electrician gave me some queer looks when I told him the specifications , but from the bills he sent me I don ’ t suppose that he was a particularly honest man himself .
I even manufactured my own ectoplasm – a mix of cheesecloth , egg whites and toilet paper – which I ’ d swallow before the séance and spew out with great ceremony . It wouldn ’ t stand up to the light of day , of course , but it didn ’ t have to . The marks were there because they wanted to believe .
For a while it went swimmingly . Charlie ’ s techniques worked just as well in a séance parlor as they had in a canvas tent . I had plenty of business – mostly retirees , with the occasional spiritualist fanatic or curious academic - and word-of-mouth about the incredible things that happened in my house kept new marks stepping across the welcome mat . I was making good money and staying out of trouble , and was starting to get my hooks deep into some of the bigger fish . Then I met Mrs . Donohue . There was nothing in the beginning to indicate that her reading would be anything outside the ordinary . She was a pleasant , soft-spoken woman in her mid-60s , a housewife by lifelong vocation , and had heard of me through a member of her church . At our first meeting , I strictly cautioned her not to tell me anything about herself or the spirits she wanted me to contact , for if I had any preconceived notions they would disrupt the delicate psychic vibrations . We scheduled a séance for the following Friday .
I did my due diligence , and found that Mrs . Donohue was initially from Milwaukee , now living on a widow ’ s pension bequeathed to her by her chemist husband Hal , and that she had a son named Horace in the Navy and a daughter named Lucy who had passed away long ago in the Spanish Flu . Her home was well-maintained and spacious , and from a quick inspection of her mailbox I deduced that she kept a boarder and supported the local orchestra .
Mrs . Donohue arrived promptly on Friday night , dressed in her Sunday best and clutching at her purse like she had a million dollars inside . “ I brought something that belonged to the person I ’ d like to contact ,” she said , almost apologetically . “ Do you think it will help ?”
“ I ’ m sure that it will ,” I said as I ushered her inside . A hell of a storm was rolling in from the Keys , and I wanted to take advantage of the atmosphere it ’ d create when it hit .
We got settled in the parlor just as rain was beginning to beat against the windows . I dimmed the lights and lit some fragrant beeswax candles , then took Mrs . Donohue by the hand . She was humming with nervous excitement and just a little scared – a perfect state of mind for a cold reading .
“ My family hails from the Carpathian Mountains , a land where the old ways have never been forgotten ,” I told her . Actually , my Mom hailed from Yonkers and God only knows where Dad was from . “ For seven generations the women of my family have been seers with an uncanny ability to peer beyond the veil that separates life from death . Restless spirits seek us out to pass messages to the living , whispering into our ears and appearing in our dreams . Some say that this power is a curse , but I believe it to be a wonderful gift .”
Just then , a blast of lightning shook the house on its foundations and the electricity went out , plunging us into total darkness apart from the candles . In my mind , I was cursing a blue streak . The lights weren ’ t supposed to go off until later . I tested the metronome pedal with no effect . Without electricity , all of my props were dead .
Suddenly I heard a sharp knock . It wasn ’ t the metronome , though . This was much more forceful , like a hammer blow . It sounded again and again , faster and faster , until the floor beneath our feet was rattling with such fury that I feared the house would come apart .
“ My goodness !” gasped Mrs . Donohue . “ What ’ s happening ?”
I wished that I knew . The storm outside had calmed , so it wasn ’ t a hurricane . All I could think was that this was an earthquake . The rattling was so powerful that it was jostling the furniture around , and the chandelier swung crazily above our heads . Then , just as quickly as it had started , the banging ceased . An eerie stillness fell over the parlor .
The electricity was still dead , but I figured the quake ought to be excitement enough for one séance even without using any of my other devices . Mrs . Donohue already looked green at the gills . “ A spirit is trying to reach us from the other side ,” I said . “ The barrier between the living and the dead is . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized that steam was coming out of my mouth as I spoke . The room was so cold that my teeth were clattering , and the insides of the windows had frosted over . But that was impossible . The air conditioner was off .
I felt a disturbance in my gut and thought that the cheesecloth was coming up . I heaved , but it wasn ’ t a mixture of cloth and egg whites and toilet paper that came out of me . No , it was a translucent , shimmering gelatin , icy to the touch . The stuff was acrid and sour on my tongue , with a metallic tang and a whiff of ozone about it . I literally tasted death .
To my astonishment , the ectoplasm I ’ d vomited onto the table dripped vertically upwards , coalescing into a form that loosely resembled a human head and shoulders . It glowed a soft white , casting looming shadows against the walls . Tiny particles of colored light drifted through the air at the corners of my vision , as if the stars had come into my parlor to dance .
Mrs . Donohue was crying tears of joy . “ Lucy ?” she asked . “ Is that you ?”
The ectoplasm coalesced still further , taking on the form of a female face with long , flowing hair , although the features were soft and indistinct . “ Yes , Mamma ,” the spirit said , in a strange , resonant voice that you didn ’ t hear with your ears so much as you felt in your bones . Its lips moved when it spoke , but not quite in harmony with the sounds .
For perhaps the first time in my life I was totally dumbfounded . Despite all my success as a medium – heck , perhaps because of my success – I had never even considered the possibility that the living might actually be able to communicate with the dead .
“ Mamma , can you hear me ?” the spirit asked . “ Please , Mamma , it ’ s hard for me to talk , I need your help if I am to speak with you .”