Annette jumped back and swore a blue streak.
“There is an angry spirit here,” intoned Meredith.
I imagined little Kobe saying: No shit, Sherlock.
The screeching of chairs pushing back from the table now rang out as we broke the circle and got to our feet.
“What is that about?” Cookie demanded.
“Could it be Morse code?” I said loudly. It was hard to talk over the continuous pounding. “Like an SOS?”
“No, SOS is three dashes and dots,” Cookie said. “We learned that in Girl Scout Camp, remember, Mel?”
“It’s not Morse code,” Graham said. “It’s just a door knocker.”
“Everyone, please. Sit down and re-form the circle,” said Meredith. Though her wide eyes looked scared, she remained calm. I was impressed. “This is a good sign. They are open to contact. Take your seats.”
One by one we sat back down, held hands, and bowed our heads. Cookie’s hand was a bit damp now, and I imagined mine was as well. Meredith began mumbling, but I couldn’t make out the words.
The flames in the fireplace suddenly surged, then receded, and I thought to myself, What next? Moans and groans and rattling chains? A candle blew out, and I stifled a nervous laugh. Could the ghostly behavior be any more clichéd? Then I thought, Maybe ghost stories are based on what people have seen and heard. So perhaps it wasn’t cheesy so much as accurate.
I stared at the fire so long, I saw green marks when I closed my eyes. The dark of the rest of the house seemed to close in on us. I shut my eyes, just for a moment, feeling the sting of weariness, enjoying the brief respite from the tense séance gathering.
I had to force myself to open them.
When I opened my eyes the room was cheerful and warm, the lights were ablaze, and the table was set for a meal. When had we put out dishes and silverware? I struggled to make sense of what I was seeing, my mind muddled, as vague and disconnected as Hugh always seemed. I heard voices swirling around me, but they seemed far off, unintelligible.
The light in the room was strange . . . blue and flickering, like an old home movie.
A woman was in the kitchen. I could hear the clatter of dishes, the sound of water running, the radio playing “Hotel California.”
The door knocker rapped. Bam bam bam . . . bam!
The woman called out:
“Bridget, get the door, will you please?”
No response. The banging continued.
“Bridget?”
Drying her hands on her apron, the woman headed for the door. I recognized her from the photos: Jean Lawrence.
“All right, all right, I’m coming!” she called out.
A teenage girl came down the stairs. “What, Mom?”
“Too late now,” said Jean, the exasperation in her voice belied by the smile on her face at the sight of her daughter. “I wanted you to answer the door. Your father must be out in the shed.”
“He’s packing,” said Bridget. “I heard him whistling out there earlier.”
“Ooh, is that the new dress we bought?” Jean said, reaching for the doorknob. “Come here and let me see it in the light.”
Bam bam bam . . . bam!
As though in slow motion, her eyes still on her daughter, Jean opened the door, not even looking to see who it was.
Bam bam bam . . . bam!
“Mel!”
I snapped out of it.
Seven pairs of eyes were on me. Olivier was, predictably, amused. Meredith seemed wary. Graham and Annette looked concerned. Hugh’s face was ashen, Simone’s puzzled.
Cookie looked appalled. She was standing, and I was willing to wager it was she who had shouted my name, breaking the contact and destroying the circle.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice strange in my ears.
Graham rose and came to stand behind me, placing warm hands on my suddenly cold, stiff shoulders and massaging gently.
“You left us there for a few minutes,” he said.
“Are you all right, Mel?” Annette asked.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“What did you see?” Cookie asked.
“I thought . . . I could see what was happening. I saw the mom, Jean Lawrence, in the kitchen, the daughter Bridget coming down the stairs.” I looked at Olivier and Meredith. “I think I was there, that night.”
“The spirits were eager to speak with you,” said Meredith. “They recognized you; they have been waiting.”
“Well, that’s seriously creepy,” Cookie said.
“What else did you see?” Olivier asked.
“Someone was knocking on the door.”
“Like earlier tonight?” Olivier asked.
I nodded.
“Who was it?” asked Annette, sitting up eagerly.
“I didn’t see,” I said. “I came out of it just as she was opening the door.”