Reign of Silence

by Tony Martin

  “This is all new to my experience,” said Joshua.

  “Granted,” said Precious cheerfully. “So, Josh, what do you need from me?”

  “I don’t even know where to start,” said Joshua. “I know – I assume – this is all business as usual for you. But,” - and Joshua laughed absurdly - “I’m way out of my league. Honestly, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.”

  “I get that a lot,” said Precious, still jovial. “Maybe I can put your mind at ease a little, and we’ll go from there.”

  “OK.”

  “As absurd as this all sounds to you, dealing with a haunting is commonplace. Most people won’t talk about their experiences, for obvious reasons. What we try to do at Crescent City is strip all the gobbledygook from what we treat as a serious investigation. Our job is to make sure there’s no fraud, to exhaust all possibilities of a hoax, and eliminate all other options. Then we’re able to say, yes, you are dealing with a haunting.”

  Joshua moistened his lips. “Keep going.”

  “We go about that by collecting scientific data. It’s a little like forensic work at a crime scene. We take extraordinary care not to contaminate the site of the supposed haunting, and we use redundant instrumentation to evaluate exactly what’s happening. We’ll use photography – standard SLR equipment, digital equipment, video, even night vision. We’ll use recorders, both analog and digital. We’ll use an EMF meter, to check for electromagnetic disturbances. We’ll use a thermal scanner, which will show any fluctuations in ambient temperature. We use all these tools to correlate the existence – independent of each other – of any spiritual disturbance. Additionally, we’ll use the subjective observation of you and others of your choosing that will indicate that we’ve had a valid encounter or encounters.” Precious had taken on the tone of a clinician at a medical facility – and his dispassionate explanation put Joshua oddly at ease.

  “What about mediums?” Joshua asked. “Because I’ve got some real problems theologically about that.” Actually, he thought to himself, I’ve got all sorts of problems about all this.

  “Mediums,” said Precious, “are problematic. Our main problem with mediums is that they can’t provide any evidence of proof that what they’re describing is actually happening. Frankly, most of them are frauds, or simply nuts. Theological considerations aside, we want to provide a service that is documented to the extent that the most hardened skeptic would have to at least accept the possibility of something supernormal going on.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Joshua.

  “I would add, though, that we have on occasion secured the services of a psychic,” said Precious. Joshua winced. “I wouldn’t use one except as a possible amplification of what we’ve already discovered – sort of like that last touch of seasonings in a really good gumbo. But, we’re going to use a scientific protocol. My contention is – there’s nothing ‘weird’ about any of this. It’s just an aspect of life that we haven’t gotten a grasp of yet. Simple.”

  Joshua took a deep breath before responding. “So what do you think a ghost is – and understand I’m really making a reach here, even admitting there is such a thing?”

  “Look, Josh,” said Precious. “Here’s the bottom line for me personally. It may not be yours. Take all the accounts of hauntings throughout history and put them in a big pile. Take a sizeable chunk of those – as much or as little as pleases you – and toss it as the work of charlatans. There’s a lot of that, and there’s a certain seedy type of person that’s attracted to this milieu. Take a chunk of the remainder and toss it, because it’s just simple exaggerations or prejudiced observations by those who ‘want to believe.’ Take another piece and get rid of it¸ because it consists of phenomena easily explainable by traditional natural laws – earth tremors, sunspots, electrical phenomena, whatever. You get the idea. Ignore other phenomena that are purely physical – the wind making noises, doors that won’t quite close, things like that. Maybe take out another piece that is due to the sloppy techniques of other so-called ‘ghost hunters.’ After you’ve done all that, guess what? You’ve still got a sizeable body of evidence that simply can’t be explained except that there is activity that must be due to extra-human intelligence. For me, I have to conclude that this is a reasonable hypothesis.”

  Joshua took a moment to let this sink in. “OK, then. Perhaps there is a large body of evidence for the existence of ghosts. But, again, what do you think a ghost is?”

