The Girl in the Glass

by Jeffrey Ford

  "A curse?" I asked.

  "No," she said. "Poison gas from underground. Later it was discovered that the original collapse was caused by an explosion due to this gas. My mother had been right, the spirits were trying to warn the miners not to dig there. Once the gas was discovered and the mine was vented, the voices of the spirits were never heard again."

  "I don't know," I said. "It's a good story, but does it prove that there are ghosts?"

  "One more thing," she said. "That night you came to save me at the mansion, and that thing was fighting Mr. Cleopatra in the hallway, I knew the phantom might be hurting you and I wanted so badly to help. I looked around the darkened room for something, a weapon. Then I heard my grandmother's voice, 'Take this,' it said, "and I remembered a heavy silver candlestick that was on the mantel in that room. I used it to beat the demon on the head."

  BY WAY OF YOUR ART

  It was after dark when Antony parked the car at the end of a line of others in the circular drive of the Barnes estate. From the considerable number of autos present and the absence, as far as we could see, of the police, it seemed Barnes had been good to his word. Antony, in his chauffeur guise, got out and came around to open the door for Schell and me. He then retrieved the large traveling trunk that carried the props that would be necessary for that evening's sйance, and we began our slow, cadenced walk to the front steps. We hadn't done a job since Parks's place, and it felt good to be working again. I gave my turban a last-minute adjustment before we began the ascent to the front door.

  Barnes met us in the foyer, looking more haggard than ever, as if he'd aged two decades since last we'd seen him. He approached Schell with his hand out, but I stepped forward to intercede.

  "Mr. Barnes, please do not take this as a slight, but Mr. Schell has asked me to communicate for him until after the sйance. He is in the process of preparing himself to go more deeply into his mediumistic trance than he has ever gone before."

  Barnes, at first, appeared disappointed at the prospect of dealing with me, but as I continued with my explanation his fears seemed to subside. "This will be a very arduous, and to some degree dangerous, foray into the spirit world tonight, and Mr. Schell has been preparing since early this morning, descending through the various levels of concentration and consciousness to reach the very quincunx of afterlife affinity."

  This last phrase made Barnes take a step back, as if he feared he'd already possibly been too disruptive to the great man's preparations. Schell was turning in a command performance, his eyes closed, his lids fluttering, his Adam's apple bobbing, and his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed wide. Before we'd left the car, he'd purposely rumpled his hair, displacing it to achieve just the right look of duress.

  "I've assembled everyone from the list, as Mr. Schell requested," said Barnes. "All of them, that is, except poor Parks."

  "Mr. Schell has asked me to express his condolences to you for this sudden, tragic loss of your friend following so hard upon the heels of the loss of your daughter."

  Barnes said nothing, nor gave so much as a nod, but stared fixedly off into the distance, as if stunned by the thought of what he'd been through. It was only the arrival of his wife that brought him back to the moment. She came up next to him and entwined her arm in his. Mrs. Barnes had fared no better than her husband. Her previously dark hair had gone completely gray in only the short time since I'd last seen her. I bowed slightly to acknowledge her presence, and Barnes explained Schell's condition to her.

  "If you will gather your guests together," I said, "Mr. Cleopatra and I will begin setting up. Once the room has been prepared, I will usher in Mr. Schell."

  "Very well," said Barnes. "Follow me. We're going to use the dining room, as it has a table large enough to accommodate everyone."

  Mrs. Barnes went off to gather the others, and I started down the hall after Barnes, taking a quick glance behind to see Antony lift the trunk he'd momentarily set down and fall in line. When we reached the room in question, there were already a number of people there. The place was spacious, with a table at its center that could easily seat a dozen. The men and women were dressed in evening clothes, and I scanned their faces in an attempt to memorize them.

  I overheard one older woman in a blue chiffon evening dress whisper to her male companion, "I understand this savage speaks freely to the dead." "Savage" was an appellation I'd not yet heard applied to me at these events, but it very nearly made me smile.

