A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 3 of 3)Marryat, Florence
General
A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 3 of 3)
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
Mrs Bizzey protested, and wept, and was even refractory, but it was
all of no avail, and before we separated it had been agreed we should
meet again at ten o’clock, and hold a séance. There was some whispering
between the old couple after that that I did not quite understand, but as
it ended by Mrs Bizzey ejaculating, ‘Nonsense; I tell you the house will
be quiet enough by ten o’clock,’ I concluded he was referring to some
expected visitor, and dismissed the subject from my mind. As soon as they
had disappeared I delivered myself up to self-gratulation. I was really
going to hold a séance, under my own direction and the most favourable
circumstances, with a large haunted house at my command, and no one to be
any the wiser for my dabbling in the necromantic art. I took out an old
number of the ‘Spiritualist,’ and referred to the directions for forming
circles at home. I prepared the paper, pencils, and speaking tubes, and
symmetrically arranged the table and chairs.
Nothing was wanted when Mr and Mrs Bizzey entered my room at the
appointed hour—he looking expectant, and she very much alarmed. I was
prepared for this, however, and insisted upon their both joining me in
a glass of whisky and hot water before commencing the sitting, alleging
as a reason the fact that the presence of spirits invariably chills
the atmosphere, whether in summer or winter. So I mixed three bumping
tumblers of toddy, strong enough to give us the courage we required for
the occasion; and after we had (according to the directions) engaged for
some little time in light and friendly conversation, I induced my friends
to approach the table.
It was now, I was glad to see by my watch, about half-past eleven—just
about the time when the mysterious sounds had commenced the night before;
and having lowered the lamp, much to Mrs Bizzey’s horror, until it was
represented by a mere glimmer of light, I instructed her husband and
herself how to place their hands upon the table, linked with mine, and
the séance began.
I had enjoined perfect silence on my companions, and after we had been
sitting still for about fifteen minutes, during which I had watched in
vain for some symptoms of movement on the part of the table, we all heard
distinctly the sound of a foot creeping cautiously about the upper rooms,
upon which Mrs Bizzey, too frightened to shriek, began to weep, and her
husband, in order to stop her, pinched her violently in the dark.
‘Hush!’ I exclaimed, almost as agitated as the woman. ‘Do not disturb
them for your life, and whatever you may see, don’t scream.’
‘La, sir, you never mean to say that they’ll come downstairs?’
‘I cannot say what they may do. I think I hear a step descending now. But
remember, Mrs Bizzey, they will not hurt you, and try and be brave for
all our sakes.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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