Seldom scary. The cats you were inclined to leave alone. They seemed happy enough and didn’t leave gutted mice on the doormat.
Close relatives seeing the ghosts of known people… this was usually comforting, one of the mechanisms of mourning. You would try and explain it, you’d offer comforting prayers. Then you’d do what you could to help it all fade into a warm memory.
More complicated were the guilt-trips, remorse externalized. Perhaps the dead person had been neglected, unvisited or even abused. Usually, the person reporting the sightings was in need of counselling.
Merrily had spoken to other Deliverance ministers who thought virtually all bereavement apparitions were down to psychological projection.
Understandable, but a bit patronizing.
‘You don’t disbelieve me, then,’ Sylvia Merchant said. ‘You don’t think I’m deranged.’
‘Certainly not.’
‘In which case – two questions here – do you believe I actually saw what I’ve described to you? And do you believe that what I saw was the spirit of Alys Nott?’
What was this?
Merrily tried to sit up straight; the chair wouldn’t let her. It was as if it was pointing her at the depression in the pillow on the empty pale-green bed. A dent which, obviously, might have been made by Sylvia Merchant, reverently lying on her companion’s bed. As anyone might do, at some time, in these circumstances.
‘Well… as we met for the first time less than half an hour ago,’ Merrily said, ‘and I can tell you’re not looking for platitudes, it would probably be irresponsible for me to give you an unequivocal answer. The truth is I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps,’ Ms Merchant said softly, ‘you would want to consult a psychiatrist before forming an opinion?’
This was well out of the box. You listened, you comforted, you explained. You didn’t expect to have to explain yourself before you started. The way this was going, she’d be quietly asked for a written estimate.
‘In a case of apparent demonic possession, I’d be obliged to consult a psychiatrist. Otherwise, I’d be unlikely to go near one.’ Time to turn it round. ‘What do you think you saw?’
‘But I know what I saw. I know who I saw.’ Said in a calm, explanatory way, no stridency. ‘It was not a dream. It was not an hallucination. It was not some by-product of sleep-paralysis. I am not a stupid woman.’
Merrily nodded.
‘Has it happened since? Anywhere else.’
‘It’s happened twice more. No, three times.’
‘Is there a pattern?’
‘No. Once was in town. I saw her reflection, very clearly, in the window of a restaurant we used to frequent. The third and fourth times were like the first. In the bed.’
When they kept coming back… that was when an unease set in. As an indication of survival, once was enough, maybe twice to make it less easy to dismiss as imagination. But the third time…
‘How clearly did you see her, Ms Merchant?’
Never once had she said, ‘Call me Sylvia’.
‘As clearly as I see you.’
‘And – sorry if this seems a ridiculous question – but was the duvet disturbed? As it would be if someone was lying under it?’
‘I think I’d have noticed if it wasn’t. If it was just a smiling, disembodied head, that would be the stuff of trashy horror films, wouldn’t it?’
‘Mmm… possibly. When you say—’
‘And I feel her presence. That’s most of the time, wherever I am.’
‘That’s… not unusual.’
‘The visual manifestation…’ Sylvia Merchant was still, unblinking ‘… that is clearly harder for her to achieve.’
An expert. Oh dear. It was never a good thing when, instead of feeling sympathy, hand-holding, looking for ways to make it seem less like a haunting, more like a reassurance, you were continually made aware of the surreal nature of the job.
‘Erm… when you said her eyes were without light…’
Did you mean she looked as if she was dead?
Ms Merchant waited. Merrily drew breath.
‘Ms Merchant… why did you want me to come today?’
‘Because I’m a Christian. Because we’re both Christians. Because we’re members of the Hereford Cathedral congregation.’
‘Well, yes…’
‘And because I would expect someone in your position to have had considerable experience of the earthbound dead.’
Merrily stared at her.
You don’t really want me at all, do you? You want a bloody medium.
‘Ms Merchant, you’re… clearly familiar with a certain terminology.’