by Syd Moore
But he wasn’t biting either. In fact, he grinned. ‘Well, I do have a few questions of my own I’d like to pursue. But, Rosie, I’m not sure how we might go about continuing.’
Hmmm, he was right. I picked up another strand of candlewax and held it over the flame as I pondered possibilities. ‘Well,’ I said, after a couple of minutes, ‘everyone thinks we’re ghostbusters, don’t they?’
He winced then agreed, ‘I suppose.’
‘Then why don’t we try and bust that ghost?’
For a moment he was baffled. ‘And how exactly do you propose we go about that?’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ I said, and reached for my phone. ‘Buckle up your seatbelt, this may be a bumpy ride.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sometimes I am awed by the wonders of our modern age. For instance, how you can learn just about anything on the web. With a quick google, it’s possible to discover how to make jam, lay lino, repair anything, design a website, trim nasal hair, develop computing skills, contour your face, learn a martial art, dance moves – the list is endless.
Most importantly, however, you can also find out how to host your own séance. A critical skill which can be executed in five easy steps.
Step One requires you to set the scene.
This was done effectively using all the candles in La Fleur. Ray Boundersby was most cooperative after we had explained what we wanted to do, though we didn’t tell him everything we knew, and agreed to close the restaurant early Saturday night so we could get the place ready and commence the proceedings at the suitably creepy midnight hour. He also personally helped us dress it, reducing the size of our chosen area – we needed to keep it contained and intimate. La Fleur had black screens on rollers that they sometimes used to section off areas of the restaurant for private parties.
We pushed them around a large oval table and used some left-over purple curtains to cover the gaps in between. The screens only went up to about nine feet high so you could see over the top. But that was fine by us. In fact, it would work well. According to superknowhow.com the shape of the table was vital – either oval or circular – so all participants could hold hands and create a circle of ‘protection and energy’. The writer of this particular entry also suggested we deck it with flowers and food to attract the spirits. Consequently I had raided La Fleur’s cupboards and laid the table with white foods and rice crackers. The tablecloth was a snowy colour too, so everything kind of glowed. It was perfect.
At each end of the table Sam had positioned cameras on tripods ostensibly to capture any manifestations that may occur but really to record how people reacted. We were both hoping for something a little more concrete than a couple of dustballs in front of the lens.
Of course Mr Weirdopedia wanted to race back to the museum and consult his books but I didn’t feel we had enough time. It wasn’t going to be long before word got out about my visit to Henry Warren’s chambers. Time was definitely of the essence.
Step Two instructed you invite people who believed in the spirit world, or at least who could do a good job of looking like they did. And they shouldn’t be deeply afraid of ghosts or of a nervous disposition. This ruled out a few people instantly.
However after careful consideration we selected Femi (a definite believer), Joel (open-minded, thought Mary was innocent), Agatha (Catholic), Tim (didn’t seem nervy), and MT. Then of course there was the boss who was not going to miss out on this, Ray Boundersby, his daughter, Mary, and her traitorous shit of a boyfriend. It was a real bummer, I thought as I seated the couple round the table, a pleasant grin frozen on to my chops. To all intents and purposes they appeared genuinely in love. Tom kept squeezing Mary’s hand. She kept gazing back adoringly. Shame, shame, shame.
Sam and I had not divulged to the Boundersbys the entirety of what we’d learnt. We hoped we wouldn’t have to be the messengers, because we all knew what happened to them. But we were anticipating that after tonight, it might fall to other people.
Sam and I brought the total round the table to ten. A good number apparently.
Sam was to assume the role of narrator and instructor, while I myself was going to be the medium, the conduit for the séance (Step Three).
