Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 9, No. 2, February 1964

A Touch of Magic by Miranda Wallace

Despite our present day immersion in scientific gadgetry, we respond emotionally to all sorts of phenomena that remain outside our jargon of proof. For some persons, this may be a very fortunate incongruity.

A crash from downstairs, as of dishes being shattered in a mass fall to the floor, waked Abigail Stevens from a maze of troubled dreams. She sat up in bed, being careful not to jar her broken leg. Her head throbbed violently, and no sooner had she achieved an upright position than dizziness overcame her so that she fell back upon her pillow.

They drugged me again, she realized bitterly. Spent by weeks of terror and physical pain, she lay weakly, eyes closed, trying not to think, not to feel. In the beginning she had wept and pleaded wildly, fervently promising all she possessed in return for her freedom. Their response had been laughter and jeers, for they knew Bella would inherit everything when she died. That would be soon. They were only waiting for her thirtieth birthday, when she would come into the considerable estate left her by her grandfather.

When she heard footsteps outside her room, Abigail gathered her remaining strength and began to breathe audibly with a measured rhythm, opening her mouth a little to add to the effect of deep slumber. A key turned in the lock and the door opened. They crossed the room and stood together beside her bed.

“Still dead to the world,” Ralph said complacently. “She doesn’t give us much trouble lately, does she? Goes out like a light and sleeps around the clock. We should have thought of it sooner.”

“I think you gave her an overdose,” Bella said testily. “Do you want her to die before July eleventh and have Princeton get the old man’s money?” Bella was leaning so close that a stray wisp of her hair brushed Abigail’s forehead and it was with difficulty that she kept her eyelids from twitching. “Look how thin and blueish she is, Ralph,” Bella said now, and there was a note of alarm in her sharp voice. “I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe we’d better lay off the dope for awhile and feed her more often. It’s still only May, you know.”

“Whatever you think best,” Ralph said agreeably. Abigail could remember when the married life of Ralph and Bella had been a constant struggle for supremacy, and she had felt pity for her half-sister for being tied to so tyrannical and overbearing a spouse as Ralph Stoddard. But nowadays Ralph was sickeningly deferential in all things. “Just as you say, Bella.” “You decide, dear.” “If that’s what you want, it’s what I want, baby.”

And probably all the time he’s plotting to put her out of the way, too, and have all the money for himself, Abigail thought suddenly, although the idea hadn’t occurred to her before. In that case Bella hadn’t much longer to live than she herself had. Perhaps they would meet in the next world soon after July eleventh, and she would say to Bella, Well, what else could you expect? As ye sow ye shall reap, and he who lives by the sword must some day die by the sword.

Abigail continued to lie very still and breathe as if in deep sleep, but she turned this idea of Bella’s early demise over and over in her mind. It was the first thing that had given her pleasure in nearly two months. It also gave her a strange sense of excitement, and — for no logical reason — a faint feeling of hope. Perhaps I gave up too easily, she thought now. The shock of Bella’s perfidy threw me off balance, and breaking my leg was the last straw and rendered me completely vulnerable. I didn’t even try to find a way out.

As if her thought had suddenly transferred itself to her half-sister, Bella said worriedly to Ralph, “It has been a comfort, keeping her under most of the time. We’ll have to watch her constantly if we let her stay awake.”

“You worry too much,” Ralph said easily. “What could she do, with a broken leg? You can be sure she wouldn’t try to jump again, even if she got the chance. And she can’t even manage her crutches decently. With the door locked and her windows painted shut, she’s here till they carry her out feet first.”

“Yes, I know,” Bella said. “Still... oh, I realize this sounds silly under the circumstances, but I’ve always been a little bit afraid of Abigail. Even when we were small. She was different from the rest of us. I thought she had some power, some gift — well, a touch of magic, I guess.”

“That’s because she was older than you,” Ralph said. “Little kids often feel that way.”

