by Chris Raven
“I have a lot of things to talk to you about, but I prefer that Jake isn’t home. Go now and come back at five.”
I nod, I put my hand in my pocket and I give her the keychain of her nephew. She also nods, as if she already knew why I went there and to whom she should give it, and she closes the door, leaving me plunged into a sea of doubt.
VII
At five o’clock in the afternoon, I am standing in front of the entrance of Eloise Carter’s house. My hand is closed in a fist, placed at the height of my shoulder, ready to call, but I’ve been like this for a minute and I dare not to move.
I don’t even know why I’m here. Since childhood, I have thought that this lady is half crazy. Why should I change my mind now? Am I really going to believe that the spirits warned her of my arrival?
Better thought, believing that does not drive me away from the madness in which I have been immersed for a few days. I have returned to Swanton pushed by the book that a schizophrenic catatonic wrote while in a trance, possessed by the spirit of my dead friend. I escaped from a hotel room that I had just paid a fortune for because I thought the faucet was trying to tell me something. I left Jim’s house because I got the impression that his dead brother’s ghost was standing in front of me, waiting for me to stop being a coward and take my head from under the blankets. I’ve been comforting a frightened girl because a spirit forces her to write distress messages on the shopping list... How much longer am I going to fight to endow this situation with an appearance of sanity? What I’m trying to do is not a regular investigation, it is not about searching for clues or interrogating suspects... There’s something much bigger and darker than I can’t handle alone. Maybe the woman who’s waiting for me in this house can help me. Without thinking about it, I give a couple of knocks at the door, feeling that I have not really been the one who has made the decision to do so. I don’t know if it’s a hidden force or fate. What I know is that I feel like a puppet driven by an unknown being, while I try to deceive myself by telling myself that I control the situation.
The door opens immediately as if the woman had been waiting for me on the other side. She doesn’t smile nor greets me. She just moves away a little to let me step inside freely and to indicate with a hand gesture that I should go towards the room.
The decoration of the place does not work to change my opinion about Eloise nor to reassure me. The shutters of the whole house are squinted, allowing very little light to seep in. All of the furniture is crammed with strange objects: pyramids and crystal balls, amulets, colorful candles, statues of unknown gods... The atmosphere is heavily loaded. It smells like a mixture of old books, incense, and tobacco smoke. For a few seconds, I feel dizzy. Eloise leads me to a table with a heater underneath covered by a heavy dark blue tablecloth with yellow-stamped stars, the kind that fortune tellers use at fairs. She points a chair at me and sits in front.
“Excuse me, I don’t want to be rude, but I’d appreciate it if you opened a window. The atmosphere is heavily loaded.”
“The environment is as it should be.”She answers, sharply. “The spirits prefer the shadows to manifest themselves.”
“What spirits?” I ask, meanwhile I think that maybe I should get up and get out of here.
“Have you not come to speak with the spirits? Don’t you need their help?”
I keep quiet, not knowing what to answer. The truth is that I could use the help of anyone, whether a spirit or not, but I do not think that my mental health is good to frequent these environments and to start thinking that one can contact the dead. It took me a lot of effort to convince myself that the things I saw as a kid were only in my imagination. If I now decide to take them as real and start accepting them as part of my normal life, I may open a door that I’m not sure I can close again.
“Of course, you need it.” Eloise interrupts my thoughts by hitting the palm of her hand on the table. “The girl told me in a dream that you would come and that I had to help you.”
“What girl?”
“A girl of about eleven or twelve years old, with huge brown eyes.”As Eloise is talking, I feel my blood crystallizing. “She had very funny bangs, all disheveled as if she had a swirl right in the middle.”
The rational part of my mind that has not yet wanted to surrender to this nonsense shouts to me that this woman has lived all her life in Swanton, that she surely knows everything that happened, that she knew Anne and she knew me and that all she wants is to clean me out.
“I have no money...” I mumble between teeth.
“I know you have no money, you don’t even have a place to stay, but I’ve already told you that I’m going to help you.” The woman stops me.“I’ve prepared a room for you to sleep while you’re in Swanton. Breakfast is at seven, lunch at one and dinner at eight. At ten o’clock I close the door of the house, so, if you will arrive later, let me know or you will stay on the street. Any other questions?”
I’m out of words again. What she is telling me solves most of my problems, but I don’t know if I want to stay in this house for another second and much less to sleep here. I already have enough nightmares and strange sensations to stay to live in an environment like this. The woman talks again as if she were reading my thoughts.
“I know that the decoration of the house can be a bit disturbing, but I assure you that nothing bad will happen in here. All the amulets and symbols you see do not have a decorative purpose. They serve as protection. My house is a fortress against evil. This is the safest place of all Swanton.”
I nod while I swallow saliva. I’d love to believe her, but at this point, I’m more afraid of her than any hidden force that might be chasing me. Eloise has supported her elbows on the table, she crossed her fingers and placed her chin on them as she pierces me with her dark eyes. I think she expects me to say something.
“Could I call you Eloise? I think I would feel more comfortable as I’m going to live here...”
“No. I prefer Miss Carter.” She stops me. “We just met. We are not that close.”