  “You’re going to struggle with this,” said Precious.

  “Try me.”

  “I believe that ghosts are departed spirits who have lived and died on this earth but for some reason are remaining here after death instead of going to heaven or hell,” said Precious.

  “Now, where did you go to seminary?” blurted Joshua.

  Precious laughed. “Same place you did. New Orleans. But I can assure you that I didn’t hear or learn this at seminary.”

  “I’m relieved – I think,” said Joshua. “So – and please don’t hear me challenging you – where did you get this idea from?”

  “It’s intuitive from scripture and my own personal experience,” said Precious. “Now, personal experience can be really subjective – I am definitely of the camp that thinks God is not into revelations that haven’t already been substantiated in scripture. I don’t think experiences, no matter how vivid, trump what’s in the Bible. Anytime someone says, ‘God told me’ or ‘God revealed to me,’ and it runs contrary to what is in scripture, then I get uneasy, no matter how convincing their story is, or how sincere their belief.”

  “I agree with that,” said Joshua.

  “So, if we are going to presuppose the existence of ghosts or spirits, we’ve got to have some scriptural foundation,” said Precious. “You have time for this?”

  “I’m all yours.”

  “Do you remember when the disciples saw Jesus walking on the water, what their first response was?” asked Precious.

  Joshua thought a moment, hoping this wouldn’t turn into a round of “stump the pastor.” “Yeah,” he said. “They thought they were seeing a ghost.”

  “Exactly,” said Precious. “So in their culture, there was obviously a tradition – perhaps even a belief – in ‘traditional’ ghosts. Now … these same disciples. When the risen Jesus first appeared to them, do you remember what they said? This one is in Luke’s gospel.”

  “Uh…” said Joshua, trying to remember something distinctive in the book of Luke.

  “Here’s what they said,” said Precious, bailing Joshua out. “They thought they were seeing a ghost. And Jesus’ response to them? Paraphrased, it was ‘touch me and see, because a ghost doesn’t have flesh and bones like I do.’”

  “But,” said Joshua, “just because Jesus makes a reference to ghosts doesn’t prove their reality. He might’ve just been playing to their misconceptions.”

  “Could be,” said Precious. “But if we can broaden this discussion, and talk about spirits, there’s even more.”

  “Hold on,” said Joshua. “Did Al tell you about my sermon on Saul and the witch of Endor?”

  “No, but that’s a great passage, because it does indeed show evidence of a spirit returning from the dead.”

  “I’d contend that God did that for one specific reason, for this one unique circumstance,” said Joshua.

  “Possibly,” said Precious. “But if you want to have some fun, check out First Samuel, chapter sixteen and following. Want me to refresh your memory?”

  “Sure, absolutely,” said Joshua. He was shuttling between feeling like a biblical ignoramus and being frankly intrigued.

  “Here’s the scoop,” said Precious. “This is the account in which Saul first calls David to play the harp for him … because Saul is being tormented by an evil spirit from the Lord. This particular passage talks of how the Spirit of the Lord had left Saul, and now an evil spirit from God has now taken over. When David plays the harp, the evil spirit leaves. How li
teral do you think this passage is?”

  Joshua was dumfounded. “I believe it’s literal, of course,” he said slowly. “But I’m not sure what to make of this evil spirit from – from God.”

  “Me neither,” said Precious. “I just read it – I don’t always presume to be able to explain it. Here’s my reasoning: is it possible for the spirits of the deceased, either good or bad, to communicate with us? We believe angels appeared in scripture. In Billy Graham’s book on angels, he shares the account of a little girl going to a doctor’s apartment, because the little girl’s mother was in a coma. It turns out later that the little girl had been dead for some time, but something appeared to the doctor and sought his help. People don’t die and turn into angels. And Jesus, when telling the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, suggests that it would be possible for Lazarus to go to the rich man’s brothers to warn them. So, again, I conclude that the return of a spirit from the dead is not entirely impossible.”