I’d fished out an old turban from an Abigail’s Party party I once went to and a flowing kaftan which I thought made me look spiritual but Sam had shaken his head from side to side and told me to put on something ‘less provocative’ (sic). I didn’t think he really understood the power of clothes so we argued for a bit and in the end compromised on my scarlet velvet dress and dramatic gothy make-up. A sumptuous corsage of deep red roses, snatches of mauve heather with a big central lily was pinned over my right breast. I thought it added a certain pizzazz. My hair was piled up in an up-do and I fixed in some dangly crystal earrings. Sam muttered something rude about Gypsy Rose Lee and showed me a photo of this old bird called Doris Stokes. I told him he could sod that look for a game of soldiers so he gave up and left me to it. I knew I looked savvy and exotic so I kept my gear on. Tim appreciated it anyway and he was the fittest bloke at the party. I mean séance. Apart from Sam, himself.
My colleague was dressed in a dark suit and looked professional, in a funerary kind of way, a little bit Reservoir Dogs with a big dose of handsome. His eyes were dark, his face full of sharp-chiselled purpose. There was an authority about him too. It thrilled me when he was like that, and made me start thinking about other things which were inappropriate and shouldn’t be consuming me so. At least not right now.
When we were ready, he boomed out, ‘Welcome,’ and all eyes turned to him. He was positioned at the table beneath one of the cameras to my right. ‘Thank you for agreeing to help us tonight,’ he said very seriously. ‘As you are all aware, La Fleur has been the location for a number of awful things, including, unfortunately the recent killing of your colleague Seth Johnson.’
The gathered heads nodded and murmured.
‘So,’ Sam went on, ‘investigations have not reaped rewards. Or not as profusely as we anticipated which is why we are gathered tonight in an attempt to contact the earthbound spirits who abide here and who may help us bring peace and learn who or what is behind the horrors of La Fleur.’
He sat himself down and gestured over to me. ‘I am privileged enough to be able to work alongside one of the most powerful clairvoyants of our time. Rosie Strange is descended from a line of gifted mediums able to penetrate the veil and communicate with the spirit world.’
Joel, next to me, sniggered at the reference to penetration. Beside him, Agatha tutted.
Sam continued, ‘We are very lucky to have her on board tonight, guiding us.’
I bowed my head and tried to look in tune with the spirit world by pouting and flaring my nostrils at the same time.
‘Tonight,’ Sam said quickly so the eyes swivelled back to him, ‘we will attempt to make contact with those who have passed from this world on to the next plane of existence.’ He paused for effect. ‘To establish initial communication, we shall be using the old and sacred art of spirit rapping. Do not be afraid if you hear knocking noises around you. We are in capable hands.’ He took a moment to let his lighthouse smile beam over everyone.
‘Our medium, Rosie, will ask a question. Traditionally a single rap in response means yes. Two raps a no. Sometimes during this method the table may tilt, you may feel the cold brush of a hand or gust of air – it is vital that you remain calm. Under no circumstances should you break the circle. This is imperative.’ He eyeballed everybody individually. A long moment of silence rolled out before he continued. ‘Sometimes the spirit may use telekinesis to move things on the table. Do not be alarmed if this happens. I repeat again, it is important that once you have joined hands you continue to do so whatever happens. So,’ he said taking the hands of Tom and Agatha, who were his neighbours at the table. Everyone else, including me, followed his lead. ‘Let us join hands while Rosie says a prayer for us.’ He looked over.
What? This was n
ews to me. Sam hadn’t mentioned anything about prayers when we were planning this. My family weren’t religious. I didn’t know any prayers. But everyone was staring at me.
‘For what we are about to receive,’ I said as mystically as I was able, ‘may the Lord make us truly grateful.’
Sam grimaced. Ray glowered and Tim laughed but managed to turn it into a fairly convincing cough.
It was the best I could do.
‘Amen,’ I finished and everybody echoed. Then I made my voice low and husky, and quite sexy, even if I do say so myself. ‘I would like everyone to take a minute to close your eyes and reflect in silence upon what we are about to do. If you have anyone who has passed into the spirit world, then you may wish to think of them.’
