by Cindy Winget
“You just got through telling me that your olfactory sense is gone. You no longer enjoy the taste of food or a cool breeze. Can that truly be called living?”
“I also don’t feel any pain or discomfort,” Valdemar defended.
“Yes, but without the bad, neither do you feel the good. You may not get cold, but you also no longer feel the pleasure of a hot bath or feel the warmth of the sun upon your face. That’s no way to live.”
Fear entered Valdemar’s eyes. He spoke softly, barely above a whisper, “What will happen to me when you unmesmerize me? Where will my soul go?”
“Perhaps it has already fled, and all you are now is a walking body of flesh and bones. An empty husk.”
Valdemar bowed his head. “I’m afraid,” he said softly.
“I’ll be right here with you the entire time.”
“I don’t know.” Valdemar began to wring his hands. “I need to think.”
“Valdemar—”
“Please. Just give me a minute.”
Dr. Montague complied with his friend’s wishes, worried about the melancholy look upon his friend’s face. But his concern turned to loathing as he was once again met with an unwavering gaze.
Blink! Blink, you unnatural creature!
“I really must insist,” he found himself saying. “You no longer belong among the living.”
Valdemar glanced at him, looking stricken. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
After a momentary pause, Valdemar agreed. “Let’s do it.”
With a sigh of relief, Dr. Montague instructed him to lay down and get comfortable.
“Where exactly?” Valdemar asked, looking at the hard metal chairs that were the only pieces of furniture in the room.
Dr. Montague chuckled. “You’re right. Let’s go back to your bedroom.”
The two walked from the room and made their way through the narrow halls of Hill House until they had made it to Valdemar’s room. Dr. Montague swallowed in a dry throat as he passed the gilded mirror. The masked menace continued his vigil within its depths.
“Now, you may get comfortable,” said Dr. Montague.
Valdemar did as instructed and laid his long frame upon the bed. Closing his eyes, he began to take deep breathes without having to be told to do so.
“Good. You’ll come back to full awareness, alert and awake, after I have counted to ten.”
You don’t want to jerk a person out of hypnosis too quickly, so Dr. Montague counted slowly. As he neared the halfway mark, he realized that Valdemar was too deep in for it to work this way.
“Imagine you’re at the bottom of an imaginary staircase. Walk up it, gaining more and more awareness with each step you take. You are becoming more and more aware of your surroundings. You will feel more awake with each step. When you reach the top, you will feel completely refreshed.”
Valdemar began to quake and shiver. His eyes roved underneath his closed eyelids.
“You’re alright, Valdemar. Hold still. Stay complexly relaxed.”
But Valdemar was no longer listening. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, but seemed unable to fully awaken. He moved from side to side, struggling like a drowning man.
“Valdemar. Calm down. Listen to the soothing sound of my voice. Walk up the staircase.”
“No! I don’t want to!” Valdemar yelled.
“I am going to ask some questions that will help you find your way. What is your name?”
“Ernest Valdemar.” The response escaped the man’s lips with difficulty. His jaw was hardening in what appeared to be rigor mortis.
“What is your profession?” asked Dr. Montague.
Valdemar’s tongue lolled grotesquely from his mouth as he attempted to speak once more, but it was too garbled for Dr. Montague to make out. His eyes opened, and he stared reproachfully at Dr. Montague. To his horror, a profuse outflowing of yellowish ichor began to leak from Valdemar’s eyes.
A fearful loathing such as he had never felt before took over Dr. Montague at the look of those eyes. Those unblinking eyes. This was no longer his friend. This was a demon of hell. This was an undead creature of the night. This was an abomination that needed to be eradicated.
Without forethought, Dr. Montague picked up a heavy candlestick from the nightstand and bludgeoned Valdemar over the head with it. Valdemar made no response. A normal person would have cried out with pain. This lent more credibility to Dr. Montague’s thoughts, and he continued to rain down blow after blow until Valdemar no longer moved.