  “What am I supposed to make of all this?” asked Joshua, grappling with mental overload.

  “Make of it what you will,” said Precious. “I could give you plenty of more incidences of spirit activity. Scripture indicates much of it is demonic. But there’s some that isn’t classified as being demonic, see? That’s the black hole we’re left to deal with. So, in my profession, I don’t try to presume the source. I just want to help you discover the reality of the manifestations, using scientific protocol. Then we can determine what to do next.”

  Joshua had a thought. “So, then,” he said, “do you think that hauntings are demonic – that ghosts are demons?”

  “I’ve never been in a situation in which I thought there were demons involved,” said Precious. “But that’s totally subjective on my part. My experience has been that, in a haunting, there is identification with someone, a person, a personality, whatever, who has passed on but whose identity lingers.”

  Joshua took a deep breath. He was stunned. “So,” he said weakly, “what do we do now?”

  “Suppose I make a road trip to St. Helena,” Precious said. “I’ll bring all my equipment, everything I need to make a thorough investigation. And we’ll find out what, if anything, is going on. I’m not beyond saying it could all be one of the biggest frauds I’ve seen in a long time, if indeed that’s what it is. I can assure you I’ll do all I can to get to the bottom of this.”

  Joshua struggled to gather his thoughts. “And what is this going to cost me?”

  Precious laughed. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll donate my time for this one. I’ll just consider it part of my tithe. Just take care of my travel expenses and we’ll call it even.”

  Joshua immediately knew he’d pay this out of his own pocket – there wasn’t a line item in the church budget that would cover this. “That’s generous, and I’d be happy to agree to that.”

  “When do you want me to start?” asked Precious. “I’ve got to finish up some paperwork for my last client, but anytime after this weekend would be fine.”

  “OK,” said Joshua. “Let me get with Al, and I’ll call you back.”

  “Fair enough,” said Precious. “I’ll expect your call in the next couple of days.”

  “Thanks, Precious,” said Joshua. “I appreciate your willingness to help.”

  “Hey, it’s what I do,” said Precious. “Goodbye.”

  “Bye,” said Joshua. He laid down the phone receiver. Then, like a preschooler, he laid his head on his desk. “We have entered the twilight zone,” he mumbled.

  Meredith Dubose awoke, dealing with the confusion of awakening in unfamiliar surroundings. Sitting up, she groggily remembered that she was at the Tracy home, that she had fallen asleep after visiting Bernadine at the hospital, and that … she had been the victim of a horrible incident at her home.

  The memory of the previous evening came rushing back, and silent rage gripped her. She felt as though she was cast out of her own house, that something in her home – her home – had caused Bernadine’s strange illness or accident. Furthermore, her best friend’s family had to take her in like a wayward orphan – an inconvenience at best. She was outcast, adrift, and while she had no doubt that people loved her and wanted to protect her, it seemed all so terribly unfair.

  Meredith went to the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face. “I look bad,” she told her reflection, then began looking for Christine.

  Mark Tracy was sprawled on the floor in the great room, watching TV. “Hey, Mark, where’s your sister?” asked Meredith.

  “Out on the sun porch,” said Mark, never looking up.

  Meredith saw that Christine was reclined in a chaise lounge, textbooks spread around, seemingly asleep. “Wake up, Chrissy,” said Meredith, giving Christine a little shake. “You’ve got company.”

  Christine smiled faintly, her eyes still closed. “I’m not asleep,” she said. “Just relaxing.”

  “Well, unrelax,” said Meredith. “I need you to take me home.”

  Christine sat up, eyeing Meredith. “I don’t think so, sis.”

  “I want to go home,” said Meredith.

  “Uh-uh,” said Christine. “You had something of a bad experience last night, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” said Meredith, with a hint of anger. “I don’t want to go home to stay, at least not tonight. I just want you to take me to get my car.”

