't be sure. It happened over such a long period of time."

  "Pause the recording," Tommy instructed. "What she said, in the part you can't hear, was that she would see what she thought looked like human-shaped figures walking past her bedroom doorway. Said she never saw them directly. Only out of the corner of her eye.

  "Go on, now."

  Tommy: "Let's get to the night of the spirit board session. Tell us about it."

  Emily: "Well, I was having my friends here for an overnighter. There was Bridget, Audrey, and Stephanie. We were taking turns telling scary stories."

  Tyson: "Did you tell any scary stories?"

  Emily: "The storytelling thing wasn't my idea. I didn't want anything to do with it. T'was Audrey's idea to pull out the spirit board. I'd had it for years. Never got the thing to work. Didn't believe it could, so I thought playing with it would be a good way to change the topic."

  Tommy: "Never a good idea, spirit boards."

  Emily: "Well, I know that now. Anyway, we sat there for about five or ten minutes, holding the little pointer thingy and asking questions. Oh, my back was killing me! Finally, it started to move."

  Tyson: "What had ya asked?"

  Emily: "I don't remember. Oh, wait. I made notes of the session. Just a minute." The sound of a drawer opening, papers being sorted, then: "Here it is. We'd asked, 'Is anyone out there?'"

  Tyson: "And what was the answer?"

  Emily: "First the pointer moved to Yes. Then we asked, 'What's your name?' The answer, J-A-N-E. Jane. 'Are you dead?' Answer, Yes. Question, 'How did you die?' We didn't get any answer to that. Question, 'What color was your hair?' Answer, Brown. Question, 'Did you have any hobbies?' Answer, Piano. Question, 'Did you have any favorite songs?' Answer, Chopin. I suppose she meant the composer. And that was all. We couldn't get her to communicate with us anymore. The girls were all asking ghastly questions like, 'Did your husband murder you?' and 'Are you a ghost?' Oh, no, wait. There was one more answer. I asked what year she died and she told me. 1814."

  Tommy: "Did you stop playing with the board after that?"

  Emily: "No. I wanted to stop. My arms were about to fall off! But the girls kept forcing it. Finally, we did get an answer." More shifting of papers. "'Is there anyone out there who will speak to us?' Answer, Yes. Question, 'What is your name?' Answer, Gotfrid. When were you born? 1447. What color is your hair? White. What were your hobbies? Answer, Swords."

  Tyson: "Swords. That's kinda creepy."

  Emily, making a shivering sound: "Yeah. Creepy. Question, 'What is your profession?' Answer: Priest."

  Tommy: "A priest? What sort of priest goes faffing about with swords?"

  The recording played on. Emily went on to tell us about the spirit board session. The conversation with Gotfrid kept on as it started, harmless questions answered with harmless responses. Bit by bit, the answers grew longer and started including Bible verses and pious platitudes. Eventually, when the girls started to get bored and the questions got silly, the responses turned profane. The girls decided to stop the session but the spirit board — or whatever force controlled i
t — had other ideas.

  They put the board aside to continue their talk. Within a few minutes the pointer started vibrating on its own. It jiggled across the board, untouched, and flew into the circle of hollering girls. Objects on Emily's shelves soared across the room with tremendous force and smashed on the opposite walls. The terrified girls took shelter in the corner of the room, screaming and crying for help.

  The incident immediately cut short the sleepover and, not long after, put an end to Emily's friendship with the girls, including Bridget, Emily's best friend since she was six. I think Emily was more broke up over the lost friendships than the paranormal activity.

  "That's not to say she's not upset by the disturbances," Tommy remarked during a pause in the recording. "She presented very calm during the interview, but her facial expressions spoke volumes. The girl's terrified. She needs help."

  When the playback carried on, Emily described being roused in the night by various spirits, maybe a half dozen all told. Waking in the middle of the night, she would turn over on her backside and, just as she was falling asleep, a face would appear inches in front of her. Even if her eyes were closed she'd see it, the bedraggled visage of a young man in his late teens or early twenties, grimacing, shaking her, cursing her, threatening her. It was as if a gang of spirits had taken over her home, demanding her attention in any way possible, even resorting to violence to bait her fear.