“No-o, it wasn’t that,” Bella said. “She used to say odd things, predict things you’d think couldn’t possibly come true, and then they did.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, she was always entering contests, in newspapers and radio programs, and she would say quite calmly that she would win first prize. And she did. Once she won a huge box filled with hundreds of candy bars, and was the envy of the entire neighborhood. Father was very proud of her and called her ‘The Brain’. Mother said Abigail wasn’t any smarter than the rest of us, but she was lucky. Abigail said it wasn’t either brains or luck. She said it was just that she wanted the prizes more than anyone else did, and so she willed them to come to her.”

“It could have been a combination of brains and luck, but it certainly wasn’t magic,” Ralph said.

Bella said, “She looks terrible. Except for that noisy breathing I’d think she was dead. Come, help me rouse her — and I hope we can.”

Abigail let them work over her for a long time before she gave any signs of reviving. When at last she opened languid eyes, she saw that Bella and Ralph had had a bad fright. That pleased Abigail and gave her added hope. She vowed to herself to shake off her defeatist attitude and give the murderous wretches a run for their money. Their money? My own money! she thought with a touch of wry humor.

The next morning, after finishing a better-than-usual breakfast, Abigail said softly, as if speaking her thoughts to herself, “Lousos will be visiting me any day now. She always comes around the end of May or the first of June.”

Bella, half-way to the door with the breakfast tray, wheeled around, a startled expression on her sharp face.

“Who’s Lousos?” she demanded.

“My roommate at college, and a very dear friend,” Abigail said.

“Well, she won’t be visiting here this year,” Bella said decisively. “I’ll write her today and explain that you’ve had a complete mental breakdown and can’t see anyone outside the family.”

“Oh, that won’t keep Lousos away,” Abigail said confidently. “She will feel she should be with me if I’m in that bad shape.”

“Then she’s as stupid as her name,” said Bella, who had never inconvenienced herself for another human being in her life. “Who ever heard of anyone named Lousos? And how do you spell it, anyway?”

Abigail spelled it. “It was her mother’s maiden name,” she said. “Her mother came of a very distinguished family.”

Bella, whose family was in no way distinguished, and who had always felt bitter toward Abigail for having a rich grandfather, snorted derisively as she left the room with the tray, slamming the door behind her.

Abigail knew that wasn’t the end of the subject, and she didn’t want it to be. Sure enough, in a very short time Bella was back, bearing stationery and a pen.

“Now, you write a letter to this Lousos person and tell her she can’t come this year. Tell her you’ve been very sick and your sister and brother-in-law are taking you abroad right away to see a famous doctor.”

Abigail shook her head weakly. “I can’t write a sensible letter today. I feel queer, and my mind winders.”

“So much the better,” Bella said. “If you wrote too good a letter, this Lousos might think you’re all right. Just say what I told you to, and anything else that comes to mind to fill up a page or so. It doesn’t matter what the rest sounds like. Get at it, so I can mail it when I go to the supermarket. I don’t want her trying to barge in just because we didn’t head her off in time.”

Abigail also wanted to get the letter off as quickly as possible. Ralph was out of the house at the moment, and she knew it would be safer for her if he didn’t see the letter. Ralph’s mind was quicker than Bella’s. His intellect was not of a high order, but he possessed a certain animal cunning that stood him in good stead against any adversary. She was just finishing the note when Bella returned, dressed for her walk to the nearby store. Bella took it from her and read it carefully.

“Who’s Jerene?” Bella demanded.

“Jerene?” Abigail looked vague. “I don’t think I know any Jerene, do you?”

“Oh, never mind,” Bella said. “If you don’t remember your own sister’s name, she’ll know you’re off your rocker. And this bird business: you couldn’t hear a bird on the lawn away up here with the windows shut tight, no matter what it sang. And it wouldn’t be ‘Lousos, Lousos, Lousos!’ Well, so much the better. You did just fine, Abigail.”

Smiling grimly to herself, Bella folded the letter into the envelope, sealed and stamped it. Abigail scarcely breathed until, watching from the window, supported by her crutches, she saw Bella drop the letter in the corner mailbox and continue on her way to the supermarket. She had been so afraid Ralph might return before the letter was safely mailed, and ask to see it.

Two days later the Misses Meadows, Catherine and Louise, were enjoying the late-spring sunshine on the east side of the old-fashioned porch of their comfortable house in a suburb of Minneapolis, when the postman delivered a letter to Louise.

