Short Story: Seance

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“This short story was written in 2009. At the time, I wanted to raise my profile by doing competitions as getting published in magazines would help. I didn’t get published. It didn’t help.”

She seemed to wear the pain and guilt around her shoulders like manacles, no longer standing tall but stooping and shuffling everywhere she went – and that was not far.  She had taken to sitting huddled in her armchair by the window, clutching a threadbare teddy and staring blankly out across the street as if holding onto the pitiful hope that any minute she would see her little boy freewheeling his bicycle down the path, stabilisers rattling along the block paving, home at last from some little adventure.

But he never came, and each day that passed which should have provided a little more acceptance simply added greater torment.  Jamie would watch her as if from a distance: the world outside could not penetrate the numbness that surrounded her and even her remaining family were pushed away, only to wait for the next desperate act that would see her attempt to attain the closure that time was not providing.  And so it was on a chill December night, as her mental and physical fragility appeared at breaking point, that he came.

Jamie stood in the hallway in his Bob the Builder pyjamas, a cuddly Bob toy clutched in his hand.  To his right was the lounge where his mother sat and before him was the open door to the kitchen, a murmur of voices from the assembled family drifted from within.

           ‘I don’t know how much more Faith can take,’ came the weary voice of Jamie’s father as he spoke conspiratorially to a tall woman with long, dark hair.  ‘I don’t know how much more I can take.’

Jamie watched as his aunt placed a hand gently on her brother’s arm.

           ‘She’ll come through, John, I’m sure.  Give her time.’

            ‘How much time, Cath?’ demanded John, quickly checking his frustration.  ‘I’m not saying that I’m…’

            ‘I know,’ said Cathy, soothingly.  ‘I know…’

            ‘But she’s getting worse.  Every week it’s another crazy idea, and for what?  What’s she trying to do, bring him back from the dead?  Crystal meth’s I could understand, but crystal balls?  We all hurt, but she needs to let go.’

            ‘Grief does strange things to people; she needs support, that’s why we’re all here tonight.’

From within the lounge came a cry.

            ‘He’s here!’ shouted Jamie’s mother.  ‘For God’s sake, John, get the door!’

 The murmuring of all those gathered in the kitchen fell silent.

John put down his sherry glass – the only semblance of Christmas tradition allowed in the house –and cast Cathy a dark glance before striding across the hallway.  Reaching the door he pulled it open, letting in a frigid blast of winter air.  Jamie watched as his father let out an involuntary shudder.

            ‘Hi there,’ said the man standing on the step looking in, ‘my name’s Gerrod.  Gerrod Spectre.’

John could not help but look the man up and down where he stood, grinning amiably.  The baldness of his head was highlighted by the mane of dark hair that still remained around temple height, swept back in a ponytail.  His grinning mouth was framed by a small moustache and goatee, whilst an earring that looked suspiciously like an animal’s tooth jostled distractingly at his left earlobe.  As John’s eyes lowered he took in the funeralesque black suit, which did not button up quite enough to disguise what looked like a black heavy-metal t-shirt beneath and a pair of dirty white trainers that poked out from the turn-ups in his trousers.  John shook his head.

            ‘“Gerrod Spectre”’, John repeated.  ‘Is that some sort of stage name?’

            ‘The whole world’s a stage, my friend – it’s just that the plays that are different.’

            ‘What, no equipment?’ said John looking at Gerrod’s empty hands.  ‘No Ouija board?  No burning incense?’

Gerrod’s smile deepened.

            ‘No props needed, it’s all in here,’ he said, wiggling his fingers before him.

            ‘Listen, Gerrod Spectre,’ said John, leaning toward the man and pronouncing the name with more than a hint of distain, ‘I don’t like your sort; if I think for a minute that you-’

            ‘Gerrod!  Come in, come in!  I’m Faith, I called you!’

            ‘Of course you are,’ said Gerrod slickly as Faith appeared at the door.  ‘Most apt,’ he added and taking her hand kissed it in welcome.

Having been ushered over the threshold and into the hall it was Jamie’s turn to study the new arrival, and yet his gaze slid unperturbed over his outward appearance and settled upon Gerrod’s eyes – “the windows of the soul”, as his mother would say.

            ‘Ah, you’ve assembled the entire family,’ said Gerrod. ‘Good, that will make it stronger.  Where are we doing this?

            ‘In the dining room,’ replied Faith almost breathlessly, pausing the incessant wringing of her hands in order to point the way.

            ‘Right, I’ll familiarise myself whilst you and John gather the troops.’