  I decided that Schell would sit in the center of the left-hand side of the table and directed Antony to lay his case down on the floor a few feet behind that chair. He did so and began unlatching it. Once it was open, lying flat on its side, I reached in and retrieved the candleholder and candle that would sit in the middle of the table during the sйance. Next, Antony took out an easel with telescoping legs and a small folding stand. We brought these to the side of the dining room opposite the entrance and set them up a few feet from the end of the table.

  Antony positioned a large white sheet of paper on the easel, and I put the stand in front of it, finishing the job by placing two candles at either side so that the paper would be visible to everyone at the table. The last two items to be put in place were incense burners that clamped onto the back of, and rose above, the chair that Schell would be using. Once they were affixed I filled them with sticks of sandalwood.

  When the candle at the center of the table and the two caches of incense were lit, smoke rising and twining about the room, I began seating people. I held my hand to my forehead for a moment, as if receiving a signal from the spirit world, and then, with a whispered phrase of "Yes," or "I understand" sought out the guests one by one, bringing each in turn to his or her spiritually ordained chair. It was during this that I learned their names and took a quick inventory of who was who. Schell had instructed me to place the two oldest participants on either side of him. Although I offered my hand, few would take it, but one gentleman slipped me a dollar when I showed him his spot. The chair opposite Schell's was reserved for his faithful servant, Ondoo.

  When the Barneses and all of their guests were seated, I bowed beside Mr. Barnes and told him that I would fetch Mr. Schell. As I left the room to get him, Antony turned out the lights. I found Schell meandering down the hallway like a simpleton, weaving from side to side, sunken deep in his mediumistic trance. I took his arm, and he whispered to me, "How do I look?" His hair was now crazier than ever, and his eyes were rolled up. "Like an escapee from the Immaculate Redeemer Nursing Home," I said. "Perfect," he said and smiled. I could readily sense his joy at being back in action.

  We entered the dining room, and Antony, who had taken up a position by the door, as if standing guard, closed it behind us. Stifled gasps went up from Barnes's friends at the sight of Schell. I led him to his seat and helped him into it while holding my breath against the prodigious output of the incense burners. Before seating myself, I walked over to the easel and lit the two candles directly in front of it. Once I was situated, Schell instantly began twitching.

  We warmed up with some preliminaries-the moth from the mouth, the knocking of my big toe on the underside of the table, voices thrown here and there, a couple of bangs of flash powder. The crowd was jittery, expectant, the gentlemen losing their gruff facades, the women losing their breath. When Schell was shuddering so badly it seemed as if he would soon explode, he opened his mouth wide and in a vibrating voice, the words seeming to leap from his tongue rather than being spoken, he said, "We call forth Charlotte Barnes. We implore you to pass through the vale of tears and leap the yawning divide to help us understand your departure from this world."

  Mrs. Barnes, who sat to the right of Schell, began weeping. Her husband looked as if he might simply crumble to dust. The gentleman I had marked as Mr. Trumball dabbed his high forehead with a handkerchief, and the old woman in the blue chiffon, Mrs. Charles, nervously pursed and unpursed her lips, as if offering dainty kisses to the unseen. Just to the right of me, the family phys
ician, Dr. Greaves, watched suspiciously from behind thick-lensed glasses.

  "We ask you to identify your killer, Charlotte Barnes," intoned Schell, "by way of your art. Come forth and show us who took your life."

  "Absurd," said Collins, a gentleman with a drooping black mustache and one continuous eyebrow.

  "Please, refrain from speaking," I said, and Collins, instead of looking annoyed at my request, suddenly appeared chastened.

  The voice of a young child could be heard in the room. At first it was only a murmur, but it soon grew into the clear sound of a girl's voice singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb." It wavered on a breeze that blew increasingly strong. Luckily no one seemed to notice that it came from the spot where Antony was standing in the shadows.

  "The child has come," said Schell, his ghoulish demeanor taking on a look of triumph.

  "My god," said Mrs. Barnes in a shrill voice. "Look, there, at the picture."

  Everyone turned his attention to the easel, where a drawing was slowly revealing itself one line at a time.

