Seance

Candles sat in a large circle, surrounding the foursome. One spot remained empty, not for ghosts that AJ knew would not come, but for effect. The circle of light came together to form a double column, leading to the spot where three grisly murders occurred two centuries earlier. The candle flames furthest from the group jumped and sputtered. AJ looked up the stairwell. The cellar door remained closed, the towel he’d stuffed beneath it still in place.  Except for candlelight, the cellar was absolutely dark.

The old plantation mansion had been a great-great-great-grandfatheThe relic stood abandoned since his childhood, when his grandfather died. AJ, then seven, asked if they’d be moving into the rambling house.

His father shook his head. “There are … bad things there. When I was a kid, I could feel them ... all around. In the old slave quarters, the cellar …” He shook his head. “We’re not moving. I won't go there. We should sell it.”

But they didn't sell it.

That was twenty years ago. AJ owned the mansion now, and had taken up residence the year before. He never felt anything, other than pride in the restoration that turned the plantation into a show house.

The séance was Tony’s idea. “Imagine,” he’d said. “A dark cellar, a couple of babes and a scary ghost story. And then …” He’d wiggled his eyebrows.

The flames flickered, then jumped, doubling their size. Fires glowed purple, then gas-jet blue before returning to their original yellow-orange.

AJ cleared his throat. “Join hands,” he instructed. “Open your mind to the spirits of this dark place.” He took the hands of the two beauties on either side of him. Michaela’s was rock solid and steady but Regina’s felt cold and trembling already. He leaned slightly toward her and lowered his voice, making it as smooth as a late-night dj. 

“Let the spirits of this place make themselves known,” he intoned. The flames in the corner of the room jumped. AJ made a mental note to deal with the draft. He glanced again at Regina. She looked scared.

The flames leapt crazily again, sending once miniature fires several inches into the air.

“Stop,” Regina’s voice shook. “Please, AJ! This feels wrong - so wrong! Please just stop.”

Even the rock-solid Michaela seemed shaken, her hand trembling.

As if an ice-cold wind blew toward them, candle flames jumped and were extinguished, starting near the stairs and moving like a wave toward them.  Almost immediately, the candles he'd placed so carefully in the inner circle fell dark. The cellar was tomb-silent and black.

As if on cue, the candles shot to life again, lighting the entire basement. AJ found himself swallowing the lump of fear in his desert-dry throat.

Regina looked at him, suddenly livid. Her tender hold turned into a talon-grasp. She stood slowly, never releasing his hand or his gaze. “You! You thought I would not discover your deceit,” she hissed.

AJ watched her rise, following her with his eyes. She seemed different – older, somehow. Her voice, always a mellow alto, changed. “You thought I’d not discover your deceit!” Her eyes cut toward Michaela. “You and this … You take this into my bed?” With her free hand, she slapped him. “A slave woman in my bed? The two of you, making a fool of me. No!”

Michaela struggled to free her hand from AJ’s, but although he tried, he could not release her. She hit his arm, pulling and crying. Tony rose, started toward the steps, trying to drag Michaela with him. Regina raised her eyes to him. “And you, Buford. You! My own brother, helpin’ him! Hidin’ the truth from me!”

Tony shook his head. “No … I didn’t …”

AJ tried to wrench free from Regina but found it impossible. Her grip was stone, as hard as her stare. “Regina,” he said, willing his voice to remain calm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s me, AJ. It’s me and  Michaela and Tony down here with you. Remember? We’re calling up the ghosts –“

Regina’s face contorted. She smiled, a bony, horrible smile that made Michaela scream. “No need to call further. You found them. You found me.” 

She began to walk toward the corner of the basement, dragging AJ along behind her like a child. He jerked and wrenched, upending the table and scattering chairs. He tried to release Michaela, but his hand seemed unwilling to open, and she sobbed as they moved forward, the three of them, like some macabre parade. As Regina passed each set of candles, they reignited, sending the blue jets of fire knee-high along their path until they reached the corne

“You took this slave into my bed,” Regina accused. She looked at both of them, eyes dark and fierce. “The slave quarters weren’t enough for you, Aubrey James. You brought shame into my bed.”

AJ thought his heart would explode in his chest. “I’m not Aubrey James, Regina! I’m not Aubrey James. I’m AJ – I’m Andrew! Andrew Scott James. Regina, you know me. Regina, please!” He felt cold fear in the pit of his stomach and hot tears on his face.

“I am Sadie McCullough James,” she announced. “I will be made a fool of no longer!" The words hissed through her teeth like hurricanepforce winds through trees.

She raised her empty, fisted hand into the air and swung down, striking Michaela in the middle of her chest. Blood exploded, bursting outward like water from a breached dam. Michaela gasped for air and sank to her knees, choking, tiny blood bubbles forming at her mouth. The empty fist swung down again and her throat gushed blood from a tear just beneath her ear. She fell backward, and AJ was finally able to release her dead hand.

He looked at Michaela, horror making him statue-still. He realized Regina was moving again, her hand swinging toward him. He felt a knife enter his abdomen as her empty fist struck, felt the warmth of his blood spill onto his crotch and legs. “Regina, no,” he begged.

“Sadie,” the ghost hissed through Regina’s lips. “Sadie McCullough James.” She hit him again, opening his  forearm, raised in defense, and then slashing across his cheek and into his lower abdomen again. Hot blood was everywhere now, mixing with Michaela’s on the cellar floor.

His last thought as Regina swung her fist toward his chest was that his father was right – there were bad things here.

He opened his mouth to scream.