“It’s from Abigail, praise be!” she exclaimed, and eagerly tore the envelope. “I’ve written her several times this spring without getting a word in reply, and that isn’t like her at all.”

She read the letter, then read it again, a puzzled crease between her eyebrows.

“Cathy, this is the strangest note,” she said. “Poor Abigail must be entirely out of her mind to write this way.” She handed the letter to Catherine.

Catherine also read and reread the peculiar epistle.

“Why does she call you Lousos? I mean, is it some joke you have between you — something like that?”

“She never called me that before,” Louise said. “She always calls me Lou. Also, her half-sister’s name is Bella, and Abigail never referred to her as her sister. They weren’t friendly, and kept out of each other’s way, which wasn’t difficult with Bella living in California and Abigail in New York. Oh, poor Abigail — whatever her illness is, it has certainly affected her mind. I’m so worried about her, Cathy. I wish she’d written earlier. Even if I started for New York today, I’d probably miss her. She says they’re leaving right away.”

Catherine was reading the letter again.

“Look, Lou, you don’t suppose this is written in a sort of... of code, do you? That Abigail’s in trouble, and is asking for help, but has to be secretive about it because she’s sick and helpless and can’t keep her half-sister from reading her mail?”

“Cathy, what an idea!”

“Well, look at the letters she has added to your name, not once, but six times: s, o, and s. Lou, that’s a cry for help — S.O.S. — Send Out Succor!”

“Oh, Cathy, what a fantastic idea! Why, Abigail has the most devoted housekeeper in the world, who’s been in the family for years. Abigail would give her letters to Nelly to mail, and turn to Nelly for whatever she needed. Not to Bella, certainly.”

“Perhaps Nelly has died, or the half-sister dismissed her when Abigail was too ill to assert herself,” Cathy persisted.

Louise was silent for a moment, turning her sister’s words carefully over in her mind. Then she shook her head.

“You see too much television, Cathy,” she said. “If it were only the extra letters poor Abigail has added to my name, I might give some credence to your idea that she’s in trouble. But the whole letter is preposterous, and so unlike Abigail. She’s definitely unbalanced, to forget Bella’s name. Besides, in her right mind she would never go abroad with Bella and her husband. She actually loathed Ralph Stoddard, and even pitied Bella for having married him, much as she disliked Bella. Oh, poor Abigail!”

Louise got up hurriedly and went into the house, and Catherine did not follow her, knowing she wanted to be alone. But Abigail’s letter had been left behind, and Catherine read it for the fourth time.

Somewhere in the back of her mind the name Jerene rang a faint bell. Where had she heard it before? It was not a usual name, and she was sure she had never personally known anyone who bore it. Still, it seemed to have some meaning for her...

After a time she gave herself a brisk mental shake. Lou was probably right, and Abigail’s letter was merely the product of a deranged mind. After all, Abigail was Lou’s friend. Lou was in a better position to form an opinion in the situation than she herself could possibly be.

She put the letter back in its envelope and turned her mind resolutely to other matters. After a time she went into the house and began energetically to straighten the pantry shelves, although they were very neat and well arranged as they were. She could hear the sound of weeping from Louise’s room, and when she had withstood it as long as she could, she went upstairs and knocked at her sister’s door. Louise was lying across her bed, sobbing softly and clutching something in her hand — a key through which was threaded a crumpled blue ribbon.

“Abigail and I exchanged door-keys the day we graduated from college,” she explained brokenly. “She gave me this and said, ‘My home is your home, Lou, and whether I’m there or not I want you always to make use of it when you’re in the vicinity.’ So then I gave her a key to our house, too, and said I hoped she would use it often.”

“Well, and so she has,” Catherine said briskly.

“But I’m afraid all that is behind us now,” Louise said. “Oh, poor, poor Abigail!” She broke into renewed weeping.

Catherine reached toward her sister, intending to give her a loving pat, but in her state of agitation she struck the bedside lamp and toppled it over on the pillow, just missing Louise’s head. Louise, startled, sat up quickly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but did not speak. Instead, she and Catherine stared at each other in sudden enlightenment, then spoke together, saying the same thing: “Well, Jerene!”