  "This can't be…," said the oldest woman, sitting to the left of Schell.

  But it was, the figure appeared incrementally, as if an invisible entity was standing before the easel, sketching. The portrait in the process of becoming was obviously that of a man, but the distinguishing features had not yet been rendered.

  "Who is it?" cried Barnes. "Charlotte, who?"

  The flame at the center of the table exploded with a dull pop, and sparks streamed out in all directions. All eyes were diverted, but when the effect from that had passed, and the group's attention reverted back to the drawing, what we saw, nearly completely executed, was the misshapen head and snarling visage of the phantom Antony had done battle with.

  "It's a demon," said Trumball.

  "Harold, it's the figure from her drawings," said Mrs. Barnes. "The figure that haunted the grounds before she was abducted."

  "Yes, but who or what is it?" asked Barnes, posing his question as much to the darkness around him as to his wife and the others. "Schell, ask her for a name."

  "What more can you tell us about this horror?" said Schell.

  My eyes went wide, and when the others saw my expression they also looked up, for behind Schell's chair, amid the billowing incense smoke, rose the ghost of Charlotte Barnes. Her hair was in curls as it had been when she had died, and her cheeks shone with a strange waxen palor.

  Mr. Gallard passed out sideways off his chair, and his wife hit the tabletop with a thud. Trumball made to lift Mrs. Gallard, but I whispered harshly to him to stay still.

  The ghost of Charlotte Barnes cast down her icy stare, and her gaze swept across the assembled participants. Mrs. Barnes was breathing heavily, audibly, and clutching her chest.

  "My killer moves among you," said the spirit, and the voice was high and tremulous. "Avenge my death."

  Mrs. Barnes grasped at her own throat and then sprawled back in her chair. "Helen," her husband called and reached one arm out toward her and one toward the image of Charlotte. The doctor, sitting next to me, yelled, "Mrs. Barnes!" rose to his feet, and began to make his way around the table. I slipped my foot back beneath my chair and caught his ankle at the last second as he went by. He sprawled headlong onto the floor. The last thing Charlotte did was toss something down that landed on the table with a definite material impact.

  "Turn on the lights now," cried Barnes. Antony did as he was told, and the lights suddenly flashed on, temporarily blinding everyone. The room was filled with sobs, gasps, and hushed comments of the guests. When we looked back, the girl was gone, and Schell was bent forward, head down, passed out on the table.

  IT'S ALL RUBBISH

  By the time Doctor Greaves managed to pick himself up off the floor, Helen Barnes had revived, so when he continued on around to that side of the room and passed her by, I thought he was going to see if he could assist Schell. Nothing doing. Instead, he got down on his knees and looked under the table, obviously believing that the spirit of Charlotte Barnes had been merely an impostor and was now hiding, waiting for a chance to slip out unseen. Schell came to then, looking like he'd been through the mill. He was groggy and disoriented, and when he noticed Greaves on the floor at his feet, he said, "I beg your pardon, sir."

  Greaves stood up. "An effective stage trick, Mr… What was your name again?" he asked.

  Schell answered.

  "Yes, very amusing, but complete rubbish," said Greaves. "Have you no decency? To perform this kind of whim-wham on these poor grieving people-shameful."

  "Adam, please, let Mr. Schell catch his breath. He's been through a harrowing experience," said Barnes, coming more fully to life than he had all evening.

  "Harold," said Greaves, "it's all rubbish."

  Mrs. Barnes pulled herself up, using the table for support, and wobbled over to where Schell was sitting. "Doctor, if you can't respect this great man's ability, at least don't hound him after he's rendered us such a service." She put her hand on Schell's shoulder and said, "Thank you."

  Schell reached up and patted her hand. "I know how difficult this must be for you," he said.

  "Such a service…," said Greaves under his breath and stepped away.