To his immense horror, Valdemar’s body began to decay right before him. Valdemar’s entire frame, within the space of a minute, crumbled and rotted away until upon the bed lay a nearly liquid mass of detestable putrescence.
Disgusted, Dr. Montague began to wrap the body in the sheets and blankets from the bed. What was he supposed to tell the others? How would he explain the rapid decomposition of the corpse? Even more alarmingly, how would he explain the bashed in skull?
He would hide the body. No one need know that Valdemar was dead, let alone that he had been murdered. No, not murder. You couldn’t murder someone who was already dead. They wouldn’t understand, though. Better to hide the evidence.
Dr. Montague left the room and walked swiftly toward the verandah. Stepping outside, he hopped down the steps and strode to the garden shed. There he found a crowbar and carried it back to the house. Once ensconced safely in Valdemar’s room, no one having seen him leave or reenter Hill House, Dr. Montague began ripping up the floorboards. When a sufficiently large hole had been created, he rolled the corpse into it and refitted the floorboards, successfully hiding the evidence of what he had done.
After cleaning the gore from the candlestick and placing it back in its spot upon the nightstand, Dr. Montague left the room. As he made his way down the hallway, he was confronted by the masked fiend from the gilded mirror. The accusing eyes seemed to stare straight into his soul. He was both judge and jury and he had found Dr. Montague guilty. With a pockmarked hand, the man moved independently of Dr. Montague’s reflection and removed the mask. With a growing sense of dread, Dr. Montague watched as the man of his nightmares lay bare his visage.
The diseased and hideous face that was finally revealed was his own.
Dr. Montague raised a fisted hand and threw a punch into the middle of the glass, splintering it into a thousand pieces that rained down onto the wooden floor.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dr. Montague watched Roderick with curiosity. He was muttering nonsense to himself as he brought in food from the kitchen. “Her cheeks were rosy,” he was saying. “Her cheeks had a red tint to them, didn’t they?”
Looking around, Dr. Montague noticed that Eleanor and Theo were equally curious about Mr. Dudley’s mutterings. They watched as he rounded the table and set a gravy boat down in front of Luke, the only one who seemed unaffected by the man’s ramblings.
“Don’t corpses sometimes have rosy cheeks, even in death? Don’t they? Or only if they die of a fever?”
“Is something the matter?” Theo tried.
Roderick stared at Theo as though he had forgotten there were other people in the room. “What?”
“Is there anything we can help you with?”
His face became troubled. He hesitated. “No. I’m quite alright.”
Annabel came walking into the dining room. “Hello all. How is everything?” She looked pointedly at the food set out on the table. It was thanks to Annabel that the group remained well fed; she had taken over the cooking after the death of Miss Dudley.
Luke looked around. “I don’t think any of us has eaten anything yet.”
Annabel cast a cold look in his direction. “Why not? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” assured Theo. “It’s just that…” she glanced in Mr. Dudley’s direction as he began to talk to himself once more. “We’ve been a bit distracted.”
“Well, dig in. While it’s hot.”
Theo dutifully began to pile mashed potatoes onto her plate.
“Where is Valdemar this evening?” asked Annabel.
Dr. Montague’s head shot up. Trying to appear nonchalant, he began pouring himself a drink, but his hand was trembling. “He had to leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes. Something urgent came up.”
“What was so urgent that he had to leave without saying goodbye?”
He swiped a hand across his forehead. Could she tell he was lying? “I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just said that it was urgent and that he had to leave right away.”
“I hope he’s alright.” Annabel sat down at the table. “He hasn’t looked well as of late. Very gaunt and pale.”
“Perhaps he’s on his way to a doctor,” suggested Theo.
Annabel looked troubled.
Just as Dr. Montague was trying to figure out how to change the subject, he was rescued by a sudden knocking at the door. “Who on earth can that be?” Annabel asked.
“Why is it that people always come during dinnertime,” added Dr. Montague, pretending he was put out, instead of relieved.