I run out of words again, gasping like a fish. If I keep behaving like this, Eloise is going to start thinking she’s talking to a nutcase, so I just shut my mouth, I nod to her words and wait for her to keep talking.
“Are you ready to start?”
“To start what?”
“To contact the spirits. Isn’t that what you came here for?”
The truth is, I’m not quite clear on what I came for, but I’m sure it wasn’t for this. I’ve been trying all my life to convince myself that there are no spirits, I’ve come to achieve it for years and now this woman wants me to start chatting with them.
“Don’t worry. There will be no danger. You can trust me.” Eloise waits for me to nod before she continues to talk. “I notice you are very nervous and negative. In that state, you will block any energy that wants to communicate with us. Wait here.”
She gets up and leaves the room, leaving me alone in the gloom. I hear her making noises in the adjoining room. I wonder what she’s doing. It is possible that she is preparing some magic concoction destined to open my spiritual eye, something inspired by the concoctions that the shamans drank, something that will make me hallucinate and have a terrifying psychedelic journey and that I will become half crazy. More and more I have less desire to be in this house and to participate in the covens of this crazy woman, but I do not know how to tell her without being rude. I notice that my heart is accelerating, and I begin to hyperventilate. I’m about to get up and escape without saying anything when Eloise comes back with a cup in her hands. At least it doesn’t look like a ritual chalice. It is a normal, white porcelain cup with a blue stamped little flower. I do not recognize the content, but I am relieved that it is yellow and not red blood and that its aroma is familiar to me.
“It’s just tea.” She says to me as if she had read my mind again. “You can drink, nothing will happen to you. While you calm down, I’ll be preparing the session.”
All her p
reparations only serve to make me even more nervous. She closes the shutters completely, leaving us in the dim light of the candles. Fortunately, she goes around lighting on more and more throughout the room, awakening shadows in every corner. I have to restrain myself again and again not to jump out of the chair every time I notice some movement behind my back. It’s just the shadow of Eloise projected on the walls, but my nerves are so altered that it seems to me that she does not move in the right way, that she goes a millisecond lower, as if she were an independent being that tried to imitate her. I drink the tea in three sips, trying to calm down.
Eloise comes back out of the room and comes back with a huge wooden board that she lays on the table. It’s an old Ouija board. I’m staring at it hypnotized, looking for a way to explain to Eloise that I do not want to do this, that I am very grateful that she offered her help, but I do not think that a séance will help me solve my problems.
“What was the name of that little girl, the one with the disheveled bangs?” She asks me as she sits in front of me.
“Anne, Anne Austen. Are we going to try to contact her?”
“Yes, she’s the one who’s been popping up in my dreams more often.”
I no longer have the desire to leave and my mind has stopped repeating that I do not believe in these things, that these are only fair tricks to deceive unwary, which, in case it is real, is not something I should play with... None of that matters anymore. I can only think of the possibility of talking to Anne again.
“Put your hands on the planchette.”
“On what?”
“The planchette. It’s this wooden triangle with a glass in the middle. It will serve to channel the energies that are presented, and it will go sliding through the board, marking one by one the letters of the message that they want to transmit. Whatever happens, don’t break the contact and be quiet.”
“I don’t know if I can. I find this all very strange.”
“I understand, but I’ve done it hundreds of times. You’ll be safe with me.”
Although I still do not feel safe, the possibility of contacting Anne has dissipated all my doubts. I extend my hands and place them on the planchette. Eloise does the same thing and our fingers touch each other. Her hands are icy as if being in contact with the spirits would have infected her with the cold of death.
Eloise closes her eyes and starts breathing slowly and deeply. I mimic her, even though I’m afraid to stop watching the shadows of the room. With my eyes closed, my other senses are sharpened. I hear the moans of the wood on the upper floor, the chirping of a bird in the garden, the distant bark of a dog... As I have practiced many times, I try to ignore all those external stimuli and get focused only on my breath, on the sensations of my body, on keeping up with Eloise’s breathing. Although the atmosphere is the least appropriate to relax, I notice that I am calming down and that my frantic thoughts are dissolving to leave me only a sense of peace.
“You are doing it very well. Keep breathing quietly and with your eyes closed. We’re going to try to channel our energy.” Eloise’s voice surprises me. I had almost forgotten she was there. “Try to visualize a small golden bubble coming out of the planchette. Try to imagine its luster, its size. Now, little by little, imagine that the bubble is growing. First, it becomes so great that it covers the whole table, then it keeps growing and wraps us around with its light, protecting us from all evil. Little by little it will expand to occupy the entire room. Do you see it?”
I nod, as I imagine the room wrapped by the light of that bubble. In my mind I can see its brightness, banishing even the last shadow. I feel calm and peaceful, sure that nothing bad can happen to me.
“Open your eyes now. We’re ready.”
I obey and, when I open my eyes, I am surprised by the darkness that pervades everything. The image I had created in my mind seemed so powerful and real that I almost expected the light bubble to be here, illuminating every nook and cranny. Eloise looks at me in the eye, waiting for the confirmation that I’m ready. I nod, and she takes a deep breath of air before she starts talking.
