Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) (7 page)

Madame Zelda walked dramatically around the near empty barn in a seemingly random course, glancing from side to side and then up at the roof as though she felt someone or something was watching her. Having reached the far end of the barn, she stood facing the wall and, without turning around, murmured under her breath, “I sense a very strong energy in this space.” Her voice was raspy and guttural as she announced with satisfaction, 'the Spirits are vith us tonight!”

“Ooooh” gushed Aunt Jean, tugging at Ruth Crossland's sleeve. “I can feel the Spirits too. Can't you, Ruthie?”

“Actually, I felt them as soon as I walked in— they're very close,” she replied, beaming a wide maniacal grin.

“The dead are here? That's it, I'm leaving!” announced Mrs. Paradis in a voice that seemed altered and harsh. Her face was the very picture of anxiety. Despite protests and astonished stares from her husband and others, she persisted, stating emphatically, “No, my dears, I don't care much for any of this!”

“Oh, but Jennifer, we haven't even started. Just give it a chance.”

“Let her go. Once she sets her mind to something, there's nothing you can do to stop her,” her husband declared.

Mrs. Paradis retreated to join Granddad Crossland, who had stayed behind at the main house, perhaps already sound asleep in the easy chair of crushed yellow velvet.

Being a true sceptic by nature, Geordie Crossland made it clear to everyone that he thought it was all a load of nonsense and that he didn't believe in ghosts of any sort and was about to leave but finally was persuaded by the others to sit down and take part.

All eyes were on Madame Zelda as she sank back heavily into the metal chair, which creaked a protest with an ear-piercing screech, and then produced from her large bag a brown paper roll and a black felt pen. She covered the whole table with the brown paper, then drew a large circle on it with a pentagram in the centre and surrounded the star with occult symbols. She then leaned forward, slowly adjusting the silver rings that gleamed on her crooked fingers, and drew her features together, her shiny eyes widening to suggest that she was about to pass on important information. Everyone waited anxiously for the word that would begin the session. But for the moment she said nothing. Instead she looked around at each guest, staring wide-eyed and unblinkingly into their eyes, as if to catch a glimpse of something— their souls? When her gaze reached Jillian, she peered closely into the young girl's anxious face and chuckled to herself— a cold, sardonic laugh that chilled the girl to her very core.

At Madame Zelda's direction the lightbulb over the barn door was switched off. Striking a match with a sound like an explosion, she produced a burst of flame that quickly approached a tall white candle in the centre of the table. Its soft light spread and illuminated the space, its glistening yellow glow floating steadily and thinly as if suspended in the darkness, casting shadows on the walls. She told the guests while resting their hands on the table within the circle, to lightly touch each other's fingers. The circle, she explained, was for each person's safety; so at no time should they let their hands drop off the table once the séance began. In a low quavering voice she announced, “Concentrate. Take deep breaths, and invite the spirits to come. They are velcome here.”

They all put their hands together on the table and closed their eyes; but getting everyone to concentrate or to remain quiet was easier said than done. There were nervous whispers and jokes and laughter. Adam moaned like a ghost just to be funny, and Olivia gave him a playful kick under the table.

“Ouch! I didn't say anything,” he protested. “That was the ghost, not me.”

“Oh shush, now,” she replied teasingly. “Do you expect anything will happen with this racket?” and then she broke out into nervous giddy laughter herself.

Observing this, Jillian cried out, “Oh, this is too much! Will you two love-sick birds please stop?”

Mr. Sparks burst out into hacking laughter as the wisps of grey hair that he had combed to one side to cover his bald spot fell over his large forehead, blocking one eye. Meanwhile Mr. Mueller had become such a nuisance, making derisive comments and generally behaving like a rowdy schoolboy, that Aunt Jean warned him, too, that he was free to leave but, if he wanted to stay, would have to remain quiet and respect the spirits.

“Oh, will everyone be quiet?” begged Jillian's mother. “How do you expect the spirits ever to appear?”

“Well, we have to be patient,” added Peter Paradis, winking at Jillian.

Above the commotion, Madame Zelda cried out, her face flushing with anger, “I am losing my patience! Vill everyone shut up?”

“There's no need to be rude, Madame Butterfly, or whatever your name is,” retorted Mrs. Sparks.

This was too much for Aunt Jean, whose voice was breaking with emotion: “There is no need to get hostile and attack poor Madame Zelda!”

