The Séance (an extract from Chapter Ten of The Chosen)

 

A few days later, the three of us stood on a pavement in Sevenoaks, in front of my aunt's surprisingly ordinary-looking house. We all felt nervous, despite the stiffeners of whisky we had gulped from Alf's hip flask. We had been uncertain of the dress code – what does one wear to a seance? We had opted, finally, for our Sunday best, on the basis that this was a quasi-religious experience. Alf seemed uncomfortable in his dark suit. He disliked formality. But Mary was radiant in her new, pale green dress with a matching hat. She loved dressing up.

The house, which was called Brightlands, was a modest bay-windowed affair, with net curtains and a small front yard. A young woman opened the door. Her hair was cropped short She had a pale complexion, high cheekbones and clear grey eyes. The girl, Nuala, appeared nervous as she led us through a cluttered hallway and into the parlour.

Here, the presence of my aunt was palpable, although she was not yet visible. The aroma of incense, the same smell that had permeated her stationery, was overwhelming here, at its source. It clung to our clothes for a long time. A gentleman was already present in the room and a lady, in an oxblood-red dress. The man was remote and self-contained in his demeanour. He barely acknowledged us, while the lady greeted us shyly.

There was a noise; it lay somewhere between a breakfast gong and a Tibetan temple bell, and Aunt Agnes, or Anya Petrovska, as I should perhaps call her, swept dramatically into the room. What a transformation! My great aunt had always been amply proportioned, but she was now even more so. Her dress was of deep purple velvet, trimmed with lace. There was a string of amethyst beads around her neck; her plump white hands were festooned with silver rings, some with turquoise stones.

Her eyes were dark and deep-set, like points of jet. Her hair was a helmet of close-cropped curls, glistening with a sweet-smelling oil.

"Nuala!" Her commanding voice made us all jump. "In the name of Isis, why did you not tell me that the guests had arrived? Don't just stand there simpering girl. Go! Can't you follow the simplest instruction!"

Nuala squirmed and fled from the room. We felt for the poor girl. My great aunt now turned a sickly smile upon us – the sudden transformation in her manner was disconcerting.

"Now, I must introduce you. Frederick, this is Mr Leonard William Rogers, from Hammersmith. He is a renowned Theosophist and this is his lady wife, Sarah." Rogers nodded vaguely. His wife seemed pleasant enough – she was a well-padded, matriarchal woman.

After effecting these introductions, my aunt turned to face us. "Before we proceed to the Temple of Horus, I must detain you with a few words of caution," she said, sternly. "Please listen very carefully. The ancient forces, which we may, or may not, invoke, are extremely powerful. You will obey my instructions at all times. Is that clear? Her beady eyes swivelled from person to person. “Are you now ready to partake of the sacred rites?"

"Yes," we muttered.

"Yes, what?" My aunt scowled.

"Yes, Madam," replied Rogers, obediently. He was clearly familiar with this ritual.

The mystical gong sounded again. It was struck by Nuala, who must have been waiting nervously for her cue.

"Initiates of the Ancient Wisdom," hissed Madam Petrovska, "you may now proceed to the Sacred Temple. Follow me!"

 

The Sacred Temple was little more spacious than a box room. It was dark and confined in there. We squeezed ourselves around a circular table. A few small candles flickered on a sideboard, where incense was burning. My aunt had arranged the six of us around the table so that the sexes were alternated. Mary was to my right, Mrs Rogers, the padded matriarch, to my left. We joined hands.

I don't know what I was expecting – a little automatic writing, some levitation, a few mildly diverting bumps. Certainly not what happened.

Madame Petrovska lifted her small white hands. Nothing happened for a long time. Our arms, which were held above the table, soon began to ache. I could sense, from Mary's posture and her expression, that she had suspended her disbelief. Poor Alf! The more intense the experience became, the tighter my aunt gripped him.

Just then, to my great surprise, the table began to rise. Slowly, but steadily, it lifted from the floor. The table began to undulate, like a yacht bobbing on a swell. Mary's breathing quickened. I could sense that she was becoming excited. Rogers was as calm and placid as a bank manager.

I looked around the table. To my astonishment, I saw that a shimmering corona of white light was glowing around my aunt's head. The air became icy and my fingers began to tingle. A tight band seemed to wrap around my chest. Mary felt this too. Her grip on my hand tightened. I was becoming light-headed. I shut my eyes. When I opened them, a peculiar sight was revealed. Mr Rogers had grown horns!

My aunt's features had now transmuted into those of the most hideous crone on the face of the earth. Her eyes had become reptilian, set in a face of ancient wrinkled parchment. Her purple dress had turned to black. As to Mrs Rogers, on my immediate left, her breasts had swelled like melons and burst out of her dress, which was now a vivid shade of scarlet. Her face was serene, almost beatific. She seemed a benign, universal matriarch.

Suddenly, the air was rent by an almighty crash, as what appeared to be a bolt of lightning jolted through our bodies. The table shot away. One moment it was there; the next it was gone. The heavy mahogany object passed cleanly through the ceiling, leaving a neat circular hole. It traversed the upstairs room and exited through the roof.

The explosion had also removed most of an internal wall. Nuala was now revealed, sprawled in the rubble, in a space beneath the stairs. There was a splintered wooden cabinet in front of her, trailing some wires. She must have used an electric current, I realised, to levitate the table. There was a shocked and guilty expression on her features.

Time had been slowing down since I had seen my aunt's halo. Now it had almost stopped. I looked at Mary and Alfred. They were still holding hands. Their mouths were opening. But if they were speaking, it was infinitely slowly. Suddenly, I felt someone tapping on my shoulder. I looked behind me.

 

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