  It made me so mad, after a while I couldn't even take notes anymore. As the recording went on, I fired up a cigarillo and paced, wishing I could get my hands on these otherworldly thugs. It was a pattern I'd seen all too many times; gutless spirits feeding off the weak and helpless. I clenched my fist again and again until the pen I'd been holding snapped in half.

  Emily, crying now: "They're all so cruel. And what have I done to them? Why are they doing this to me?"

  Tyson: "Have any of these boys identified themselves? Are any of them Gotfrid?"

  Emily: "No. None of them are Gotfrid."

  Tyson: "How can ya be sure?"

  Emily: "None of them have white hair, for one thing. Gotfrid said he had white hair. But they do look like they could have lived in the fourteen hundreds, though. None of them look — or talk — like they're from present time. But it's not just that. None of them feel like Gotfrid. I can't describe it any other way." A long pause. "But I feel like he's here somewhere. Like he's behind it somehow."

  Tommy had offered her his handkerchief and she’d spent a minute clearing her nose. During the lull, a drawn-out warbling hiss corrupted the silence. It sounded like Emily snuffling, but not quite.

  "Hold a sec," I said, striding toward the loudspeakers perched on the table. "Arch, can you go back maybe fifteen seconds?"

  Archie turned to the computer and a few mouse-clicks later the hissing repeated, sounding loosely like a whisper.

  "Did you hear it?" I asked.

  "Yeah," Archie replied, deep in concentration. "Let me slow it down and loop it."

  He increased the volume and now the resemblance to a human voice was undeniable. It was breathy, deep, guttural.

  "You catch that?" I asked. "'There... is... no... sss...' somethin'."

  The sound bite repeated, again and again, each time getting clearer, until finally its meaning was plain. "There... is... no... salvation..."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Becky

  Waltham Manor

  April 29

  Morning sunlight slanted through the meditation room windows, filling the space with a bright, golden light. I was surprised to walk into class with the other girls to see the chairs missing and large floor cushions in their place. Each had rich Persian rug patterns, giving them the look of miniature flying carpets. Drowsy and muddle-headed, I stared at them uncomprehendingly.

  "Ooh-kay, this mornin' we're gonna do somethin' a wee bit different," Mrs. Apple announced with a smile. "We're gonna pair up." Everyone turned toward their normal meditation partner, but Mrs. Apple had other ideas. "Noo. Today I'm gonna choose a new partner for ya."

  Mrs. Apple's announcement instantly changed the room's atmosphere. I think we'd all grown comfortable with our usual companions. I could feel everyone's anxiety like a high-pitched tickle. My stomach twisted into a pretzel shape. I dreaded the thought of working with someone else. I loved Ravi's calm, reassuring energy. He was safe.

  Not Cali. I thought. Anyone but Cali.

  "Cali," Mrs. Apple said, "I want ya paired with Pedro this mornin'."

  Cali turned, grinning toward Nicole and Becky, before making her way toward the Argentinian. Nearby, Arika's flat, tattooed face creased deflatedly.

  "Sara, I want ya with Mindy," Mrs. Apple continued.

  "But I want to work with Nigel!" Sara said or thought, the words were so clear in my head I wasn't sure which.

  I cursed under my breath when Nicole was matched with Ravi. Everyone good was taken. Before she could even ponder who I might be partnered with, Mrs. Apple announced, "Becky, would ya please pair up with Jean Paul?"

  An electric jolt shot up through my legs, energy tinged with both excitement and angst. I could feel myself blushing and knew I was turning pink and darkening. Nothing to do about it now.

  Jean Paul approached me like a man crossing a dance floor. He smiled sincerely. "'Allo, Becky. We are to be the partners, no?"

  "No," I said. "I mean, yes. Yes, of course."

  Together we moved to a pair of cushions bright with morning sunlight. We sat, cross-legged, backs straight, facing each other, our palms turned up in our laps. Jean Paul looked directly into my eyes, trying not to smile but failing miserably. I found myself grinning in spite of myself.