“Anne, Anne Austen. Are you there?”
VIII
During the first few seconds, nothing happens. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe some strange smell or that the temperature of the room would suddenly drop a few degrees. The planchette that rests under our hands does not make the slightest attempt to move, I do not even notice any vibration. I keep myself in respectful silence, letting it be Eloise the one that announces that we have failed. But she doesn’t give up. She breathes deeply again and lets her voice, deep and somewhat hoarse, flood the room.
“Anne Austen, are you there? I order you to manifest yourself.”
The planchette under our hands slides suddenly to one of the corners. Through the thick circle of glass of its center, I see that it has placed on the word “Hello”. I can’t believe it’s working, that I’m communicating with Anne after all these years. I feel as nervous as a teenager on his first date.
“Are you Anne?” Eloise questions.
The planchette moves to the upper right to indicate the word “No”, erasing all my hopes as a winter wind and leaving me sad and empty inside. I am so frustrated that, though I have not asked Eloise If I can intervene, I lean forward and speak directly to the board.
“We want to talk to Anne Austen. Why have you come?”
The planchette’s movements accelerate: “A-N-N-E-C-A-N...” I try to follow it with my eyes, but I’m lost. Fortunately, Eloise is much more trained than I am, and her eyes follow the pointer’s movements without losing detail.
“Anne can’t talk to you.”
The planchette is back to remain still. Eloise looks at me, waiting for an explanation. I just deny with my head and shrug. I can’t think of any reason why Anne doesn’t want to talk to me. After all, she has been able to possess a poor lunatic to force her to write a book and pay the edition of her pocket to be able to communicate with me. She has been getting into Meg’s mind, her childhood friend, to force her to bring me a message. I do not understand why now, that we are putting all the possible facilities to speak, she plays it hard.
“Who are you?” Eloise asks.
The planchette moves again at full speed through the letters on the board. “P-E-T-E-R...” This time I’m able to read his message. That spirit, whoever he is, says he’s called Peter Anderson. It doesn’t sound like anything to me and I feel frustrated again. Since it’s not possible to talk to Anne, I was hoping we could communicate with Dave or Bobby, with someone who could shed some light on who their killer was.
“Why did you come to talk to us?” Are you with Anne? Does she send you?”
The planchette slides with a dry motion and gets stuck in the “Yes” as if waiting for our next question. I take a look at Eloise, asking her with my eyes if I can intervene. She nods.
“Could you ask her who killed them? We need to know to do them justice.”
I try again to follow the planchette’s rapid movements. “I-T-S-A-L-L-I-N...” I’ve lost again. I think it would be easier to understand the Ouija board messages if the board included a space. Fortunately, when the pointer stops, Eloise transmits the message to me again.
“It’s all in the story.”
Eloise looks at me again, lifting an eyebrow as she purses her fine lips. I nod, agreeing with her. Surely this session would be working much better if I had taken a few minutes to tell her the background.
“I’ll explain that to you later.” I lean back on the board to talk.“Why is Anne asking me for help, now? Why did she take so long?”
The succession of letters begins. “W-A-T-E...” The planchette moves so fast that I find it difficult not to separate my hands. It almost seems that Peter was in a hurry to pass on his message and return to wherever the dead are waiting to be called.
“Water makes us sleep.” Eloise recites. “Don’t you know what that might mean?”
I shake my head again, feeling mor
e and more lost and desperate. I do not understand why spirits cannot give clearer and more concrete answers. I just need the name of my friends’ murderer, not a compilation of riddles. Before we can formulate the next question, the planchette begins to move again.
“You... you should... be... dead.” Eloise is reading.
“Me?” I feel a shiver running through my spine. “You mean, me? Why do you say that?”
The planchette rushes to the “yes” and then continues to move, composing a new message. This time I set all my senses to work in order to understand it. I need to know what his previous words meant. Were they a threat? A warning? However, his message does not explain any of that. The letters compose the phrase “He approaches”.
I look at Eloise, trying to understand something. This time it’s her turn to shrug. I desperately snort. Isn’t she supposed to be the expert on these issues? Shouldn’t she be able to redirect the conversation to try to get some information that can be useful to us?
The planchette begins to vibrate under our hands. It doesn’t seem to want to point out any letter, it just vibrates and shakes from side to side. I notice that it’s getting hotter and hotter until it starts to get painful.
“Do not let go,” command Eloise to me. “We mustn’t break the contact.”
I focus on keeping my hands on the planchette, although it is still warming up. Eloise fixes her eyes on the board and presses the planchette even further to keep it from moving without control.
“Are you Peter?” The planchette moves to the “No” and gets stuck there. “Who are you?”
The spirit refuses to answer. Despite the heat emanating from the planchette, the atmosphere of the room has become so cold that I can see the mist coming out of our mouths as we breathe. At the same time, I notice an unpleasant odor, to moisture, to things that have been dead under the waters for a long time. I have to make a real effort not to jump up and leave this place forever. I don’t mind admitting: I’m terrified. The only reason not to leave is that I would have to separate myself from Eloise and walk through her home in the dark, alone and at the mercy of that being, to find the street door.