The knocking sounded again. Mr. Dudley left to answer it. A moment later, a man wearing an old bowler hat and dove gray suit entered the dining room. His long mustache nearly tickled his chin.
“May I present, Mr. Peabody,” introduced Mr. Dudley.
“Hello?” said Dr. Montague. He hadn’t been expecting anyone else. “How can I be of assistance?”
“I was sent by Harry Price, the president of The Society for Psychical Research,” the man explained. “I am here to witness a séance here at Hill House in order to ascertain its authenticity.”
Dr. Montague scowled at this, his relief turning to annoyance. He had forgotten that the SPR was going to come sniffing around Hill House. Sticking their noses where they did not belong. He had gotten here first and, unlike The Society, he actually cared about finding out the truth, not just automatically assuming that everything was false before they had any proof.
“I heard that we already had a member here, but I was to come later as a follow-up to her proceedings,” said Mr. Peabody.
“That would be me,” said Annabel, raising her hand.
“Most delighted to make your acquaintance.” Mr. Peabody gave a slight bow.
“You are very formal, aren’t you?” Theo blurted out.
Rather than be offended, he only smiled. “This is not the first time I’ve been accused of such. I had a very English mother, I’m afraid.” He laughed.
“Please, won’t you join us?” Annabel indicated the dinner she had prepared.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “It smells divine.” Annabel smiled warmly at this.
As Mr. Peabody walked over and took his seat, Dr. Montague realized how short the man was, perhaps only five foot five, and that he was slightly bow-legged. He was stocky and had bright blue eyes that lay overtop a pair of sharp cheekbones.
“So, you are from England then?” asked Annabel.
“I am indeed. Originally, anyway. I’m now happy to call America my home.”
Another knock sounded from the front door. “Now who’s here?” asked a bewildered Dr. Montague. He made to stand up, but before he could, Mr. Dudley had reentered the room.
“A Mr. Sleuth is here to see you, sir,” Mr. Dudley said.
Dr. Montague noticed Mr. Peabody smirking at the name of this newcomer. The man wore a heavy wool tweed overcoat and deerstalker hat. He also sported a long mustache, and his jowls drooped like that of a bulldog.
“What can I do for you?” asked Dr. Montague.
“I heard there was a spiritualist medium here, and I wished to attend a séance.”
Dr. Montague’s frown deepened. How many people had this Harry Price sent?
“Ah, I see my associate has beaten me here.” He indicated Mr. Peabody, who scoffed at this claim. “As a member of both the SPR and the Ghost Club, and since I assume you are here to find a fraud,” Mr. Sleuth looked pointedly at Mr. Peabody, “I wish to be the counterweight that says that this may be a real life haunting.”
Dr. Montague brightened at this. Finally, a man with some sense! “Annabel told me that I had three weeks before you people started knocking on my door.”
Mr. Sleuth looked surprised. “But it has been three weeks.”
“No. We have been here only one week. Perhaps a bit more, it’s hard to keep track of time here. All the days tend to blend together, but surely no longer than ten days.”
“It’s true. It has only been a week,” replied Theo.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” said Mr. Peabody. “Mr. Sleuth here is right. It has been three weeks.”
There was a moment of silence while that thought sunk in. How was it possible? Could they have truly been here that long without any of them realizing it? Could the house somehow manipulate time? Was it possible that Hill House had deceived them?
Theo must have been having similar thoughts. She stared at her plate, having hardly taken a bite of her food.
“Don’t look so worried,” Luke whispered to her. “Time always flies when I’m around.” He winked.
“Well, we’re happy to have you here,” said Annabel. Dr. Montague gave a snort, but she ignored him. “Please, join us for dinner, Mr. Sleuth. I happen to be that spiritualist medium, and I will perform the séance as soon as everyone has finished eating.”
“You don’t agree?” asked Mr. Peabody with a knowing smile, looking at Dr. Montague.
Dr. Montague was taken aback. “What?”
“I get the sense that you’re not happy by our presence.”