Jamie watched as his mother hastened after Gerrod as he entered the lounge.

            ‘Payment in advance,’ she said quietly, pushing a small bundle of notes into his welcoming hands.  ‘As agreed.’

            ‘Most appreciated,’ he said and pocketed the money swiftly.

As his mother retreated back to the kitchen, Jamie watched Gerrod from the lounge.  The man wandered around the dining table, studying the ornaments eagerly before reaching the radiator and twisting its thermostat to cold.  Turning toward where Jamie stood, Gerrod frowned for a moment until disturbed by those in the kitchen being lead through by Faith, John following up reluctantly at the rear.  There were mumbles of greeting from Faith’s brother and mother, John’s sister and their parents.  Having all taken a seat around the rectangular dining table, Jamie on his feet between his mother and father, Gerrod stood at its head, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome and when he spoke the sound of it was calming and smooth, slipping from his tongue like silk.

            ‘Thank you all for coming on what is a most inhospitable evening.  Let us pray that the spirits are with us this night…’

            Jamie looked up at his mother’s ashen face and wanted to squeeze her trembling hand in comfort but he knew that he should not.

And so it began; having lit the church candles that he had asked Faith to supply, Gerrod plunged them into semi darkness and began an odd muted chant, all the time John visibly loosing the last vestiges of patience.

            ‘It’s cold,’ said Faith, shuddering.

            ‘It’s the thinning of the veil between the spirit world and ours,’ replied Gerrod.

            ‘It is the turning of radiator valve more like,’ said John angrily but Gerrod ignored him and continued.

            ‘Let us now join hands…’

And they did so, Gerrod taking Faith’s right hand, John reluctantly her left.  Gerrod’s eyes seemed to roll back into his head.

            ‘I feel something!’ he declared and the table started to vibrate.  Cathy let out a gasp.

            ‘It’s just a bloody train!’ shouted John, and then immediately regretted it.  Everyone except Gerrod looked at Faith, who clenched her eyes closed and swallowed deeply.

            ‘Con…continue,’ she stuttered.

            ‘A son,’ said Gerrod in almost a whisper.  ‘I see a son…’

            ‘You could’ve got that much from the photographs in here!’ snapped John.  Faith barked at him to stay quiet.  Gerrod continued unabashed.

            ‘I feel a connection to a name…wait…it’s hazy…’

The room fell into silence as a collective breath was held, waiting.

            ‘Rob…I think,’ said Gerrod eventually.

It was as if John’s chair had exploded; rising so fast that it shot out behind him and smashed against the wall, Jamie’s father leapt to his feet and grabbed Gerrod around the neck as Faith screamed.

            ‘You filthy, lying scumbag!’ he yelled as he shook him around like a ragdoll.  Jamie’s eyes widened and he shouted for his father to stop but nobody, it seemed, could hear his little voice.  He thought desperately for something to shout, something that would make everything better.

            ‘Thank you for my Bob toy!’

Faith took such a sharp intake of breath that Cathy turned and stared at her in concern but Faith’s eyes and those of her husband were wide and fixed upon Gerrod.

            ‘What…what did you just say?’ she said, her voice unnaturally high and trembling.

            ‘Not Rob,’ gasped Gerrod, having been released.  ‘Bob.  “Thank you for the Bob toy,”’ he repeated.

            ‘But,’ began Faith, ‘how did you…nobody knew what we’d put in the coffin, how we…’

            ‘He’s here,’ said Gerrod calmly.  ‘He wants to speak directly.’

            And then Faith felt a hand placed gently on her arm and turned to see her only son, Jamie, smiling up at her, bathed in light as if superimposed into her world, dressed in the Bob the Builder pyjamas that they had so gently laid him in and holding his Bob toy.

            ‘Hello, mummy,’ he said and at the words, six months of tears welled up in his mother’s eyes and spilt down her cheeks.

            ‘Jamie!  Oh, Jamie…’ she cried.

            ‘What can I tell you, mummy?  To make you all better?’

            ‘I need to know – did you suffer?’ she forced herself to say.  ‘Were you in pain?’

            Jamie smiled up at her.

            ‘No; I was out playing and then he came for me, we’re together always!  Smile now, mummy!’

            Faith sobbed so hard she could hardly ask the question.

            ‘Who came?’

            ‘He’s here now!’ said Jamie, looking over his shoulder and beaming.  ‘Granddad!  See you soon mummy and daddy!’

            And as Jamie walked away, he knew his mummy was on the way back.

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