The Unseen

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

She bolted up from sleep… to silence and grayness.

Who am I? Where is this? What year is this? What century is this?

Terror pulsed through her, instinctive, immediate.

She was not in the white room, but rather, on a sofa downstairs in the great room. The room was dim and there was no color in it; it had the faded, grainy black and white of a newsreel. There were lumps of sleeping shapes around her, and her skin started to crawl. Who are they? Who am I? Which reality is this?

She forced herself to breathe, forced herself to focus on the objects around her. The computer monitors, with their smashed screens. The sophisticated control board. The black-and-white newsreel quality faded and she saw the room in dim color, in the present.

Brendan, Tyler, and Katrina slept on sofas and mattresses. Now Laurel remembered.

We brought the furniture in last night so we wouldn’t be sleeping alone.

She looked around at the arrangement of furniture and bodies. No sign of the young man from her dream.

God, it was real. So much more real than anything else was feeling right now. She had to ride out another wave of disorientation, of displacement.

Outside the tall windows it was dark, not the dark of night but the deep gray of rain, which was what had leached the color out of the present. As she focused, Laurel focused, waking, she could hear the pounding and splashing of rain on the bricks outside, and the rumble of thunder in the sky.

She sat up and the blanket that was covering her slipped down, and something white fluttered to the floor. She looked down, and down.

It was a card, a white Zener card—with a thick black circle on it. An electric realization shot through her.

The card. He gave me the card.

The others woke, slowly. She watched them—saw their jittery jolts as they came into full consciousness and registered first where they were, and then began to remember what had transpired. Each of them looked up to the ceiling, then to the walls, where the paintings still hung upside down as in a surrealist exhibit.

They all looked around, and no one said a word.

They sat around the dining-room table, with the dark paneling and the tall glass windows around them. They were in a bubble. Laurel knew that there was a garden outside, that there was air and sky and trees and a road, but the thought of going outside didn’t even occur to her, and it had nothing to do with the heavy and dismal pour of rain.

Brendan had set up a wide white board on the mantel of the fireplace, turning the room into a parody of a classroom. Laurel was reeling from the absurdity at the same time that she was finding comfort in the familiarity, the attempt at order.

She was so shaky, her whole body trembling… her whole sense of reality shattered, really. Nothing she thought was real was real.

But there was no thought of leaving anymore—none whatsoever. She felt as if she were part of the house, as if she had always been part of the house. It was in her blood. No one else seemed to have any intention of moving, either.

“So today,” Brendan said. “We need a game plan.”

“A game plan,” Tyler snorted, though without anywhere near his usual panache. “It’s not our show, though, right? We wait and see what it decides to do.”

“On one level,” Brendan agreed, and his voice was even, but Laurel had the fleeting thought that he could have killed Tyler in that instant, and an accompanying thought that that was not good. “But we can also analyze what happened yesterday, and I think we should. Let’s first review the major theories of poltergeists.”

He picked up a red marker and went to the white board. Katrina sat, straight-backed, with her hands primly folded in her lap, the perfect teacher’s pet. “Anyone?” Brendan said, lifting his eyebrows.

“A noisy ghost,” Katrina said promptly.

“Excellent,” Brendan beamed, as if this were kindergarten, and wrote the phrase at the top of the board.

“What else?” he demanded.

Slumped in his chair, Tyler shrugged listlessly. “A particular aspect of a traditional haunting.”

“Which aspect?” Brendan asked, and waited, marker poised upon the board.

“A particularly kinetic aspect,” Tyler shot back, and Brendan turned to look at him.

“Good answer, Mr. Mountford.” Brendan wrote it down as number 2:

—and turned back to the room. “What else?”

“An imprint of a violent emotion on a place,” Katrina volunteered. Her eyes were shining, her lips full and wet.

“Yes, good.” Brendan wrote it down.

“We also have the agent theory,” Tyler said, his voice dripping with innuendo. “The repressed emotions of an adolescent…”—his eyes slid toward Katrina—“girl, gone wild and manifesting externally.” Katrina kicked out at him from underneath the table. But Laurel noticed their sparring was forced, it lacked any kind of energy or conviction.

Brendan was already busy writing on the white board.

“And fraud,” Laurel said suddenly. “Let’s not forget fraud.” She looked at Brendan, and saw his face tighten. “A proven factor in many cases,” she added, holding his gaze. She didn’t even know why she was saying it—it wasn’t what she believed. After yesterday she didn’t even know what she believed anymore, but it was what she was compelled to say, and it was out.