I looked around the circle and noted the expressions on the gathered faces. Agatha was concentrating madly, her face screwed up into lines, her hands gripping hard on to Joel, who might have been asleep for all the expression on his face. Femi had his eyes shut firmly and fervently and held my hand in a hard grip. Tim, up the end, looked wry but obedient. Ray was surprisingly the most unlined and thoughtful that I’d seen so far. He’d lost the usual bulldog demeanour and appeared, for a moment, more Siamese for the first time since I’d known him. Mary next to him looked ever so sad and watery. Tom was clearly shitting himself. Sweat had broken out down the ridge of his nose and across his cheeks. MT, at the other end of the table opposite Sam, looked unruffled and beatific and pretty. She had a glittery eyeshadow that was eye-catching and yet subtle at the same time. I hated her a lot. Sam’s eyes, however, were open and fixed on mine. He nodded fractionally, a signal we’d predesignated. I bent my head on to my chest and pressed down with my chin until I felt the button on the air-conditioning remote depress. It was concealed beneath the elaborate corsage. Within minutes the place was going to start to feel a hell of a lot colder.
The corner of Sam’s mouth tugged slightly to the left. So cute, I thought briefly and was about to respond with a grin when I saw Agatha’s eyes snap open. Instead I breathed out loudly and said, ‘Thank you. I can feel a change in the air. Let us begin.’
The blackness around us seemed to thicken in anticipation.
I cleared my throat and asked lowly, ‘If there is anyone from the spirit world with us, I would ask you to make yourselves known with a single knock.’
Everybody, including me and Sam, held their breath. Even Tim appeared less lackadaisical then a couple of minutes ago. Nobody moved.
Nothing happened.
I waited a moment more then asked, ‘Is there anybody there?’
Femi looked about him from side to side. Agatha shivered. MT maintained her composure.
A single knock resounded from somewhere nearby.
A visible ripple of surprise spread through the circle.
‘Thank you,’ I said into the darkness and paused dramatically. ‘We have contact.’ I let that sink in for a bit then asked, ‘Spirit of the hereafter, tell me please, are you attached to this building, La Fleur? One knock for yes, two for no.’
We all waited. Nothing. I opened my mouth to clarify my request as we heard another knock.
Agatha drew in a sharp intake of breath and said, ‘It’s moving closer!’
‘Stay where you are please,’ I called to the table. We didn’t want anybody freaking out and breaking up the party. We had important stuff to do.
‘Spirit, may I ask you if you are responsible for some of the phenomena these people have witnessed?’ I was aware of MT tensing to my right.
We waited. For one long minute nobody breathed, the only sound the air conditioning droning. Goosebumps rashed down my arms.
Sam shot me a subtle look: go on.
‘The spirit does not answer,’ I began as there came a series of long hard loud bangs, like something rolling and crashing to the floor. It was quite impressive.
Mary gasped and let out a little whimper. Tom, next to her, looked petrified and began darting glances around.
‘Mad,’ said Femi in a low voice. ‘The spirits feel fury.’
MT’s usually lineless face had a hard angry nick in the middle of her forehead. It made her look a bit Klingon-like. Which was pleasing. ‘That’s a yes, then,’ she said resolutely, although her voice cracked on the last word.
‘I sense confusion.’ I murmured and closed my eyes. ‘Spirit, are you responsible for the murder of Seth Johnson?’
Immediately two raps resounded across our séance space.
‘A firm no.’ I kept my eyes shut. ‘If you didn’t do it, oh spirit, then do you know who did?’
Silence.
I let it roll out uninterrupted till, suddenly, all of us heard a solid rap, which seemed to echo throughout the restaurant.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You do know who. I see.’
Tom raised his hand to rub his face taking Mary’s hand with it. He breathed out loudly. His girlfriend shot him a worried glance.
MT muttered, ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Who?’ I asked the invisible presence. ‘Who, spirit, who is responsible?’
Everyone tensed up.
A sh-sh-sh whispery sort of noise seemed to descend from above. I opened my eyes wide. ‘I can hear her. Inside my head. She is trying to speak. Trying to communicate. With me! Yes, yes, spirit,’ I closed my eyes and let my head roll from side to side. ‘She has seen them.’ My eyes flew open.
Opposite me Mary was swallowing hard.
‘She has seen those who committed the atrocity.’ I paused and surveyed the faces. ‘She is describing them.’
Now MT was looking visibly scared.
