know."
"Could you—?" Barrett started.
"Earthling souls in prison," Florence interrupted. "Bound in dungeons of flesh."
"Yes," said Barrett. "Could you—?"
"Death the pardon, the release. Leave behind what poet call 'muddy vesture of decay.' Find freedom—light—eternal joy."
"Yes, but do you think—?"
Edith bit her lower lip to keep from laughing as Florence interrupted again. "Tanner woman say put on machine, get voice on ribbon. Not know what she mean. You do that?"
Barrett grunted. "Very well." Reaching across the table, he felt around for the tape recorder, switched it on, and pushed the microphone toward Florence. "Now, if you'd—"
"Red Cloud Tanner woman guide. Guide second medium on this side. Talk with Tanner woman. Bring other spirits to her."
Florence looked around abruptly, teeth bared, eyebrows pressing down, a growl of disapproval rumbling in her throat "Bad house. Place of sickness. Evil here. Bad medicine." She shook her head and growled again. " Bad medicine."
She twisted around the other way, grunting in surprise, as though someone had come up behind her and attracted her attention. "Man here. Ugly man. Like caveman. Long hair. Dirt on face. Scratches, sores. Yellow teeth. Man bent over, twisted.
No clothes. Like animal. Breathing hard. In pain. Very sick. Say: 'Give me peace. Let free.'"
Edith clutched at Lionel's hand, afraid to open her eyes lest she see the figure Florence had described.
Florence shook her head, then slowly raised her arm and pointed toward the entry hall. "Go. Leave house." She stared into the darkness, turned back with a grunt. "No good. Here too long. Not listen. Not understand." She tapped her head with an index finger. "Too much sick inside."
She made a sound as though something interesting had been imparted to her. "Limits," she said. "Nations. Terms. Not know what that mean. Extremes and limits. Terminations and extremities." She shook her head. "Not know."
She jerked around as though someone had grabbed her rudely by the shoulder. "No. Go away." She grunted. "Young man here. Say must talk—must talk." She made a grumbling noise and then was still.
All three twitched as Florence cried out, "I don't know you people!" She looked around the table, her expression one of rabid agitation. "Why are you here? It does no good. Nothing ever changes. Nothing! Get out of here, or I'll hurt you! I can't help myself! God damn you filthy sons of bitches!"
Edith pressed back hard against her chair. The voice was totally unlike Florence's—hysterical, unbalanced, threatening.
"Can't you see I'm helpless! I don't want to hurt you, but I must! " Florence's head shifted forward, eyes hooding, lips drawn back from clenching teeth. "I warn you," she told them in a guttural voice. " Get out of this house before I kill you all ."
Edith cried out as a series of loud, staccato rappings sounded on the table. "What's that?" she asked. Her voice was lost beneath the chain of savage blows. It sounded as though a berserk man were pounding a hammer on the tabletop as hard and fast as he could. Barrett started to reach for his instruments, then remembered that there was no electricity. Damn! he thought.
Abruptly, the rappings ceased. Edith looked toward Florence as the medium started making groaning noises. She could still hear the blows ringing in her ears. Her body felt numb, as though the vibrations had deadened her flesh.
She started as Lionel pulled his hand free. She heard a rustling of his clothes, then started again as a small red light appeared where he was sitting. He had taken the pencil flashlight from his pocket and was pointing it at Florence. In the dim illumination, Edith could see the medium's head lolling back against the chair, eyes shut, mouth hanging open.
She stiffened, suddenly aware of a mounting coldness underneath the table. Shuddering, she crossed her arms. Fischer clenched his teeth together, willing himself not to jump from his chair.
Barrett tugged at
"Could you—?" Barrett started.
"Earthling souls in prison," Florence interrupted. "Bound in dungeons of flesh."
"Yes," said Barrett. "Could you—?"
"Death the pardon, the release. Leave behind what poet call 'muddy vesture of decay.' Find freedom—light—eternal joy."
"Yes, but do you think—?"
Edith bit her lower lip to keep from laughing as Florence interrupted again. "Tanner woman say put on machine, get voice on ribbon. Not know what she mean. You do that?"
Barrett grunted. "Very well." Reaching across the table, he felt around for the tape recorder, switched it on, and pushed the microphone toward Florence. "Now, if you'd—"
"Red Cloud Tanner woman guide. Guide second medium on this side. Talk with Tanner woman. Bring other spirits to her."
Florence looked around abruptly, teeth bared, eyebrows pressing down, a growl of disapproval rumbling in her throat "Bad house. Place of sickness. Evil here. Bad medicine." She shook her head and growled again. " Bad medicine."
She twisted around the other way, grunting in surprise, as though someone had come up behind her and attracted her attention. "Man here. Ugly man. Like caveman. Long hair. Dirt on face. Scratches, sores. Yellow teeth. Man bent over, twisted.
No clothes. Like animal. Breathing hard. In pain. Very sick. Say: 'Give me peace. Let free.'"
Edith clutched at Lionel's hand, afraid to open her eyes lest she see the figure Florence had described.
Florence shook her head, then slowly raised her arm and pointed toward the entry hall. "Go. Leave house." She stared into the darkness, turned back with a grunt. "No good. Here too long. Not listen. Not understand." She tapped her head with an index finger. "Too much sick inside."
She made a sound as though something interesting had been imparted to her. "Limits," she said. "Nations. Terms. Not know what that mean. Extremes and limits. Terminations and extremities." She shook her head. "Not know."
She jerked around as though someone had grabbed her rudely by the shoulder. "No. Go away." She grunted. "Young man here. Say must talk—must talk." She made a grumbling noise and then was still.
All three twitched as Florence cried out, "I don't know you people!" She looked around the table, her expression one of rabid agitation. "Why are you here? It does no good. Nothing ever changes. Nothing! Get out of here, or I'll hurt you! I can't help myself! God damn you filthy sons of bitches!"
Edith pressed back hard against her chair. The voice was totally unlike Florence's—hysterical, unbalanced, threatening.
"Can't you see I'm helpless! I don't want to hurt you, but I must! " Florence's head shifted forward, eyes hooding, lips drawn back from clenching teeth. "I warn you," she told them in a guttural voice. " Get out of this house before I kill you all ."
Edith cried out as a series of loud, staccato rappings sounded on the table. "What's that?" she asked. Her voice was lost beneath the chain of savage blows. It sounded as though a berserk man were pounding a hammer on the tabletop as hard and fast as he could. Barrett started to reach for his instruments, then remembered that there was no electricity. Damn! he thought.
Abruptly, the rappings ceased. Edith looked toward Florence as the medium started making groaning noises. She could still hear the blows ringing in her ears. Her body felt numb, as though the vibrations had deadened her flesh.
She started as Lionel pulled his hand free. She heard a rustling of his clothes, then started again as a small red light appeared where he was sitting. He had taken the pencil flashlight from his pocket and was pointing it at Florence. In the dim illumination, Edith could see the medium's head lolling back against the chair, eyes shut, mouth hanging open.
She stiffened, suddenly aware of a mounting coldness underneath the table. Shuddering, she crossed her arms. Fischer clenched his teeth together, willing himself not to jump from his chair.
Barrett tugged at
Similar Books