Brendan turned stiffly to the board and wrote,

“Anything else?” he asked, and there was a touch of fury in his voice.

To Laurel’s surprise, Tyler spoke again. “‘A dynamic between the percipients and the house,’” he said, and Laurel realized he was quoting from the Leish article. “The Poltergeist Effect.”

“Yes,” said Brendan slowly, and wrote on the board. “Anything else?”

“Something else,” Katrina said quietly, and Laurel felt a chill. “Something else entirely.”

“Like what?” Brendan said, but without as much force as before.

“Entities,” Katrina said after a moment. “Something… extradimensional. Just something else.”

There was a silence that felt cold. Brendan turned to the board and wrote it.

“None of the above,” Tyler said, and Laurel knew he meant it as a joke, but the ice was not broken. Brendan continued to write, making his own notes on the list. Then he put the marker down and rubbed his hands together, delighted. “Excellent list. Let’s break it down now.”

He stepped back to survey the list on the left-hand side of the board:

“Let’s take number one. A noisy ghost. An angry or mischievous spirit,” Brendan embellished, and added the words to the board. “Certainly we had a taste of that yesterday, no?” His voice was hearty. “In fact, let’s talk about that for a moment. Would you characterize the manifestations yesterday as a: ‘angry’; or b: ‘mischievous’? Or, c: ‘other’?”

Or d: ‘insane’? Laurel thought, wildly. I vote ‘d.’

Brendan turned from the white board, and looked expectantly at them. “Let’s just throw out some adjectives. Descriptive words.”

“Teasing.” Katrina said promptly. “Sly.”

“Excellent!” Brendan leaped to the board and wrote down the words.

“Indeed,” he nodded, looking toward the upside-down paintings. “Keep going,” he ordered.

Beside Laurel, Tyler spoke, to her surprise. “Seductive. Manipulative.”

Brendan turned and looked at him. “Interesting. Why do you say so?”

Tyler shrugged. “It got us all going, didn’t it? We were chasing it around for hours.” He looked sidewise at Katrina. “Might as well add ‘feminine.’ I’ve spent less time chasing a girl.”

Katrina gasped and hit him, automatically. “Prick.”

Tyler smiled lazily. “I’m just sayin’.”

“It’s not feminine, though.” Laurel heard someone say, and then realized that it had been herself who had spoken aloud.

“No,” Katrina said, and looked at Laurel for perhaps the first time ever without a trace of rancor. “It’s not feminine.”

“No,” Brendan echoed. They all sat for a moment, contemplating.

“Childlike,” Katrina said, thoughtfully. “Playful.”

Laurel felt they were going down a dangerous road, suddenly, but could not have said why. The grandfather clock clicked softly in the corner. The sound felt ominous.

Tyler was nodding, also thoughtfully. She looked around at all of them, their almost dreamy focus. Outside, the rain was a soft, hypnotic patter.

Lulled. We’re all being lulled.

“Intelligent,” Katrina said suddenly. “You know? It’s trying to communicate.”

“But what is It?” Tyler asked.

“I don’t know,” Katrina said slowly. “But It is.”

“This is good,” Brendan said, pacing the floor in front of the fireplace. “This is good. Yes. There’s an intelligence. A…” He turned to Laurel and pointed. “A personality. It’s all of the same… mind.” He paused, rethinking. “Mind isn’t the word. But one intelligence.”

Katrina and Tyler were nodding.

“We’re agreed, then?” Brendan said intensely. “It’s one. Just one.”

Laurel felt at this point that she had to put a stop to it. There was something wrong—what had the pastor said?—something perverse about talking about this… thing… as if it were human, as if it were friendly, as if it were knowable.

“It’s also room-specific,” Tyler said suddenly. “It had us going on a circuit, yesterday. The library upstairs, the little room in the center hall, this room”—he glanced around the dining room—“and the one next door.” He nodded toward the great room.

“Yes, it is,” Brendan agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “I wonder why?”

And what if the point is, there is no why? Laurel thought.

“So are we done with this analyzing yet?” Tyler said.

Brendan turned to him, with a cold look. “And what would you suggest instead?”

Tyler shifted on his chair. “Well, are we just going to wait for it to make some kind of move? We could try to make something happen.”

Brendan’s voice was neutral, but Laurel could tell he was intrigued. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Tyler looked up in the direction of the upstairs library. “Instead of sticking around together, we could stake out the rooms. Things are only happening in a few of them. Why not divide them up, hang out, and see what happens?”