  Antony had applied the smelling salts to the Gallards, who were spluttering their respective ways back to consciousness. Trumball stood, leaned over the table, and lifted a small object. "Look," he said, "here's what the girl threw." He held it up for everyone to see. It was a blue drawing pencil. This prompted the others to turn their attention back to the picture on the easel, material proof that the spirit of the girl had been present. Mrs. Charles, attended by Mr. Collins and a few of the others, moved across the room to where the portrait of the strange figure stood. They blew out the candles in front of it and unfastened it from the easel. Gathered round, they held it up close to their faces in order to study it carefully.

  Barnes had gone to the small bar in the corner of the room and fixed Schell a drink. He was making his way back to the table when a high-pitched scream came from Mrs. Charles. The suddenness of the cry startled Barnes and caused him to drop the glass. He let loose a string of curses I would never have suspected him capable of uttering.

  "Good lord, Margaret," he yelled, "What ever was that for?"

  Mrs. Charles turned and, holding the portrait that had been on the easel, displayed it to Barnes and the rest of us. "The drawing," she said. "It's disappeared."

  "Right before our eyes," said Collins.

  The large piece of paper that had held the likeness of the phantom was now totally blank.

  "It couldn't last," said Schell, standing. "Charlotte did her best, but the spirit world reclaimed her efforts."

  At this, the doctor shook his head and left the room. The rest were wrapped in a state of silent awe. Antony and I allowed a minute or two of respectful inaction to pass, and then we set to gathering together our props and putting them in the trunk. While the two of us worked quickly, Schell explained to Harold and Helen Barnes that he would phone them the next day to discuss more fully what had transpired. It was clear that they were eager to rehash the events of the evening right on the spot, but Schell cautioned that it was important to bring focused reflection to bear on the actions and words of the dead.

  "Perhaps there's a clue we will miss if we rush to judgment," he said.

  They reluctantly agreed.

  Antony and I had the trunk packed and were ready to go in ten minutes. Schell made the rounds of the guests and shook their hands. Each and every one of them, even the Gallards, had only praise for his abilities and thanked him for the experience. The old crone, who'd sat next to Schell during the sйance, even thanked me, nodding slightly and calling me Mr. Fondue.

  Then we fell into our parade formation with Schell leading the way and Antony in the rear, lugging the trunk. We made our slow, ceremonious exit from the dining room to the hallway and toward the front door. On the way to the exit, we encountered the doctor, standing off to the side of the ha
ll, smoking a cigar.

  "Good evening, Dr. Greaves," said Schell and extended his hand.

  "Keep walking," said Greaves. "I've nothing to say to you."

  Schell withdrew his arm and we continued.

  Two miles down the road from the Barnes mansion, Antony turned into the parking lot of a grocery and drove around behind the building, where he stopped. We all got out of the car and went quickly to the back compartment of the Cord and retrieved the prop trunk. Laying it carefully on the ground, Antony unlatched the clasps and opened it. Schell reached in and took out the easel, the folding table, the candles, etc., handing each item to me in turn.

  Once the trunk was empty, Schell took out his knife. Releasing the blade, he ran its tip along the bottom side of the trunk. A moment later what had seemed to be the bottom opened outward like the cover of a book to reveal a hidden compartment filled with the contorted body of Vonda, the Rubber Lady. She looked like a woman who had fallen into a car compactor.

  Antony reached into the trunk and lifted her twisted form up into his arms, holding her as one would hold a child. Very slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, she began to open outward like a folded paper figure placed in a bowl of water. While this remarkable transformation took place, Schell and I replaced the false bottom of the trunk and began refilling it with our sйance implements.

  Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Vonda turned into a slight but perfectly normal-size woman in Antony's arms. As soon as the metamorphosis was complete, she said, "Okay, Henry, you can put me down."

  As her feet touched the ground, she reached up and whipped off the curly wig she'd worn to effect the guise of Charlotte Barnes. I'd only met her once before, and briefly at that, at Morty's funeral. Now I could tell, even through the makeup job Schell had done on her to get her to look like a little girl, that she was a good-looking woman. Her own blonde hair was gathered in a tight bun on her head. She was thin but had a fine figure, and her face was youthful for someone who I knew to be only a few years younger than the big man. Despite what seemed to be a lazy left eye, Antony had done very well for himself.