The first guests were already at the door by the time we got up the stairs. I stood in the foyer and shook hands, like always, with the family. Here today was the mother of the young boy, who's name was Andrew Wilkinson. He was only two years old when he died in a very early stage of cancer. Nobody had seen it coming, they said. His mother was tall and thin, wearing a black flowing skirt that went down to her shins, and a dull red velvety blouse. Her hair was pulled up, and she had a weird sort of expression. I almost wanted to ask her if she was sure she wanted to do this, but Aickman would have killed me for that. Her eyes darted around the room, only pausing on Aickman and I when we shook hands with her and introduced ourselves. She nodded firmly when Aickman gave his condolences. Next in was another woman who was shorter and not nearly as thin. She was the mother's older sister, and Andrew's aunt. She wore an elaborate, up-market beaded dress with a hat that matched. In my opinion, she was far too dressed up for the occasion. Going by the pleased expression that she marched around with—always with her bust puffed out and head held high— I assumed that she took any opportunity she could to look fancier than everybody else. I shook her small, frail hand and she looked me with in the eye and gave me a satisfied sort of smile. Then she looked me up and down for a moment and went on to say hello to Aickman. Next in were too men, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it was with each other, the women, or the house itself I could not decide. The younger one shook my hand first, and said hello. He was a little pudgy in the face, and looked duly uncomfortable. His eyes ran all around the room, but always returned to his wife. He seemed, much like the first woman who had come in, to be having second guesses about his choice. Presumably, his wife must have made him come. The next man in introduced himself as the boy's grandfather. He had a receding hairline and ears like a chimpanzee, with a beard only slightly smaller than Aickman's. He was dressed up in a silky suit that probably cost more than all of my clothes combined. I wondered where the boy's Father was, or if he even had one.
The greeting was, as usual, utterly uncomfortable for me and I was glad when it was over. Not that what was coming next proved to be any better. We quietly moved into the séance room and it was just the same as when I saw it last. Gray curtains were still hung about for show, hanging from nails in the ceiling and over doorways. I pushed through them to get inside, leading everyone else in. Aickman trailed behind, like a sheepdog leading the herd. He closed the curtains behind us, and they all took their seats. Aickman lit the candle, something he usually did before anyone arrived, and then hastily stepped back behind that damned camera. The mother sat to my left, looking braver and more self-assured by the minute. And to my right was the uncle, who grew more worried and sweatier at about the same rate that the mother grew more poised. The uncle held hands with his wife, who held hands with the grandfather, and then it was back to the mother. I was at the head of the table, and after a few seconds passed of everybody settling in, they all slowly turned to me for what to do next. More so than usual, I got a sour feeling in my stomach. I glanced around at all the expectant faces before me. And regardless of how confident they tried to make themselves, all of them were at least a little nervous. That wasn't hard for me to see.
"Let's, um…" I said, trailing off as I lost the train of thought. The sinking feeling in my stomach grew a little more pronounced, as if it was trying to warn me of something that I couldn't see. I was aware of Aickman's eyes on me, warning me not to make a fool of him. "Let us join hands." I advised when the sentence finally came to me, and everybody looked a little displeased. Was that a sarcastic grin I saw on the aunt's face? I looked down at the table and continued, despite that feeling in my stomach growing more agitated. The notion moved to my chest and my heart pounded against my rib cage in response. "Please, let us all be quiet around the table. Empty your minds of all irrelevant thoughts, level your heart rates." Nonsense!, I thought. A whisper from one of them crept into my mind then—Help me. Please, help me— and I shivered. "Close your eyes." I spoke tentatively, hesitating with every second I could steal. I looked up at Aickman, who had his hands resting on his camera. Through his glasses, I could see his glaring eyes were fixed on me. I looked down, working hard to level my breathing, and Aickman said my name once. "Jonah." He frowned, and then repeated himself as if I couldn't hear the first time. "Jonah!" A little louder now, I heard the final warning in his tone and reeled, trying hard to make myself concentrate. A few of the sitters were sneaking glances at me and shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
"Close your eyes," I reminded them wryly, and they did so. I stared intently at the flame on the candle as it stood idly and swayed in whatever small brush of wind might come its way. Suddenly a voice screamed in my head, some soul trying to break through.
Why! It screamed, and I winced. The woman's angry energy streaked through my mind. Hardly aware that I was squeezing the mother's hand a little harder, I searched for the Boy's spirit. Sorry, sorry, sorry! I repeated in my head, praying to whatever God may listen that they would hear me. I didn't want to do this.
Mommy? One of them said, and I could tell it was young Andrew Wilkinson. He slowly made his way through the angry ocean of the tormented, shining a little brighter than all the rest. Most spirits of children did. They never had a chance to get hardened by anything in the world, or really commit any sins that were all that awful. The rest of the spirits screamed, pounding against my mind, it seemed. They all wanted out, and if they couldn't make Aickman pay for what he did, I was going to have to do. At that point, I couldn't tell if my eyes were shut or not. Nor could I tell if it was me shaking, or the room. Maybe it was neither. Little Andrew worked harder to make his way, crying out all the more. Mommy! Pap! Is that you? Help! He yelled, and I wished more than anything that I could help him. Mommy and Pap sure as hell couldn't. The spirits seemed much more agitated than usual, a great body of souls that moved like an ocean during a storm.
Last straw! We want out! Why us? They screamed, while the more selfish ones cried things like; Help me! Leave them, I'm begging you! God, why? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered how awful it must be on the other side— or wherever they were— that they all wanted out so bad. Was it eternal boredom, or was there pain? Maybe it was absolutely nothing. A wide margin of total oblivion. They worked harder, fought to get their turn inside my head. Every one of them wanted to make their presence known, and my mind couldn't possibly house them all. I hardly felt like I was in the room anymore, only able to see the dull grey curtains and surprised faces of the sitters through what seemed to be a black veil over my eyes. First I saw a screaming woman's face, and then I saw the flash of Aickman's camera. A thousand images of the souls' demises changed to the mother to the left of me, eyes shut tight with a greedy smile spreading across her face. I tried hard to get my consciousness back, now realizing that their rage was far too much for me. I'd have to fake a serious sickness, get out of séances for that night. The awful feeling in my stomach became ice cold, as if it were laughing in my face and telling me "I told you so!" I felt my teeth grit together as I tried to find myself again. Attempting to lift my hand, or back up and stand from the table was so much harder than it should have been. I couldn't find my arms, couldn't move the muscles. They twitched and thrashed against my will, and I felt like I was being drowned in a hurricane. Taken under by a wave and hopelessly fighting against it. It was a thousand to one, and it wasn't hard to tell which side was losing.
Suddenly I felt a hot feeling in my throat, like bile rising. That didn't surprise me. I felt like throwing up everything I'd ever eaten. But then the sitters gasped, a noise I was surprised to be able to hear through the screams ringing in my ears, and I caught the smallest glimpse of Aickman smiling.
It was then that I realized what the hot feeling in my throat was… Ectoplasm. Yet somehow, it was different than other times that this had happened. It hurt far worse, more like an intense pain than simply being horribly uncomfortable. I no longer could steal any glances at the room around me, as my vision was only black with ghostly white apparitions screaming back at me. Their screaming grew louder, more penetrating, and the last thing I heard was a laugh from one of the spirits. A maniacal, cold belly laugh that sent shivers down my spine. And then everything went black.