“I don’t like it,” Laurel said immediately. Everyone looked at her.

“Nothing dangerous happened yesterday,” Brendan said, placating. “No one was hurt. I think it’s a good idea. We wouldn’t be far from each other…”

“Or we could try talking to it,” Katrina said.

Brendan turned to look at her, intrigued. “How would you propose to do that?”

“The same way it talks to us. The rapping.”

Laurel felt a current go through the room. She looked at Brendan and Tyler, and could see the light in their faces, burning hot. The two clocks ticked behind them: the grandfather clock in the corner, and the gold clock in its glass dome.

“I think Miss Sugar is onto something,” Tyler said slowly.

Laurel suddenly realized what the feeling of danger was. We want fireworks again. Even I do. We got a taste of it yesterday and we want more. She thought of the article Tyler had been reading by Dr. Leish: “In effect the percipients become addicted to the manifestations.”

But of course, it had already been decided.

Rain fell in a dark curtain outside as Brendan and Tyler carried the long dining-room table into the great room, and they set up four chairs around it, while Laurel watched with a growing feeling of unreality.

Brendan looked to Katrina.

“Katrina, this was your idea. Do you want to try?”

Laurel saw Katrina straighten her back and lift her head. “Yes, I will.” She walked across the dully gleaming floor and seated herself at the center of one long side of the oak table… and looked to the others expectantly until they took their seats.

So she’s a medium, now? Laurel thought. That was exactly the role Katrina seemed to be assuming as she placed her hands flat on the table, closed her eyes and took a breath, and sat still for an extended moment. The weight of the great room settled around them, the heaviness of place out of time. Rain fell steadily, a soporific rumble. Then Katrina opened her eyes and looked off into the gray distance.

“We want to talk to… whatever is in this house,” she said in a firm, clear voice. “We know you’re there.”

There was a long, deliberate stillness, which not even Tyler tried to spoil.

Katrina suddenly leaned forward and rapped her knuckles sharply on the center of the wood table, as if she were knocking on a door.

“Are you there?” she demanded.

Again, stillness. But Laurel felt something else in the air now. That quality of listening, of waiting…

Katrina’s eyes shone in the dim room. “I know you’re there,” she breathed. “I can feel you.” She leaned forward and knocked again, and Laurel saw Tyler flinch in his chair. Brendan was staring at Katrina, mesmerized.

“Talk to us,” Katrina commanded. “Answer us.” She knocked again, so hard that Laurel cringed. She’s going to tear her knuckles apart…

Katrina seemed oblivious. “Are you here?” she demanded. “Answer me!” Her china-blue eyes shone with the intensity of madness.

And from the ceiling, or deeper than the ceiling, from the center of the house, came an immense, hollow THUMP. The sound reverberated through the house, through the room, through Laurel’s body.

All four of them jumped in their chairs. “Whoa,” Tyler muttered, through a dry mouth. Katrina’s eyes blazed with triumph. Brendan looked stupefied.

“Thank you,” Katrina breathed. “Welcome.”

Through her fear, Laurel felt a rush of absurdity. Welcome? We’re the outsiders here.

“How do we do this?” Tyler muttered feverishly. “One knock for yes, two for no?”

Brendan leaned toward Katrina from his chair at the head of the table. “Were you here when the original experiment was done here?” he prompted her.

“Were you here when the original experiment was done here?” Katrina repeated aloud.

There was another reverberating KNOCK. Laurel could feel it through the floorboards, hear it echoing in the walls.

“Whoa,” Tyler mumbled again, and he looked a bit sick.

“One knock is ‘yes’?” Katrina clarified.

Another hollow KNOCK. Laurel felt her pulse racing, her heart pounding in her throat, the same dizzying thrill as being on a roller coaster.

“Are you a ghost?” Katrina demanded, her eyes alight. “It’s not—,” Brendan started, but another single KNOCK boomed through the house, silencing him.

“Yes,” Katrina said.

Brendan’s face darkened with confusion.

“Are you Paul Folger?” Laurel said suddenly, looking at Katrina. Katrina stared back at her without expression, and for a moment Laurel thought the girl would simply refuse her. Then Katrina turned her eyes to the ceiling again and asked in her clear, firm voice:

“Are you Paul Folger?”

Another booming KNOCK.

“Yes,” Katrina breathed, her face glowing. At their sides of the table, Tyler and Brendan were electrified, practically vibrating with excitement.

Laurel said sharply, “Wait.” Her thoughts were racing, questions forming. Now she spoke aloud, projecting as Katrina had. “Are you Caroline Folger?” she demanded of the air.