  “Oh,” said Christine. “Can we maybe wait till my dad gets home? I’m not so sure I want to go back there quite yet.”

  “Christine, that’s stupid,” said Meredith, her voice rising. “I don’t even want to go in the house. I just want my car. I don’t want to have to depend on y’all for transportation.”

  “Fine,” said Christine. “No big deal. When do you want to go?”

  “Right now,” said Meredith, “or I wouldn’t have woke you up.”

  Christine, bewildered, walked back into the house, grabbed her purse and keys, and headed for her car. Meredith followed, her brow furrowed.

  Wordlessly, the two girls climbed in the car and headed out of town. It was several minutes before either spoke.

  “You need to talk about anything?” asked Christine.

  Meredith leaned her head back over the seat. “Christine,” said Meredith, her eyes closed, “when will this nightmare end?”

  Christine looked at her friend’s pale face. “Soon,” she replied.

  “You aren’t convincing me,” said Meredith.

  “I’m not convincing myself,” said Christine, “but I know that Josh and my daddy will do what needs to be done.”

  Meredith didn’t respond. Instead, she kept her eyes closed, leaving Christine to drive and mull over the events of the last few days. Christine thought about the relationship she’d enjoyed all these years with Meredith, of vacationing with her and her parents, of the talk of boys and clothes and all the other things dear to their hearts when they were younger. Since Meredith’s parent’s disappearance, Meredith was – understandably – not the same young lady she’d once been. She seemed melancholy. She had gradually withdrawn contact from many others. And, although it frightened Christine to remember, Meredith’s heart condition was a constant concern.

  Meredith was plagued with atrial fibrillation, an irregular heartbeat. Symptoms included palpitations, dizziness, fatigue, and a general lack of energy. She was taking Tambocor, an antiarrhythmic, which kept the symptoms under control. Unfortunately, her cardiologist had not been able to pinpoint a cause of the atrial fibrillation, which was typically a symptom of another problem.

  Because of this, Meredith seemed frail, although she fought valiantly to keep her health and spirits up. Christine had learned not to “baby” Meredith, but rather let her pace herself and do what she felt like doing. So when she demanded to be taken to get her car, Christine knew not to argue, although she was a little hurt by Meredith’s tone. Under the circumstances, I probably wouldn’t be doing as well as she is, Christine thought.

  Meredith opened
her eyes as Christine turned onto the gravel drive leading to the Dubose mansion. “Home again,” Meredith said flatly, as Christine stopped her car behind Meredith’s BMW.

  “C’mon, Christine,” said Meredith as they climbed out of the car. “I want you to take a walk with me.”

  Christine hesitated a moment before following Meredith, curious. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Right over here,” said Meredith, as she walked across the front of the house to the gazebo. The little white structure resembled the same style as the rest of the house, a paved brick walk leading to it. Azalea bushes, looking a little unkempt, encircled the round structure.

  “Need to get these weeds tended to,” said Meredith. She took a dozen or so steps away from the gazebo, paused, and said, “Chrissy – this is where I saw her.”

  Christine felt fear rise in her chest. “Meredith, we don’t need to be here right now.”

  “And why not?” asked Meredith. “This is where I live.”

  “You’re right,” said Christine, walking to her side and taking her arm, “but we need to stay clear for a little while longer.”

  Meredith jerked her arm away. “Christine,” she said, “I thought you, of all people, would understand. This is my home. I’m supposed to be here.”

  “Let’s just get your car and go back to my house,” said Christine, fighting back a tremor in her voice. “We’ll come back over here another day and get you settled back in. But you don’t need to be out here alone.”

  Meredith slumped. “Alone. No parents. And now, no Bernadine.”

  “Bernadine will be fine,” said Christine. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Whatever you say,” said Meredith, then began walking around toward the back of the house. Christine followed, apprehensive.

  Meredith, almost trudging, walked to the family cemetery. She paused at the iron gate, then pulled it open. The hinges groaned.