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Great Writing - Home > Short S. > Halloween Séance
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| Halloween Séance | |
| By ShouldKnowBetter | ||||||||||||||||
| 30 September 2007 | ||||||||||||||||
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Something for Halloween. (Reformatted for easier reading) The October wind chased the bronzed leaves along the lane, chivvying them into a swarm around Octavia Hendrix’ scurrying legs. She dropped her head against it’s insistent attentions and cursed under her breath. The fact was, she should never have popped to the local garage for cigarettes, but the fear of perhaps being without some in the early hours had been too much to bear. The trouble with being a local celebrity, of sorts, in the village, was that there was always someone who wanted to discuss a dream, arrange a Reading or tell the latest tale of spiritual visitation. To retain her reputation she could not afford to ignore them or be less that fascinated, sympathetic or knowing. She hurried up the path to her cottage and noted with relief that the front door was still closed. When a seance was arranged she wanted her clients to be able to walk in, she rarely greeted them anyway, preferring to make something of an entrance. A quick check indicated she had not been burgled in her absence and had not been preceded by any of them. Shrugging off her coat to reveal her customary long black dress, she threw the veil over her head just as there came a timid knock and the front door opened. “Hello?” “Come in, Dotty dear. You’re the first.” Octavia made a show of checking her wristwatch. “Hopefully we can start on time. We don’t have so long this evening.” “Oh no. Not this evening. Oh dear - oh yes. The others were coming up the lane. All together, I think. I might be wrong though.” “Yes, Dotty. Take your coat off and relax.” Dotty struggled with her buttons, clumps of hair springing loose from the clumsily applied hair-grips. “It’s just – well, you know, Octavia. A seance. Tonight. Is it really wise?” The front door banged open and three women entered with varying degrees of confidence. Bunty came first naturally, tweeds and sensible shoes, hearty and florid face, she raised an arm in greeting and gave a laugh. Behind her Jessica drifted in on a cloud of Devon Violets, translucent skin caked in power, eyebrows pencilled on her forehead, wattle quivering, grey eyes ever returning to Bunty. Lastly came Zoe, a pale Gothic vision with perpetual scowl and pessimistically inward looking grey eyes. “Octavia. Are we all set to go? Looking forwards to it.” “Oh yes. Bunty was just saying, it’s going to be very interesting, Halloween and all.” “Grunt,” Zoe shuffled, not looking around, then intoned. “All Saints Day. All Souls Day. Arseholes Day.” “All the witches will be out tonight,” Bunty affirmed heartily, ignoring her. “It’s going to be fun.” “Now Bunty,” Octavia chided. “You know we will be stopping before the witching hour. I’ve explained. It’s much too dangerous to proceed then. This is not a game my dear.” Suitably chastened, Bunty nodded, then rallied. “But it is going to be a special evening.” “It is. And if we want a full session before midnight we should go straight in.” ”Oh – but – what about Mr Fowler?” Dotty held up a tentative hand. “Shouldn’t we wait. I mean…” There was a short silence while they all exchanged glances. They all knew that Dotty had a ‘thing’ for Mr Fowler. “Don’t be silly, Dotty,” Bunty barked. “You know what he’s like. He’s probably down the ‘Owl and Spoon’ right now.” “Yes” Jessica agreed. “Not exactly Mr Reliable is our Mr Fowler. I’ve noticed he’s been the worse for wear often enough.” “Oh no. I mean. He’s not been well you know,” Dotty blushed almost as red as Fowler’s unhealthily florid features. “Nonsense, Dotty,” Bunty waved a dismissive hand. “It’s the booze. The sprits Mr Fowler contacts mostly are distilled from malt and barley.” “As a newt,” Zoe intoned. “Ladies. Please.” Octavia treated them all to a severe glare. “We must get on. If Mr Fowler can’t be here on time, he can’t be allowed to interrupt proceedings.” She firmly secured the latch. “Let’s go through.” The room was suitably dimly lit and furnished suggestively of a mystic portal to another realm. A few artfully placed artefacts slanted the mood away from seeings and readings and towards the afterlife.Quietly they adjusted the chairs to allow for the missing member of the group. “This is cosy,” Bunty said with a grin. Even Jessica ignored her. There was a vicarious thrill of anticipation to be enjoyed. “I hope Chief White Horse is in good form tonight,” Bunty insisted. “Please.” Octavia glanced at the large clock, the ticking of which, she felt, added a certain gravitas to these occasions. The hands flicked to ten. “Join the circle.” Their hands reached and grasped. She gave them a few moments of silence to establish the mood and then spoke, in a slightly hollow tone. “Are you there, White Horse?” Instantly her head jerked back dramatically and her eyes tilted up in their sockets. The sprits appeared very strong this evening. When she spoke