by Cindy Winget
Dr. Montague instinctually drew back in fear. His concern and annoyance turned to real anger. “Tuberculosis! How could you come here!? Do you have any idea how contagious you are!?”
“I’ve tried to stay back away from everyone since I arrived. I—”
“How long?”
“How long have I had it? Or how long do I have?”
“Both.”
“I contracted the disease a year ago and have been battling it on and off since then.”
Dr. Montague’s anger began to fade into sympathy as he contemplated what Valdemar must have been going through. And he had had no idea. “Oh, my friend. I am so sorry.”
“I only have a few days, if you believe my doctors,” said Valdemar.
“A few days! B-but that’s…” Dr. Montague wasn’t sure what to say. “Is that why you came? To say your goodbyes?”
“In part,” Valdemar said.
“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
“I was rather hoping that you would mesmerize me again.”
“What? Why? What purpose would that serve?”
“I know I have been skeptical about this whole venture of yours, and the paranormal in general, but last time you mesmerized me—”
“Last time I mesmerized you, you weren’t dying!” yelled Dr. Montague. “It’s never been done to someone this close to death before.”
“That’s the point,” said Valdemar. “I want you to mesmerize me as I am taking my last breath.”
“What? Are you insane?”
“No. Listen to me. I have a notion that perhaps if you mesmerize me at the point of death, it would suspend my demise. For how long, it’s hard to say. Perhaps indefinitely, or until you unmesmerized me, so to speak.”
“I can’t believe we are having this conversation.”
“I’m dead either way, so why not give it a shot? I figured that with all your research into the supernatural—”
“I want to study the already deceased, not suspend death itself! If such a thing is even possible. How did you even come to this conclusion?”
Valdemar looked away.
“What? What is it?”
“I may have been talking to Annabel.”
“Annabel!” Dr. Montague growled.
Valdemar nodded, a look of guilt entering his face. “We talk sometimes.”
“Hold on. She talks to you? And not to me?”
“She still needed a friend.” Seeing an argument coming, Valdemar barreled on, “I came here to help you. I know you still feel guilty over your son’s death, but it wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s fault. Annabel knows that.”
“Then why did she leave me?”
“She just didn’t know how to live in the same house with someone who looked and acted so much like her little boy. She was sick of how many conversations the two of you had together that inevitably led to talk about your son. She wasn’t leaving you. She was trying to get rid of the pain. Trying to get away from the hole that was left inside her.”
“How do you know this?”
“I could sense it in the way she talked,” Valdemar said quietly. “She alludes to it sometimes. She still loves you. She just can’t be with you.”
Dr. Montague couldn’t believe this. Knowing that his best friend also talked to his ex-wife didn’t sit well with him. He would have to mind what he said in front of Valdemar from now on lest anything get back to Annabel that he didn’t want.
“She’s like you,” Valdemar continued. “She became obsessed with the paranormal. I dare say that she is further along than you are in your knowledge of the afterlife. You should call her. She could help with your experiment.”
Dr. Montague was shaking his head, “I can’t do that.”
“Just think about it.”
Dr. Montague nodded, but had no intention of calling his ex-wife. If she didn’t want to talk to him about this stuff, then he didn’t want to talk to her about it either. “I should go. My assistants will be wondering where I am.”
He knew it was a weak excuse to leave, but he couldn’t handle this conversation any longer. “I’ll check on you again later. You should rest. I will have Miss Dudley bring you some breakfast.”
“Thank you, old friend.”
At the look of understanding that Valdemar gave him, Dr. Montague left the room and wandered in the direction of the dining room.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was startled by his own reflection in a mirror situated at the end of the hallway. It was a large round mirror, ornately framed with gold-plated metal. Chuckling to himself for his brief moment of fright, he began to turn away from the mirror and walk on down the next hallway, when he stopped.
“What the…?” he spoke softly to himself.
As he watched, his reflection began to morph and change. A man stood in the mirror, but it wasn’t him. The figure was shrouded in funeral garb, its face obscured by a masquerade mask. Upon closer inspection, Dr. Montague noted how pale the figure was. The pallor of a corpse. The parts of its face that weren’t covered by the mask were pockmarked and flecked with what appeared to be blood, making the figure look like a plague victim from medieval times.
Was he truly seeing this vision, or was his mind conjuring up this image in response to the news that his closest friend was dying of tuberculosis?
He squeezed his eyes shut for several seconds and then opened them again. The mysterious man in the mask had disappeared, replaced by a very pale and frightened looking Dr. Montague. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he continued his way down to the dining room.
Chapter Thirteen
Theo sat silently reflecting upon her dream as Luke and Eleanor spoke quietly to each other and Miss Dudley brought more food to the table.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning.”
“What?” Theo looked up from her plate and found Luke staring at her. For a moment, she became lost in his crystal blue eyes.
“You aren’t generally this quiet. Did you get spooked by the ghosts that visited you last night?” he asked.
Strangely, the dream had had more of an impact than the waking nightmare she had endured afterwards, but not wishing to discuss it, she nodded.