Dr. Montague flushed with embarrassment. “It’s nothing against you personally, but we have things well in hand here at Hill House without The Society butting its head into our affairs.”
“I was under the impression that anyone could attend a séance if they so choose,” countered Mr. Peabody.
“True as that may be, I hear that the SPR is rather more interested in catching frauds these days than in conducting any true investigations into the paranormal.”
“I used to be a spiritual believer, like ol’ Mr. Sleuth here,” explained Mr. Peabody. “But I have personally seen the amount of swindling that con artists have committed in the name of spiritualism. It isn’t right or fair to give folks a false sense of security, letting them think that their loved ones live on when we have no empirical evidence to support that claim.”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Dr. Montague. “I’m a man of science. I understand that most scientists dismiss spiritualism as a pseudoscience because it cannot be properly replicated. Most believe that since the scientific method cannot be applied in such cases, that it must then be false. Not I. I say that there are some things that simply cannot be explained with the small amount of knowledge that mankind has at this time…yet. I say that there very well may come a day when those same scientists will have to admit that they were wrong.”
“Here, here!” laughed Mr. Sleuth. “I understand how you feel, Dr. Montague. I myself have been witness to things that could not be explained by science.”
“At one point in time, I would have agreed with you,” said Mr. Peabody. “I have made it my life’s work to study parapsychology. But I have learned much since my induction into The Society.”
“Parapsychology? What is that?” asked Luke.
Mr. Peabody looked surprised. “You are here investigating ghosts, and yet you know so little?”
Seemingly offended, Luke shot back, “I’ll have you know that Hill House belongs to me! This investigation is only taking place because I have allowed it!”
“You mean because your aunt allowed it,” Theo smirked, seemingly to herself. Her face flushed when she caught Luke looking at her and realized that he must have heard. He glared at her.
“Forgive me,” Mr. Peabody said. “Parapsychology is the study of psychic phenomena such as extrasensory perception, telepathy, pr
ecognition, clairvoyance, and telekinesis.”
“You should know all about it then, Theo,” Luke said sweetly, grinning at her.
“Are you clairvoyant?” Mr. Sleuth asked with genuine interest.
“It’s a recent development,” she stammered. “Or I should say that I didn’t realize I was until I came to Hill House. Since coming here I have been having dreams.”
“Do tell,” Luke said, propping his head up with his hand.
Theo shot him a nasty look and explained to the two gentlemen about her dreams.
“Fascinating,” said Mr. Sleuth.
“It’s one of the reasons I hired her as my assistant,” said Dr. Montague proudly. “So, Mr. Sleuth, you have actually seen an apparition?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. Once I attended a séance in a little flat in Bloomsbury, London. The medium that attended the séance was tied to a chair, and the lights in the room were dimmed. She appeared to enter into a trance, and a luminous mist materialized behind her. The mist formed into the shape of an old woman. The apparition drifted about the room, appearing to pass directly through the medium, before evaporating into the opposite wall.”
“That was later debunked as a hoax, and you know it,” said Mr. Peabody.
“I don’t believe it,” attested Mr. Sleuth. “I saw the old crone with my own eyes!”
“Our sense of sight can be deceived,” said Mr. Peabody.
“And I suppose you believe what occurred at Colonel Elmore’s estate was also a hoax?” Mr. Sleuth shot back.
Mr. Peabody looked less sure. “I wasn’t there,” was all he said.
“What happened at the colonel’s house?” Theo asked.
“He and his family claimed to hear mysterious sounds emanating from their home in Dorset. They called in The Society to investigate. I was one of those members sent. They claimed to hear chains rattling and being dragged across the wooden floors at night. They also heard moaning as though a soul was in torment.”
Luke chuckled. “Perhaps it was the ghost of Charles Dickens, trying to give credence to his ghostly Christmas tale.”
Mr. Sleuth did not look amused as he continued. “Even the family dog refused to enter certain parts of the house, and most of Colonel Elmore’s staff had left. Dr. Sydney Scott, Frank Podmore, and I spent several nights there.”