her voice had changed, dropped to a low, gruff tone, speaking in a lilting way. It had begun. Indeed, it seemed White Horse was in excellent form. Bunty had a satisfying conversation with her dead husband and received a complex, if puzzling message about the current whereabouts of his gold half hunter watch. Jessica heard comforting reassurances from her recently departed sister. Heaven it appeared was awash with females and God seemed to have said that she wasn’t too enamoured of the man in ‘mankind’. Zoe at last managed a brief word with Vlad the Impailer, who wasn’t much amused by Christopher Lee, and for good measure, an indication from Karl Marx that Groucho was well and still smoked cigars. She took the news with some scepticism. Dotty had a word with her late mother and received the usual lectures. She cowered and sniffed and devoured every minute of it. At last Octavia gave a sidelong look at the clock. Five to twelve. Time to draw to a close. She gave a long, shuddering sigh and slumped. “White Horse is gone.” “Oh, I say,” objected Bunty. “Just the same as usual. I hoped we might have contacted someone new,” “Yes,” agreed Jessica staunchly. “Something a little – exciting. Give us a bit of a thrill.” “A chill.“ Zoe nodded. “Oh no,” Dotty objected. “You know Octavia. That clock is five minutes slow.” Octavia hardly listened. She was finished but there was no harm in humouring them. With a nod she signalled them to again join hands. “Is any body there?” Silence. “Is any body there?” “Yes?” said the voice of a man, unexpectedly. Octavia stiffened, feeling like someone had put an ice-cold hand in the centre of her back. In fact everyone was shocked. Normally it was always their host who spoke in tongues. There was a log silence as Octavia was reluctant to continue. “Who are you?” asked Bunty, the colour notably drained from her healthy features but obviously determined to soldier on. “Who are you? Where are you?” demanded the voice. “We ask the questions,” Jessica said supportively. “Bugger that,” snapped the voice. “You sound a right old cow.” “Reveal yourself.” Octavia recovered, determined to regain control. “Who are you? I command you.” “Reveal myself? What? Do you want a bit of a flash then?” Dotty clapped her hands to her mouth and tittered. “Leave us. You are an evil spirit,” Octavia cried dramatically. Glancing at he clients she realised this was impressing them. “Shove it. Who you calling evil, you old bat?” “Be gone. Leave this place.” “I’d be only too pleased if I could see a damn thing. God. I think I’ve gone blind.” “Don’t procrastinate. Must I drive you away?” “You’re already driving me nuts.” “You won’t like it if I get angry.” “Oh? Do you get huge and turn green?” “Don’t play with me. I banish thee.” “You sound a right pain in the bum. Like that bloody Hendrix woman, What a joke.” “Be gone. Avaught thee evil spirit.” By now everyone was quite grey and clutching on feverishly to each other hands. All except Zoe who had a wistful smile on her face and kept murmuring “Cool.” “Oh dear. I did try to warn you,” quavered Dolly plaintively. “Is that you Dolly?” asked the voice. “Where are you. I could do with a cuddle.” With a shriek Dolly leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over and backing away. “Something touched me” she wailed “A hand grabbed my leg.” “You’re lucky day, dear,” Bunty said, firmly seated and desperate to appear calm and in control. ”Sit down. The circle mustn’t be broke till the spirit is gone.” “Oooo,” Jessica’s face froze on an expression of outrage and disgust. “He touched me too.” “Can they do that?” Bunty asked, wide-eyed, not even wanting to look down. “It can happen,” Octavia confirmed. “Manifestations into the physical world.” “Cool.” Zoo’s grin was quivering, her eyes dancing with suppressed fear. “Will you stop saying that,” Octavia screamed, finally losing control. “Bloody women,” the voice grumbled. “Never get a straight answer from them.” This was apparently too much for Jessica and with a yelp of annoyance she stood up and yanked away the huge drooping tablecloth. Everyone came to their feet. Octavia reached for and switched on the main lights. The sight that met them came as an utter shock. “Mr Fowler.” “What are you doing there, man?” Octavia shrieked. “Silly old fool,” said Bunty, recovering first. “Drunk as a lord no doubt.” “Oh god,” Octavia slapped her forehead. “He must have come in early, while I was out.” “As a newt,” Zoe said. “Passed out and fell under the table,” Jessica agreed. “Just like a bloody man.” “Mr Fowler,” Octavia called, to no effect. “Come on Zoe. You were a nurse. Give me a hand to roll him out. Mr Fowler?” He came rolling out at their pulling and lay, waxy face and silent. Zoe placed her fingers against his throat professionally, then looked up at the ring of faces. “He’s dead.” “Oh my. But, I mean – he was talking.” “Must have just died,” Bunty said with conviction. “No. No, he’s quite cold already. He’s been dead for a while.” Mr Fowler’s eyes opened like two white marbles. The lights went out. Outside, something flew across the face of the moon.
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