The chatter and arguing continued. Only after long drawn-out minutes of more laughing, insults and hurt feelings did the talk subside, but at length everyone around the table appeared to be in a deep meditative state. An eerie silence reigned, except for the intermittent sounds of a wailing whistling wind outside the barn and the odd branch scraping against the wooden plank walls. The candle flickered ever more brightly. Jillian glanced at Madame Zelda, who appeared to be in a deep trance; her eyeballs had rolled upwards, and her eyelids fluttered like butterflies' wings, while her hands and elbows shook as if she were having an epileptic fit. Mr. Mueller again broke the silence by announcing in a loud majestic voice, “Is the little old lady all right?” but was quickly silenced by Aunt Jean: “I'm warning you for the last time, John! My patience is on the brink.”

After that the séance proceeded smoothly and followed the usual course. Madame Zelda howled and wailed in a quavering voice that she used to great effect, captivating the participants by channelling deceased relatives and other miscellaneous spirits. Mr. Mueller's mother, who had died of cancer when he was still a young boy, cautioned him to avoid high altitudes, which could prove fatal, and told him he would also be taking a cruise to France in the near future. The ghost of Jesse Livermore appeared and advised Geordie Crossland to avoid energy stocks. When Jillian's turn came, Madame Zelda began to moan, saying she saw great emotions. What kind of emotions? Well, love to be precise. “I see a handsome young man in your future. A healer!” Jillian smiled to herself and thought,
Uh-huh... but who could love me? And and aren't these things so predictable?
But no sooner had this thought popped into her head than Madame Zelda began to look confused and murmured under her breath, “Something is not right.”

“Why has it suddenly got cold?” queried Mr. Paradis. The barn had indeed become colder. A faint stir went around the table. In a sudden flicker of the candlelight, all the faces looked worried and anxious; the play of light and shadow made their heads appear to float on air. Jillian shot a glance at Madame Zelda, who held her head high and poised at an odd angle, fixing a glassy stare at an indefinite spot above Jillian's head. At last the old woman really did look possessed!

Out of the darkness came a sound of rushing footsteps that grew ever louder, followed by a faint knocking on the barn door and then a scratching like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Someone or something was trying to get in! Jillian's heart was pounding; she grew numb with fear. Her mouth dropped open as if she were about to scream, but no sound came out. She couldn't have uttered a solitary word to save her soul, her throat had become so constricted. Mr. Sparks and her father cocked their heads with inquisitive looks on their faces and listened hard to the eerie sounds. Mrs. Sparks jolted up in her seat, her voice cracking: “My graciousness, is that screaming? Is that a child screaming, or an animal?”

“Quiet!' retorted Mr. Mueller, turning his head sharply and tilting it forward as he tried to listen, but then shook his head in disgust. “The damn thing is gone! But I heard it. It was an animal.”

The candle at the centre began to flicker ever more excitedly, although Jillian noticed there was no draft. Mist began seeping through the window, even though it was shut tight. A low murmur went around the table, as all eyes were fixed expectantly on the mist.

“There it is!” blurted Geordie Crossland, pointing to the window with bulging eyes. “Do you see it? Do you see the mist? Is it a ghost?”

Jillian saw it too. Adam broke the silence: “It's just the flicker of the candle reflecting off the walls.'

'Impossible! Shadows are black, not white.'

Aunt Jean murmured under her breath, 'It's a ghost!'

The candle flame rose ever higher and wavered ever more excitedly. Madame Zelda appeared to be in a deep trance and began to chant a primitive mantra, her voice rising to a blood-curdling pitch, and her face became a terror to behold. The heavy table began to rise off the ground, swaying to and fro in slow rhythmic movements. For what seemed a long spell, everyone sat speechless and frozen with fear. Then came a gust of wind and an ear-piercing scream, and the brown paper cover on the table began slowly to tear. Remembering Madame Zelda's warning, everyone desperately tried to keep their hands within the inner safety of the circle, but the paper was slowly inching away from their reach. The ghost, speaking through Madame Zelda, refused to identify itself but said it had a message— a warning. They all looked dumbfounded at each other and then quickly back at Madame Zelda, who was now screeching, her thin lips peeled back, revealing her teeth and gums: “Death!” she cried.

Jillian felt sickened. She wanted to look away but could not draw her eyes from Madame Zelda. The barn interior swirled, her eyelids began to flutter and she knew she was about to faint. Abruptly she drew her hands out of the circle. But her mother, sitting next to her, gripped them both and pressed them back, shouting over the noise, “Darling, whatever you do, don't remove your hands from the safety of the circle!”

