Hell House by Richard Matheson Page A

mental contact with those in spirit. I admit them only in the form of thought." She glanced around. "Will you put out your candles now?"
    Edith tensed as Lionel wet two fingers and crimped out the wick of his candle, Fischer blew his out. Only hers remained, a tiny, pulsing aura of light in the vastness of the hall; the fire had gone out an hour earlier. Edith was unable to make herself extinguish it. Barrett reached out and did it for her.
    Blackness seemed to crash across her like a tidal wave, taking her breath. She groped for Lionel's hand, the moment reminding her of a visit she had made once to the Carlsbad Caverns. In one of the caverns, the guide had turned out the lights, and the darkness had been so intense that she had felt it pressing at her eyes.
    "O Spirit of Love and Tenderness," Florence began. "We gather here tonight to discover a more perfect understanding of the laws which govern our being."
    Barrett felt how cold Edith's hand was and smiled in sympathy. He knew what she was going through; he'd been through the same thing dozens of times in the early days of his work. True, she'd been to séances with him before, but never in a place with such an awesome size and history.
    "Give us, O Divine Teacher, avenues of communication with those beyond, particularly those who walk this house in restless torment."
    Fischer pulled in a long, erratic breath. He recalled his first sitting here in 1940-in this hall, at this very table. Objects had been hurled about; Dr. Graham had been knocked unconscious by one of them. A greenish, glowing mist had filled the air. Fischer's throat felt parched. I shouldn't be sitting in on this, he thought.
    "May the work of bridging the chasm of death be, by us, so faithfully accomplished that pain may be transformed into joy, sorrow into peace. All this we ask in the name of our infinite Father. Amen."
    It was silent for a while. Then Edith's legs retracted as Florence began to sing in a soft, melodious voice: "'The world hath felt a quickening breath from heaven's eternal shore. And souls, triumphant over death, return to earth once more.'" Something about the sound of her muted singing in the darkness made Edith's flesh crawl.
    When the hymn had ended. Florence started to breathe in deeply, making passes in front of her face. After several minutes, she began to rub both hands over her arms and shoulders, down across her breasts, and over her stomach and thighs. The strokings were almost sensual as she massaged herself, lips parted, eyes half-closed, an expression of torpid abandonment on her face. Her breathing became slower and louder. Soon it was a hoarsely sibilant, wheezing sound. By then, her hands lay flaccid in her lap, her arms and legs twitching slightly. Bit by bit, her head leaned back until it touched the chair. She drew in an extended, quavering breath, then was still.
    The great hall was without a sound. Barrett stared at the place where Florence sat, though nothing was visible to him. Edith had closed her eyes, preferring an individual darkness to that of the room. Fischer sat tensely in his chair, waiting.
    Florence's chair made a creaking noise. "Me Red Cloud," she said in a sonorous voice. Her face, in the darkness, was stonelike, her expression imperious. "Me Red Cloud," she repeated.
    Barrett sighed. "Good evening."
    Florence grunted, nodding. "Me come from afar. Bring greeting to you from realm of Eternal Peace. Red Cloud happy see you. Always happy see earthlings gather in circle of belief. We with you always, watch and ward. Death not end of road. Death but door to world without end. This we 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