“Don’t worry. You and Eleanor are in a different room tonight. I am sure you won’t have any more problems. Besides, it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.”
Theo’s face flushed. How dare he sound so condescending! “There is a huge difference between suspecting that ghosts may be real and actually witnessing actual proof!” she shouted. “You weren’t there, Luke, so you don’t understand.”
“Whoa! What bee flew into your bonnet? I was just stating a fact, no need to jump all over me. And anyway, I may have something that may help you feel better.” Looking around surreptitiously, he reached into his suit coat and drew out a silver flask. Turning his attention back onto Theo, he shook the container. “Care for a bit of giggle water?”
She was about to take him up on his offer when Dr. Montague came strolling into the room, looking pale and confused.
“Hello, everyone. This morning I would like…” he trailed off as he saw the flask in Luke’s hand. He furrowed his brow. “I won’t allow any hooch during my experiment. If you want to be a bootlegger, do it on someone else’s dime.”
“I was only trying to take the edge off. Been a rough night.”
“Those are my rules. Either abide by them or pack your bags and be gone within the hour.”
Luke looked like he was about to argue but then placed the flask back into the inner pocket of his suit coat.
Eleanor blew out a puff of held breath.
“Good choice,” said Dr. Montague. “Now, I want all of you to write down the thoughts and impressions you have had here at Hill House. Also, write down all that you know concerning ghosts, poltergeists, spirits, apparitions, specters—”
“So, basically anything to do with the supernatural or paranormal world,” interrup
ted Luke.
“—and the afterlife,” finished Dr. Montague, glaring at Luke as he did so.
Theo (who didn’t have much of an appetite as it was) stood up from the table. “I’m going to get started on that right now. I’ll see you all later.”
She left the dining room and made her way toward the sitting room where they had spent the last two evenings. Grabbing a pad of paper and pen from the secretary, she sat down on the couch. Thinking better of it, she decided to find a quiet nook somewhere where she could be alone.
Walking past the front foyer on her way to the library, she stopped cold in her tracks. Sitting upon the first step of the grand staircase was the black cat from the cellar. It lifted its face to her, its one remaining eye gazing balefully at her before it resumed licking its front paws. The white patch of fur in the shape of a noose stood out even more in the bright light of the front entryway.
Could it really be a different cat than was in the photograph with Agnes? Of course it is! She scoffed to herself. How else do you explain what it was still doing here, alive? But they looked so similar. Theo pondered on the story of Penelope Crain hanging the cat from a tree as she looked upon the strange markings that marred the cat’s chest.
“I was wondering where you ran off to, little scamp,” Theo finally told the cat. She opened the front door. “Shoo! Get out of here. We don’t take in strays.” Her right leg lashed out at the cat, attempting to use her foot to corral it out the front door. The cat stared at her but didn’t move. With a resigned sigh, Theo reached out and grabbed the cat and gently placed it on the front walk. “We have no food for you, and this isn’t my house. Go find somewhere else to beg for scraps.” Theo shut the door and resumed her trek to the library.
However, before she reached her destination, she came upon a lovely window seat. The cushion looked comfortable, and the sun shining through the window was inviting. She could even pull the long curtains closed and hide completely. Liking this idea immensely, Theo tugged on the curtain only to discover that it was caught on something. She yanked and pulled, but it would not come loose. Peeking her head around the curtain to find the offending object, she nearly screamed. The curtain had been caught on a claw belonging to the large black cat.
“How did you get back in here?” she shrieked at it. She couldn’t understand why the cat filled her with such fright and dread. Was it the shape of the noose? Was it the fact that it only had one eye? Whatever it was, she couldn’t account for it having made its way back into the house, and so quickly besides. Should she try and take it back outside?
She turned away, pondering if she should tell Dr. Montague about the interloper. When she turned back, to her astonishment, she saw that the cat had once again disappeared. She glanced around, just to be sure, but saw no evidence of a cat anywhere nearby.
Theo cautiously crawled up onto the window seat and leaned back on one of the frilly pillows hiding in the corners. She wrenched the long, heavy curtains closed. Breathing heavily, she pulled forth the pad of paper and pen and attempted to forget the cat by writing down all that she knew about the supernatural. After a minute of silent contemplation, the only sound being the scratching of her pen, she decided she would include the cat in her writing, and Dr. Montague could make of it what he would.
A half hour later, a scream rang throughout the house, effectively putting an end to Theo’s concentration. Leaping up from her place of solitude, she hurried toward the sound. She found Luke and Eleanor in a hallway that paralleled the one to the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Like you don’t know!” Eleanor turned accusing eyes on her.
“I don’t,” said Theo. “What’s happened?”
Eleanor burst into tears and pointed a trembling hand at the wall. Theo looked to where she indicated and found a message scrawled on the wall in what appeared to be red chalk. It read Help Eleanor go home.
“You want me to leave? Is that it?” Eleanor cried.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t write that.”