“I’d entirely forgotten,” Louise said softly.

“So had I, although I knew the name had some sort of significance,” Catherine said. “When you came back home after college you used to say that whenever anyone accidentally bumped into you or hurt you in any way. Jerene Something-or-other... wasn’t she a murderess?”

“Jerene Watson. She was a cleaning woman, right there in our college town. She worked at night in office buildings. Every once in a while they would find the body of someone who had worked late, slumped over a desk, his head bashed in. Or her head. She killed three men and a woman before anyone suspected her. She was such a meek-appearing little creature. When they caught her, she said she had nothing against the people she murdered. She just felt she had to have some excitement in her humdrum life. Her name became a sort of by-word among the girls at college. When any of us got hit by a door or had her foot stepped on, she’d say scathingly to the offender, ‘Well, Jerene!’ As if she had narrowly escaped being murdered.”

Abigail asked her half-sister, “Bella, do you ever read the Bible?” She did not look at Bella as she spoke, but stared intently at the wall on the far side of the room.

“No, I don’t,” Bella answered shortly, “and if this is the start of an appeal to my better nature, save your breath. You read the Bible, and where has it got you? Right now I’m in much better shape than you are.”

“Oh, the Bible is a very interesting book,” Abigail said dreamily. “I should think even an absolute atheist would find it so. It is filled with little-known truths that can open up fascinating vistas of thought. Most of us go through life closing our eyes to everything but the obvious, when if we only reached out and let our imaginations run free, and had the faith to match, we could learn to grasp all the beautiful things that now elude us because we stupidly limit our reach. We could turn miracles into everyday happenings.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m sure you don’t, either,” Bella said in a hard voice. But she felt uneasy and, reluctant as she was to pursue this conversation with Abigail, she had a nervous feeling that perhaps she’d better. So she asked sarcastically, “What beautiful miracles have you performed recently?”

Abigail did not answer, apparently not having heard the question. She sat staring wide-eyed at the wall, an expectant smile curving her lips, her breath coming in quick, excited little gasps. Seeing her so gave Bella a distinct chill along the length of her spine.

“What are you staring at?” she asked, her tone between fear and petulance. She had to repeat the question twice before Abigail roused herself to answer.

“Bella,” she said softly, then, “when you look at that wall, what do you see?”

“I see a wall, of course,” Bella said, “a plain bedroom wall, painted beige. That’s all I see, and that’s all you see, too.”

“Oh, no, Bella. I see something else... A door. I’ve been working at it for weeks, and there it is. I said to myself, If I want a door in that wall, and want it hard enough, I will look up one day and find it there. And I did, just now. One moment there was a plain bedroom wall, as you said. But while I looked, willing a door to be there, the door appeared.”

“You’re crazy,” Bella said angrily, “or else you’re trying to drive me crazy. There’s no door there and you know it.”

Abigail looked at her pityingly. “Poor Bella, you limit yourself so. All the lovely things will forever be out of your reach.”

Bella hurried downstairs to report this conversation to Ralph, who laughed heartily as if at a great joke.

“I wish you wouldn’t stay away so much,” Bella said accusingly. “I’m afraid, all alone with her.”

“Baby, be your age,” Ralph said. “What is there to be afraid of? Nobody could be more helpless than Abigail. I can’t stay home all the time. I’m the kind of guy who has to keep circulating. But there’s no reason why you should be cooped up, either. Just make sure everything’s locked, and then go out and stay as long as you please. We only have to stick around a few weeks more, anyway. After that, plenty of money and the wide world to spend it in!” He spread his arms in a wide gesture, and his face beamed with joyous anticipation.

“I guess you’re right, and I certainly need a change,” Bella said. “I think I’ll make the rounds of New York’s fancy jewelry stores this afternoon, and get some ideas of what to buy when I have the price. I’ve always longed for a pear-shaped diamond pendant on a platinum chain. A big diamond. About five carats. And a lot of other jewels.”