Mrs. Sparks was half weeping, tears and black mascara streaming down her cheeks, singing what sounded like a hymn. Then with a loud crack the barn doors flew open as if they were about to burst from their hinges. A vicious gust of wind ripped through the barn, snuffing out the candle and leaving them in complete darkness.

Through the darkness and the confusion came Madame Zelda's voice: “Dissolve! Dissolve!” At once the wind and the screeching noise stopped, and the table sank back down to the ground, landing with a low thud. Then— the eeriest thing yet, as Jillian thought— a sweet scent of roses filled the air.

Someone got up to switch on the light, and the sudden brightness revealed a group of pale, fear-stricken faces. There was only silence and the faint smell of roses and a sulphury smell from the candle, which had gone out. A hush had fallen over the little group. Nobody knew quite what to say. Jillian was scarcely aware of her surroundings, still dazed and sitting entranced in her spot. She found the smell of roses even more nauseating than the barn smells of muck and dirt.
What a nightmare!
she thought. Could anything have been more terrifying? And how had Madame Zelda gotten the table to lift off the ground, and summoned the mist and the eerie sounds? It was some kind of trick, for sure. This kind of thing only happened in movies, and wasn't this just like a movie? But wait— it wasn't a movie. This was real!

Olivia tapped her on the shoulder: “Jillian, are you okay?”

Jillian nodded, though she still felt stunned, and her face wore a look of complete exhaustion.

“You poor dear. You look white as a sheet. It's all over, thank God.”

“Is it?” replied Jillian uneasily. She wasn't so sure. She looked round and caught a glimpse of her terrified mother, crying silently and clutching her father's hand as if her very life depended on it. Mrs. Mueller was artfully adjusting a few straggling wisps of hair that had come undone during the commotion with one hand. Mr. Mueller was sitting next to her, and Jillian was shocked by his appearance; sweat was pouring down his face in rivulets. She leaned forward in appeal, with both her hands outstretched: “Mr. Mueller, are you all right?” He looked disoriented and did not appear to have heard. Her father's voice was forceful and tremulous: “What kind of prank is this? Ridiculous! All of this!” He stood up, looked around at everyone and then yanked the brown paper cover off the table, ripping it in two. He then walked over to the open barn doors and stood there in silence, looking out into the darkness. Jillian was struck by her father's hunched back. He looked so small against the dark night. From a distance came the howls of coyotes and the din of cars far off on the highway.

“Well, of course, this is all just a prank! Smoke and mirrors! All child's play,” stated Adam forcefully. “If there was even the slightest hint of truth in any of this,” he continued, “it would be accepted scientific fact, and not the black art it is. Now, everyone repeat after me: it's all in the mind, nothing but
smoke and mirrors!
”

Mr. Sparks and Mr. Paradis chanted in unison like obedient schoolboys, “smoke and mirrors, smoke and mirrors.” But for the others these words fell on deaf ears and lacked conviction.

Aunt Jean coughed and cleared her throat to get everyone's attention, a smile etched on her face like bright rays of sunshine breaking through dark ominous clouds, and said that in no way did she wish or hope that the night's proceedings had upset anyone, but of course there are phenomena in this world that cannot be easily explained away and which defy logic. She clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “I hope that my dear friends and family have not been too distressed by the events.”

“Right! Purely meant for fun and enjoyment,” retorted Mr. Sparks angrily.

“It sure is a funny way to entertain friends and loved ones,” added Mr. Paradis angrily. “I almost peed my pants.”

Mr. Mueller staggered to his feet, almost falling over. “John, are you all right?” cried his wife in horror. She leapt forward to catch him, but he managed to avoid her grasp. He was careering sideways towards Madame Zelda. He looked disoriented and was staring blinkingly at her in confused silence. He raised his forefinger and pointed it at her accusingly, then shut his eyes for a moment, as if he were trying to remember something— an important point he wanted to make. Then his trembling fingers were wiping at his face, which had gone ashen. His mouth formed words but no sound came; he seemed to have something caught in his throat. All eyes were glued on him, waiting. “I think he's going to faint,” someone yelled. He struggled to catch his breath and began teetering as if on the edge of a cliff, then collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. His wife screeched out and ran to his side, touched him and then drew back her curling fingers. She had a bewildered, startled look in her eyes as she whispered, “I think he's dead.”