Fixing To Die

“How exciting,” An’gel had said immediately, and Dickce joined in. The others looked skeptical at first, but the more they talked about it, the more interested everyone seemed to become.

Alesha Jackson insisted that everyone had to participate in order for the séance to have the desired result. Her spirit guides had been most insistent on that point, she told them. They would convene at ten o’clock in the dining room.

At nine forty-five, Dickce was back in the dining room, along with An’gel and Benjy, waiting for the others to arrive. They began to trickle in shortly before ten, and An’gel directed them to take their seats around the table. Alesha Jackson sat at the head, An’gel at the foot, and Dickce and Benjy at the midpoint on either side.

Henry Howard had added a leaf to the table so that it could accommodate all nine of them. There were two candelabra on the table, each holding three candles. Henry Howard lit them and then turned out the lights.

Dickce glanced around the table. Serenity Foster looked bored. Truss Wilbanks was obviously nervous. Henry Howard appeared to be enjoying himself, while Mary Turner appeared to be a little on edge. Marcelline, however, seemed overwhelmed by the situation. The housekeeper sat between Benjy and Mary Turner, and she shivered a little now and then, Dickce noticed.

“Let us begin.” Alesha Jackson’s voice interrupted Dickce’s perusal of the occupants of the room. “We must now hold hands to form an unbroken connection around the table.” She extended her hands to those on either side of her. As soon as she was satisfied that everyone had complied with her instruction, she continued.

Her voice deepened slightly as she talked. “There is a spirit in this house, a restless soul who still wanders this earth. This spirit is a remnant of one who lived in this house long ago, but who lingers. We must focus our thoughts on this spirit and encourage it to reveal itself to us. Please close your eyes and concentrate.”

Alesha Jackson began to hum something that sounded like a hymn. Dickce stole a glance at the psychic in the dim light of the candles. Her eyes were closed as she continued to hum. The sound was soothing, almost hypnotic, Dickce thought.

Dickce closed her own eyes and did her best to concentrate her thoughts. She knew that An’gel’s plan called for a certain amount of deception, and she hoped she wouldn’t give anything away. She tended to giggle sometimes when she was nervous, and An’gel would wring her neck if she giggled tonight and spoiled everything. So she focused as hard as she could on the sound of Alesha Jackson’s humming and the idea of the spirit of the house.

The humming continued, the volume increasing and decreasing occasionally. Dickce began to feel relaxed. The sound was soothing. She could feel the hands she clasped. Henry Howard, on her right, seemed calm and focused. Truss Wilbanks on her left, however, trembled now and then. Dickce gave his hand a light squeeze to try to reassure him, and he seemed to be calmer after that.

The humming trailed off, and Alesha Jackson began to speak again.

“Spirit of this house, we are here to help you. To guide you on to the next plane of existence. You no longer have to be confined by the walls of this house. If you will open yourself to us, we can guide you toward the light of eternal peace. Will you allow us to assist you on your way toward the light?”

When the psychic stopped speaking, Dickce could hear only the sounds of breathing. She opened her eyes and glanced quickly around the table. Everyone was still connected, hand to hand, and everyone except An’gel had their eyes closed. An’gel winked at her, then assumed a serious expression.

Alesha Jackson spoke once more. “Spirit of this house, I know you are troubled. Memories of life and of death have bound you to this place, but you can be free of them. Let me guide you on toward the light. Don’t be afraid. Nothing more can harm you now.”

In the quiet that followed, Dickce heard a soft murmur. Even though she was expecting it, she got goose pimples and had to resist the urge to pull her hands loose to rub her arms. The murmur was only a faint sound at first, but the volume grew slightly, and one word, repeated over and over, became distinct.

“Murder.” The syllables were drawn out, the voice a breathy whisper. “Mur-der. Mur-der.” The word repeated, over and over, in a near-hypnotic rhythm. Then all at once, the volume rose and rose until it suddenly ended in an unearthly shriek.

Dickce shuddered. She had been present earlier when Benjy recorded the whole thing, but still she felt spooked by it. In the silence she heard ragged breathing all around her.

Then the voice started again, whispered for a moment, then suddenly stopped.

Alesha Jackson spoke, her voice now sounding tense rather than soothing. “What is it you wish to tell us, spirit? Speak to us. Reveal everything to us. We are here to help you.”