Bella spent a pleasant, unhurried afternoon in the Fifth Avenue shops, and reached home later than she’d intended. When she entered the front door and stepped into the hall, she heard Ralph’s restless footsteps pacing the living room and knew he was impatient for his dinner. Well, let him wait, Bella thought with vindictive satisfaction. She knew he wouldn’t complain. Ralph could get his hands on the money only through her. Feeling smug and important, she called an airy hello as she went upstairs to change her clothes.

A moment later she came flying down again as if shot from a cannon, gasping his name in a hoarse voice, her face a plaster-white mask of terror.

“What on earth?” Ralph demanded. “You look as if—”

“She’s gone!” Bella shrieked wildly. “Abigail — she’s disappeared! I unlocked her door and stepped in, just to check, and she isn’t there!”

“Nonsense,” Ralph said sharply. “Of course she’s there. Where else could she be?” But he started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Bella following at his heels. Together they hurried into the large bedroom, flooded with light now from the setting sun. The door to the adjoining bath was open, and from where they stood they could look into every inch of both rooms. Abigail was definitely not there.

Suddenly Bella pointed a shaking finger at one of the walls, and began to cry and babble incoherently.

“Look, look — her crutches! There was a door, just as she said, and she went through it. I couldn’t see it, but it was there. She didn’t need the crutches after she went through the door. She walked right to it, and then left them there.”

Ralph looked where she pointed, and saw the crutches lying, crossed, on the floor close to the baseboard.

“She was right, don’t you see?” Bella babbled on. “She saw the door and went through it. Ralph, where do you think she is now? Ralph?”

Ralph turned to her with an ugly oath, his face livid with rage. “You tell me,” he said harshly. “I’m not buying this fairy tale about a door in the wall. I know you cooked the whole thing up. You thought you’d pull the wool over my eyes, didn’t you? Telling me chose tales about her supernatural powers, and then spiriting her away this afternoon while I was gone? If you think you’re going to freeze me out and keep all the money for yourself, you’re as crazy as Abigail. All right, now — start talking!”

“Ralph, I don’t know where Abigail is. I swear it! I left the house, right after you did, and she was here then. I locked all the doors when I went—”

He struck her a blow that sent her reeling against the wall, and when she began to scream shrilly his hands closed about her throat.

“Now let’s hear what really happened. One more lie and it’ll be the last you’ll ever get a chance to tell.”

Bella struggled wildly in his grasp. She tried frantically to reason with him, but she wasn’t saying what Ralph wanted to hear. In spite of the difficulty under which she attempted to communicate with him, Ralph understood enough to know that she was sticking to her preposterous tale of an invisible door in the wall, and as his rage mounted his hands continued to tighten around Bella’s throat. At last, exhausted, she fell limply to the floor.

Ralph stood for a moment looking down at her lifeless body. Then he lunged heavily into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

“Gone, all gone!” he wept. He wasn’t referring to Bella. It was the lost fortune he mourned. It had come so close, almost into his eager, itching hands, and now it had passed forever beyond his reach. He would have to find a job and go back to work, always being an underling, taking orders from smarter, more capable men, to the end of his days. Completely undone by the combination of rage, frustration, and self-pity, he howled like a child in his tantrum.

He did not hear the doorbell, nor the tread of feet to the room where he sat, with Bella’s inert body on the floor beside his chair. It was the weight of a heavy hand on his shoulder that made him spring to his feet in alarm and face three men who stood before him.

“We’re from police headquarters,” said the spokesman. “We came on complaint of Miss Abigail Stevens, to remove you and your wife from her home, to charge you with holding her prisoner, denying her the services of a doctor and plotting against her life. But it is evident that there is an even more serious charge against you now...”

Ralph Stoddard listened dully. When they fastened the handcuffs upon his wrists and gave him a forward shove, he went meekly.

But as he was about to leave the room he turned his head and gazed curiously at the expanse of wall above the crossed crutches. He had been mistaken about Bella. She would never have set Abigail free. And Abigail was free, since she had sent the police. But how could she have made her escape? Was there an invisible door, after all? Did Abigail indeed have a touch of magic, as Bella had feared?

As he shuffled along with the policemen, he shook his head slowly in complete bafflement.