The candles on the table flickered.
I felt a cold blast of air pass over my neck and shivered. Something weird had started going on behind my right ear. A change in air pressure, as if someone had stepped close to me.
Then a voice, really, really close, began to whisper. I couldn’t hear them first, not properly, but then as I focused my attention and tuned in to the noise I began to distinguish words. ‘Not mean to,’ I fathomed, as if it was halfway into a sentence. ‘Not all the way.’ It was a man’s voice, shipped into a uniform London accent with personality added by way of lost consonants à la East End gentrification. At the same time it had a hollow quality to it that I wasn’t expecting. Like the bloke was speaking down a wooden tube.
We hadn’t planned for this, but I was a professional, happy to go with the flow. Maybe there had been a change of plan. Perhaps Jason Edwards was improvising.
‘Wait!’ I said, and would have held my hand up if I hadn’t banged on about everyone keeping the circle tight. ‘I hear something. Someone else is trying to reach us. A man.’
The voice went on pleadingly, nagging. ‘Tell them, tell … bit of a laugh, take Ray down a peg or two. Him and his daughter. “Why should Mary have it all?” she said. “Didn’t deserve it,” she said. “All bought on ill-gotten gains, she said.”’
I straightened up, playing my part. ‘I hear you spirit. He’s saying initially it was a joke. Designed to take Ray down a peg or two.’
The whispering faded as crackling and air gushed into my ear. ‘Don’t go, spirit,’ I appealed. After a moment it came back again, but was rather distracted and stuttering. This was not very impressive. I would have to feed this back to Jason when it came to our debrief. I sighed to convey my annoyance and called out pointedly, ‘Spirit, can you speak more clearly please?’
Sam darted me a face full of raised eyebrows.
My plea, however, had no effect – the mumbling continued. I managed to catch only snatches of sentences this time – ‘“lose money,” she said, “hand over fist,”’ mutter, mutter, crackle crackle, ‘“an investor lined up,”’ sounds of static like an early Internet connection, ‘“step in and buy La Fleur,”’ words inaudible, ‘she said, she said – “had him lined up,”’ hissing sigh, ‘“run the restaurant by themselves.”’
The candles flickered energetically.
Those gathered
about me seemed genuinely engaged.
I caught Sam’s face, wrinkled like a perplexed prune, and Ray’s which wore an expression of disdain. Tom had shrunk down into his chair.
I voiced what I was hearing. ‘He says it was too much,’ I said lingering over the vowels. ‘Something about food poisoning – that night before the argument.’ The words became higher, shriller, more sibilant, slightly painful. ‘“She put it in the food – four different dishes – all compromised – that couldn’t have been one ingredient. It was her.”’ A violent and cold sigh filled my eardrum and made me shiver. ‘Look like his fault – compromised his integrity, reputation. Too much. He’s saying something about reputation being everything.’
The chill in my ear was spreading down my throat. I wanted desperately to turn around and gesture to the guy he should stand back a bit, but I couldn’t; all eyes were upon me. I could only repeat his words. ‘He was out. The whole deal was over. It was too much. Too far. But she said he was in too deep. They argued, in the cellar, he was going to phone Ray. He’d had enough and told her so. She wouldn’t have it. MT, she wouldn’t have it, said he was in for the duration. He’d committed. But he started to dial Ray’s number and then – crack – on the head and now he is, he is …’ the voice faded again as though confusion had entered it; as if, he, the speaker, the policeman, or whoever it was had come up against a blank. His script had run out.
But there was movement going on down the far end of the table. MT was wriggling out of her neighbours’ grip, throwing their hands down on to the table.
‘Do not break the circle,’ Sam shouted. His voice had an edge of something I couldn’t really work out but was still authoritative. It made MT stop.
‘This is bullshit,’ she said angrily, but she was white as a sheet behind the bronzer. Hard lines and snakelike wrinkles appeared over her face. Her make-up suddenly seemed overdone, drag-queen style, crude like a ventriloquist’s dummy. She stood up.
However, we had foreseen this scenario occurring – the drawing out. I drew myself up and delivered the cue.