“The child,’ Mathias gasped once more.
This time Kelly recoiled as a vile stench assaulted her nostrils. A sickly sweet odour which reminded her of bad meat. She coughed, her stomach churning.
The feeling of heat was growing stronger until it seemed that the table must be ablaze. But, at last, she found that she could raise her head.
If she had been able to. she would have screamed.
Toni Landers beat her to it.
Standing in the centre of the table was the image of her son.
His clothes, what remained of them, were blackened and scorched, hanging in places like burned tassles. Beneath trfc fabric his skin was red raw. mottled green in places. The left arm had been completely stripped of flesh and what musculature remained was wasted and scorched. Bone shone with dazzling whiteness through the charred mess. The chest and lower body was a mass of suppurating sores which were weeping sticky clear pus like so many diseased eyes. But it was the head and neck which bore the most horrific injury. The boy’s head was twisted at an impossible angle, a portion of spinal column visible through the pulped mess at the base of the skull. The head itself seemed to have been cracked open like an egg shell and a lump of jellied brain matter bulged obscenely from one of the rents. The bottom lip had been torn off, taking most of the [eft cheek with it, to expose ligaments and tendons which still twitched spasmodically. Blood had soaked the boy’s upper body, its coppery odour mingling with the overpowering slink of burned skin and hair.
Toni Landers tried to raise her hands to shield her eyes from this abomination which had once been her son but it was as if someone had nailed her fingers to the table. She could only sit helplessly and watch as the apparition turned full circle in the middle of the table, meeting the horrified gaze of all those present before bringing its milky orbs to bear on her. One of the eyes had been punctured by a piece of broken skull and it nestled uselessly in the bloodied socket like a burst balloon.
The apparition took a step towards her.
It was smiling.
Kelly looked across at Mathias and saw that there was perspiration pouring down his face as he gazed at the sight before him. She then turned slightly and looked at Blake. He was not looking at the child but at the psychic, the writer’s own body trembling convulsively.
The figure of the boy moved closer to Toni Landers, one charred hand rising before it as it reached the edge of the table.
Finally, by a monumental effort of will, Toni managed to lift her hands from the table.
As she covered her face she let out a scream which threatened to shake the building.
‘Look,’ urged Jim O’Neil.
Like the image on a TV set, the apparition of Rick Landers began to fade. Not slowly but with almost breathtaking suddenness until the table was empty once more. Above them, the light dimmed again.
‘My God,’ burbled Gerald Braddock. ‘What was that?”
Even if anyone heard him, no one seemed capable of furnishing him with an answer.
Sir George Howe strode to the pane! of switches behind the bar and snapped on the lights himself.
Mathias sat unmoved at the table, his eyes locked with those of Blake. The writer was breathing heavily, as if he’d just run up a flight of long steps.
The two men regarded one
another a moment longer then Mathias turned to Toni Landers who was sobbing uncontrollably beside him.
‘Fuck me,’ was all Jim O’Neil could say. His voice a low whisper.
Dr Vernon stroked his chin thoughtfully, looking at the spot on the table top where the apparition had first materialized. It still shone as if newly polished. He inhaled. There was no smell of burned flesh any longer, no cloying odour of blood. Only the acrid smell of perspiration.
Beside him, Kelly touched Blake’s hand, seeing that the writer looked a little pale.
‘Are you all right, David?’ she asked, aware that her own heart was beating wildly.
Blake nodded.
‘And you?’ he wanted to know.
She was shaking badly and Blake put one arm around her shoulder, drawing her close to him.
Roger Carr sat where he was for a moment, looking at the others around the table, then he got to his feet and stalked across to the bar where he downed a large scotch in two huge swallows. Only then did he begin to calm down. He looked back over his shoulder at Mathias.
Not only was this man very good at what he did, the bastard was convincing too. Carr ordered another scotch.
Jonathan Mathias finally managed to quieten Toni Landers, wiping away some of her tears with his handkerchief. He helped her to her feet and led her outside into the rain soaked night. He told his chauffeur to take her home and then return.
As the psychic stood alone on the pavement watching the car disappear from view he looked down at his hands.
Both palms were red raw, as if he’d been holding something very hot. His entire body was sheathed in sweat but he felt colder than he’d ever felt in his life.
Blake hit the last full stop, pulled the paper from the typewriter and laid it on top of the pile beside him.
Without the clacking of typewriter keys, the cellar was once more silent.
The writer picked up the pages next to him and skimmed through them. Another day or so and the book would be finished, he guessed. He had submitted the bulk of it to his publisher shortly after returning from the States. Now he was nearing the end. He sat back in his chair and yawned. It was almost 8 a.m.
He’d been working for two hours. Blake always rose early, completing the greater part of his work during the morning. It was a routine which he’d followed for the last four years. Down in the cellar it was peaceful. He didn’t even hear the comings and goings of his neighbours. But, on this particular morning, his mind had been elsewhere.
As hard as he tried, he could not shake the image of Toni Landers’ dead child from his mind. In fact, the entire episode of the previous night still burned as clearly in his consciousness as if it had been branded there. He remembered the terror etched on the faces of those who had sat at the table with him, the horrified reactions of those who had looked on from the relative safety beyond the circle.
The gathering had begun to break up almost immediately after the seance. Blake himself, rather than drive back to Oxford, had persuaded Kelly to stay at his house for the night. She had readily agreed. She was upstairs dressing. He had woken her before he’d climbed out of bed, they had made love and she had decided to take a long hot bath before he drove her home.
He put the cover back on the typewriter and made his way up the stone steps from the subterranean work room, locking the door behind him as he emerged into the hall.
‘What are you hiding down there? The Crown Jewels?’
The voice startled him momentarily and he spun round to see Kelly descending the stairs.
Blake smiled and pocketed the key to the cellar.
‘Force of habit,” he said. T don’t like to be disturbed.’
They walked through into the kitchen where she put the kettle on while he jammed some bread into the toaster. Kelly spooned coffee into a couple of mugs.
‘Are you all right, Kelly?’ he asked, noticing that she looked pale.
She nodded.
‘I’m a little tired, I didn’t sleep too well last night,’ she told him.
‘That’s understandable.’
‘Understandable, but not forgivable.’
He looked puzzled.
‘David, I’m a psychic investigator. My reactions to the paranormal, anything out of the ordinary, should be … well, scientific. But what J saw last, night at that seance terrified me. I couldn’t even think straight.’
if it’s any consolation,’ he said. T don’t think you were the only one.’ He caught the toast as it popped up.