  "Mrs. Apple," piped Nigel from the corner. "What about me?"

  "Oh. Right." Mrs. Apple's bright red lips skewed to the left. "Thirteen students. These odd-numbered classes will vex me until the end of time." She waved Nigel toward her. "Why don't ya have a seat here and I'll find an advanced student to seat with ya."

  "Good morning, Mrs. Apple."

  "Ah, Sir Alex. Good mornin' to ya."

  "Would you mind if I led your class in this morning's session?"

  "No' at all, no' at all. Well, Nigel, it looks as if I'll be yar partner then."

  Sir Alex stood at the front of the room, leaning on his cane. The light from the window behind him bounced off his dark suit like a bright gold halo. "All right, class. Please take your positions facing each other. Close your eyes and put your focus into the center of your head. Be right here, right now, Waltham Academy, Northern England, April twenty-ninth at seven-fifteen in the morning. Good. Yes.

  "Sit up as straight as you can. Eyes just a little bit open now, gazing softly. Grounding cords reaching all the way down to the center of the Earth. Right. Just like that."

  Starting the meditation sequence was like closing a switch inside me. Suddenly, I was focused and centered. In front of me, Jean Paul's aura bloomed brightly, a deep sky-blue, tinged with an outer layer of violet and a second, very thin layer of gold. The colors each had meaning, but I knew to be careful about reading them. Most colors had more than one interpretation and it was only together that they were truly meaningful.

  First looks could also be deceiving. Colors could change as you watched them. There was a subtle interplay when spirits gazed at each other in this way. Sir Alex called it Soul Speak.

  I'd become pretty sensitive to energy in the months that I'd attended Waltham Academy, but not in the overwhelming way I had been before I'd arrived. Here at school we learned to play with energy. In meditation, we thought of a happy memory and focused on Happiness. What did Happiness feel like? We remembered something that made us feel guilty and meditated on Guilt. What did Guilt feel like? We focused on memories, places, people, and learned the texture and tone of each. In this way we began to distinguish between situations and emotions. At its core everything was energy; energy being pushed, pulled, thrown, left behind.

  "I want you to move Earth energy up through the
soles of your feet," Sir Alex instructed, "up through your legs and down through your grounding cord at the base of your spine. Let that energy flow down your grounding cord, down to the center of the Earth."

  I felt a soft green tickle cascade up through my legs. There was a definite liquid feel to it, as if water was coursing through my lower body, clearing blockages.

  "I want you to reach out with your awareness now," Sir Alex went on, "and locate a pure source of cosmic energy. Bring that cosmic energy down through the top of your head, down your spine, and into your grounding cord, allowing it to clear all your channels as it flows."

  Unlike green Earth energy, cosmic energy was brilliant white, like starlight. Subtler than Earth energy, it was clean, bright, and light, the slightest tickle down my spine. I felt it washing through my upper body. I'd learned through long hours of training to focus it on the spot at the base of my spine, where the Earth and cosmic energy mixed. Using my imagination, I drew that combination of Earth and cosmic energy back up through my arms so it fountained out my upturned palms.

  Here Sir Alex paused. This was in the usual spot in the meditation where we let the energy flow through our bodies. I loved this part. It was strange how time could distort. I could follow the exercise for what seemed like five minutes, only to learn that in reality a half-hour had passed.

  "Without opening your eyes any more than they are right now," Sir Alex continued, "keeping your gaze loose and unfocused, reach out and hold your partner's hands."

  Even in my calm, balanced state, an electric thrill sluiced through my body. Meditation enhances your awareness of everything and it heightened my anticipation of Jean Paul's fingers touching mine. My heart danced. I tried to even my breathing, but it only came out in short little gasps.

  Slowly, blindly, I raised my arms. I felt the edge of Jean Paul's fingertips brush my skin. For a few seconds he caressed the back of my hands, exploring, gently probing the outline of each finger. Finally, his palms pressed into mine and his fingers closed around my hand with a tender but firm embrace.