Burial by Graham Masterton

I’ve been hearing is, “Why did you move the furniture, Naomi?” “What are you trying to
do
to yourself, Naomi?” “Have you been sniffing any substances, Naomi?”’
    His mouth tightened as he tried to control his distress. ‘All I know is, I went with Erwin to the synagogue that night and I left a happy, smiling, stable wife. I came back three hours later and I found this strange woman — traumatized, terrified, out of her goddamned mind. That’s all I know.’
    â€˜Has she told you what happened?’
    â€˜I don’t know, fragments. She said there were noises. She said there were shadows. She wouldn’t stop talking about shadows. But nothing that makes any sense.’
    â€˜Nobody broke in?’
    â€˜Unh-hunh. The police were one hundred per cent sure about that. The windows were barred and locked, all the security locks and chains were fastened. In fact
we
had to break in, Erwin and me. We called the fire department and they jacked the front door right out of its frame.’
    â€˜Naomi wouldn’t have admitted anybody into the apartment of her own free will? There was no sign of that?’
    â€˜What is this?’ Michael snapped. ‘I thought you came here to help me, not give me the third degree.’
    â€˜Michael, I have to eliminate all of the natural possibilities before I even start thinking about the supernatural possibilities. It’s far more likely that what happened here was caused by some kind of scientific glitch — you know, a high-voltage electrical disturbance maybe, or a localized earth tremblor, or a lightning-strike.’
    â€˜You’re trying to tell me that Naomi was struck by lightning?’
    â€˜I have to consider it,’ I insisted. ‘She shows some of the symptoms of electrocution, right? Shock, disorientation? And all of the furniture was moved, right? They had a case like that in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, about 1977. A boy was struckby lightning and all of the living-room furniture was blown into the yard. They found the couch in the next street, with the boy’s
Green Lantern
comic still on it, open at the exact same page he’d been reading when he was struck.’
    â€˜Harry, this wasn’t lightning,’ Michael assured me, with exaggerated patience.
    â€˜Well, no, I don’t really think it was.’
    â€˜It wasn’t an earthquake, either.’
    â€˜No,’ I conceded. ‘Probably not.’
    â€˜So if it wasn’t lightning, or an earthquake, and nobody broke in, it must have been supernatural, whether any of us want to believe in the supernatural or not.’
    â€˜There could be some element of the paranormal involved, yes.’
    â€˜What do you mean, “some element”? Look at my wife! Look at this furniture! I’ll tell you what — try to move one of those chairs back to the middle of the room!’
    â€˜Michael, your wife is suffering severe psychological trauma. I can’t deal with that. She needs heavyweight professional help.’
    Michael turned sharply to Karen, and then back to me, ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Karen gave me the impression that you were the heavyweight professional help.’
    â€˜Oh, come on, Michael,’ I told him. ‘I’m a clairvoyant. I tell people’s fortunes. I deal with things that look as they might be but probably aren’t. I deal with Uncle Fred who wants to get in touch with Auntie Eugenie from beyond the Cypress Hills cemetery, and tell her where he left the spare lightbulbs for the icebox. This thing — this thing that’s wrong with your wife … I can’t deal with this. This is a medical problem.’
    â€˜And what about the furniture?’ Michael demanded. ‘You think the furniture is a medical problem, too? Try moving it, then you’ll see how “medical” it is!’
    Reluctantly, I went across to the tangle of furniture