A single, reverberating KNOCK. “Yes,” Laurel said, and looked around the table. Katrina’s face was stormy, Brendan’s confused. Laurel felt an electric thrill. I know what you’re up to. She leaned forward on the table.

“Are you Alaistair Leish?” Laurel asked loudly.

Another KNOCK shook the house.

“You’re all of those people,” Laurel said, her eyebrows raised skeptically.

Now two thundering KNOCKs.

“That’s ‘No’,” Tyler said.

“Are you Paul Folger?” Laurel asked again.

Two KNOCKs. “‘No,’” Tyler repeated. He looked toward Laurel with admiration.

“Are you Alaistair Leish?” Laurel demanded.

Two KNOCKs again. “Are you Caroline Folger?”

Two KNOCKs.

Laurel sat back, and they all looked around at each other, stymied at the contradiction.

“Are you dead?” Laurel tried.

Two KNOCKs… then another.

So all it’s doing is playing, Laurel thought. Or maybe it doesn’t understand English. But she didn’t say it aloud.

Tyler suddenly said loudly, “Show us something. Show us what you can do.”

They waited in breathless silence. Nothing.

Katrina shot an oblique look at Tyler and leaned forward, her cornflower eyes wide and appealing. She said to the center of the table, in an enticing voice, “Please show us.”

The girl’s words hung in the silence, and the four of them sat poised at the table, upside-down paintings and shattered mirrors around them. And then Laurel felt something change.

“What’s that—,” Tyler began. Brendan held up a warning hand.

“Shh…,” said Katrina. Her face was glowing. Everyone sat still, not even breathing…

The air changed, turning both heavy and cold around them… and then the temperature plunged, as if the room had suddenly frozen. Katrina gasped and hugged herself. Laurel shuddered violently. All their breaths were showing in the air in misty white puffs.

“Jesus Christ…,” Tyler said, through chattering teeth.

And then rocks began to fall from the ceiling. Not a violent shower, but as light as rain. Large rocks, small rocks, fist-sized, pebbles. They materialized from just below the ceiling and fell softly to the floor, as slowly as drifting leaves. There was no noise, no sound at all as the stones hit the floor, not so much as a muffled thud. But Laurel could see that on the floor, some of the rocks were steaming, wisps of white mist.

“Oh my fucking God…,” Tyler said, from miles and miles away.

Katrina clapped her hands like a child. Her face was glowing, and she laughed, that tinkling, musical laugh. Brendan and Tyler were simply frozen, staring around in awe.

Laurel reached out as if in a dream and held out her hand. A rock fell on her open palm and for a moment it was light as a feather—and then all she felt was heat. She pulled back her hand and the rock fell with an audible thud on the floor.

“Hot…,” she said. Her voice sounded faraway to her.

Tyler stood slowly. Katrina was already on her feet, and she opened her arms as if to catch the falling rocks, embrace them. “Yes… yes…” Her face was ecstatic. “More!” she cried out. “More!” She spun in the room like a child.

“No,” Laurel said, and a black wave of dread crashed over her. “No!” She grabbed Katrina and shook her, shouting in her face. “Stop it now.”

Katrina stiffened in Laurel’s grasp. Her eyes were dilated to black saucers… but as Laurel dug her fingers into the girl’s forearms, she saw Katrina slowly returning to awareness. It was warmer around them—the intense cold was fading. Laurel was suddenly aware that it was pouring rain outside, storming, with thunder and lightning cracking through the sky in brilliant bursts of illumination.

“No!” Brendan’s voice suddenly burst through the room.

Laurel turned to look. The rock showers had stopped. The stones lay around the room, steaming, but still.

Brendan turned on Laurel and the rage in his eyes was terrifying as he advanced on her, through the rocks littered on the floor. His whole body was shaking. “What are you doing? Why did you do that?” He was nearly screaming at her. “What the hell are you thinking? We were there, we had it—” Even Tyler cowered back from Brendan’s fury, his eyes suddenly haunted, as if he were seeing someone quite else.

Laurel was so stunned at Brendan’s anger she couldn’t speak, but she was certain, certain, that it had to be stopped, that to go further would be to lose themselves in something from which they might never return…

Lightning split the sky again, a burst of white light.

“Get out of here,” Brendan shouted at Laurel. “Get out!” And behind him, Katrina looked at Laurel, her eyes glassy with triumph.

Laurel backed up from Brendan, then turned and ran from the room.