“You must have! Luke was with me, Valdemar is sick in bed, and I highly doubt Dr. Montague would write such a message. So it had to be you! You were off on your own.”
“Maybe it was written by an apparition,” teased Luke, waggling his eyebrows.
“Be serious,” Theo chided.
“I am being serious. It could happen.”
“What’s going on?” said Dr. Montague as he entered the hallway.
“Theo wrote a note about me on the wall,” Eleanor told him.
Anger flooded Theo’s veins and she clenched her hands into fists. “I did not! Stop saying that!”
“Now, now, children,” Luke said, grinning.
“Shut up, Luke. No one thinks you’re funny,” Theo replied.
Luke, feigning offense, held his hand up to his heart and gave her a hurt expression.
Rolling her eyes, Theo left the room, not wishing to be further accused of something she didn’t do.
* * *
Dr. Montague watched Theo walk away down the hallway. When she was out of sight, he turned to Eleanor. “Do you truly believe Theo wrote this?” he pointed to the message upon the wall.
“Who else could have?” said Eleanor, though she now sounded uncertain.
“Do you reckon an apparition could truly have written it?” asked Luke.
“What?” said Dr. Montague, standing rather stiff.
“Just before you got here, I was teasing Theo about the message being written by a ghost. Do you think it’s actually possible?”
“I-I don’t know,” he admitted. He rubbed at his forehead. This thought troubled him. This was why he had come, to make contact with the spirit world. But something about seeing tangible words written in red upon the wall of Hill House brought home the fact that this was all real. The knocking, the ghostly laughter, the cold spot—it was all ethereal, and he had not personally witnessed the former.
But now…
“Excuse me,” Dr. Montague said. “I need to make a phone call.” He left Luke and Eleanor standing in the hallway and walked to the office by the kitchen.
Though apprehensive, Dr. Montague nevertheless picked up the receiver. When the operator picked up with a cheery, “How may I direct your call?” he gave her the number and then waited, anxiety clawing at his stomach. His mouth went dry when the operator came back on the line. “I’m patching you through.”
After a short pause he heard a woman say, “Hello?” Dr. Montague nearly dropped the receiver at the sound of her voice. “Hello?” came the voice once more, this time sounding unsure.
Dr. Montague hesitated another second before croaking into the round transmitter, “Hi. Annabel. It’s me.”
“John?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?” she asked warily.
“Valdemar suggested that I call you,” he said. Then, after a pause, “I need your help,” he admitted.
“What is it that you need exactly?”
“I know that the society you got involved in…” he didn’t add, ‘since Peter died,’ not wishing to dredge up painful memories of the past, “…is primarily in the business of exposing frauds these days, but I wondered if you may be interested in having a chance to prove the real thing.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, his ex-wife replied, “What is this really about?”
“That is what it’s really about. I know you gave me three weeks to see what I can prove before the SPR got involved but to be honest, I could use someone’s help, someone who has more experience than me.”
“It’s not like you to admit that you are inexperienced,” she said.
“So, will you help me?”
“I still don’t know exactly what it is you’re asking of me.”
“I want you to come here. To Hill House,” he clarified. “Do whatever it is you do when you perform your own investigations into these matters.”
She sighed. “Alright.
I’ll come.”
“Thank you, Annabel.”
“I’ll pack a small bag and see you there tomorrow.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
Chapter Fourteen
The next afternoon as Dr. Montague was leaving the dining room after lunch he was stopped by Miss Dudley.
“Dr. Montague?”
“Yes, Madeleine, what is it?”
“Ernest Valdemar has requested that you see him in his room as soon as possible.”
Is it time already? Is he dying?
“Thank you, Miss Dudley.” Dr. Montague took leave of her and hastened towards his friend’s bedroom.
As he turned the corner, Dr. Montague was confronted by the large ornate mirror. He stopped cold in shock. Once again, instead of his own bespectacled and bearded visage, that loathsome face wearing a mask stood staring at him from the mirror’s depths. Why did he keep seeing this phantom? This vision of a blood-speckled man who was obviously ill. Was it a death omen? Had the angel of death come to take his dear friend away?
Dr. Montague resumed walking, trying hard not to look into the mirror. He could feel those hateful eyes upon him as he drew nearer, but he did not give the deadly portent a second glance. He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned down the next hallway, leaving the mirror behind.
“Miss Dudley told me that you wished to see me,” he said upon entering Valdemar’s room.
“Yes, I did,” croaked out Valdemar.
“You sound hoarse. Here, let me get you a drink.”
Dr. Montague stepped over to the nightstand where stood a pitcher full of water and poured some into the glass that was next to it. Handing it to Valdemar, he said, “What is it that you wanted to tell me?”
“I think you know.”
Dr. Montague swallowed, his own throat feeling dry. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down in three long swallows.
“It’s happening. I can feel it,” said Valdemar. “I am soon to take my last breath.” As though to add weight to his claim, Valdemar’s face paled, his jowls sagging with pure exhaustion and the dark circles beneath his eyes standing out against the pallor.
