Hell House (6 page)
"How could all this… bacchanalia take place without repercussions?" Barrett asked. "Surely someone must have- what's the expression?-blown the whistle on Belasco?"
"The house is isolated; really isolated. There were no outside telephones. But, just as important, no one dared to implicate Belasco; they were too afraid of him. Once in a while, private detectives might do a little probing. They never found a thing. Everyone was on their best behavior while the investigation was taking place. There was never any evidence. Or, if there was, Belasco bought it."
"And, during all this time, people kept coming to the house?" Barrett asked, incredulous.
"In droves," said Fischer. "After a while, Belasco got so tired of having only eager sinners in his house, he started to travel around the world enlisting young, creative people for a visit to his 'artistic retreat-to write or compose, paint or meditate. Once he got them here, of course-" He gestured. "
Influences
."
"The most vile of evils," Florence said, "corruption of the innocent." She looked at Fischer almost pleadingly. "Had the man no trace of decency at all?"
"None," said Fischer. "One of his favorite hobbies was destroying women. Being so tall and imposing, so magnetic, he could make them fall in love with him at will. Then, when they were in the deepest throes of adoration, he'd dump them. He did it to his own sister-the same one he'd assaulted. She was his mistress for a year. After he rejected her, she became a drug addict and the leading lady of his Little Theater Company. She died here of an overdose of heroin in 1923."
"Did Belasco take drugs?" asked Barrett.
"In the beginning. Later on, he started to withdraw from all involvement with his guests. He had it in mind to make a study of evil, and he decided that he couldn't do that if he was an active participant. So he began to remove himself concentrating his energies on the mass corruption of his people.
"About 1926, he started his final thrust. He increased his efforts at encouraging guests to conceive of every cruelty, perversion, and horror they could. He conducted contests to see who could come up with the ghastliest ideas. He started what he termed 'Days of Defilement,' twenty-four-hour periods of frenzied, nonstop depravities. He attempted a literal enactment of de Sade's
120 Days of Sodom
. He began to import monstrosities from all over the world to mingle with his guests-hunchbacks, dwarfs, hermaphrodites, grotesques of every sort."
Florence closed her eyes and bowed her head, pressing tightly clasped hands against her forehead.
"About that time," continued Fischer, "everything began to go. There were no servants to maintain the house; they were indistinguishable from the guests by then. Laundry service failed, and everyone was forced to wash their own clothes-which they refused to do, of course. There being no cooks, everyone had to prepare their own meals with whatever was at hand-which was less and less, because the pickups of food and liquor had dwindled so much, with no acting servants.
"An influenza epidemic hit the house in 1927. Believing the reports of several of his doctor guests that the Matawaskie Valley fog was injurious to health, Belasco had the windows sealed. About that time, the main generator, no longer being maintained, started functioning erratically, and everyone was forced to use candles most of the time. The furnace went out in the winter of 1928, and no one bothered to relight it. The house became as cold as a refrigerator. Pneumonia killed off thirteen guests.
"None of the others cared. By then they were so far gone that all they were concerned with was their 'daily diet of debaucheries,' as Belasco put it. They were at the bottom by 1928, delving into mutilation, murder, necrophilia, cannibalism."
The three sat motionless and silent, Florence with her head inclined, Barrett and Edith staring at Fischer as he kept on speaking, quietly, virtually without expression, as though he were recounting something very ordinary.
"In June of 1929, Belasco held a version of the Roman circus in his theater," he said. "The highlight was the eating of a virgin by a starving leopard. In July of the same year, a group of drug-addicted doctors started to experiment on animals and humans, testing pain thresholds, exchanging organs, creating monstrosities.
"By then everyone but Belasco was at an animal level, rarely bathing, wearing torn, soiled clothes, eating and drinking anything they could get their hands on, killing each other for food or water, liquor, drugs, sex, blood, even for the taste of human flesh, which many of them had acquired by then.
"And, every day, Belasco walked among them, cold, withdrawn, unmoved. Belasco, a latter-day Satan observing his rabble. Always dressed in black. A giant, terrifying figure, looking at the hell incarnate he'd created."
"How did it end?" asked Barrett.
"If it had ended, would we be here?"
"
It will end now
," Florence said.
Barrett persisted. "What happened to Belasco?"
"No one knows," said Fischer. "When relatives of some of his guests had the house broken into in November of 1929, everyone inside was dead-twenty-seven of them.
"Belasco was not among them."
Florence came walking back across the great hall. For the past ten minutes, she'd been sitting in a corner, "preparing herself," she'd told them. Now she was ready. "As ready as one can be in this kind of climate. Excessive dampness is always a handicap." She smiled. "Shall we take our places?"
The four sat at the huge round table, Fischer across from Florence, Barrett several chairs away from her, Edith next to him.
"It's occurred to me," Florence said as she settled herself, "that the evil in this house is so intensely concentrated that it might be a constant lure to earthbound spirits everywhere. In other words, the house might be acting like a giant magnet for degraded souls. This could explain its complicated texture."
What is one supposed to say to that? Barrett thought. He glanced at Edith, forced to repress a smile at her expression as she gazed at Florence. "You're certain this equipment isn't going to bother you?" he said.
"Not at all. As a matter of fact, it might not be amiss for you to switch on your tape recorder when Red Cloud starts to speak. He might say something valuable."
Barrett nodded noncommittally.
"It works on battery as well, doesn't it?"
Barrett nodded again.
"Good." Florence smiled. "The rest of the instruments, of course, are of no use to me." She looked at Edith. "Your husband has explained to you, I'm sure, that I'm not a physical medium. Mine is solely a mental contact with those in spirit. I admit them only in the form of thought." She glanced around. "Will you put out your candles now?"
Edith tensed as Lionel wet two fingers and crimped out the wick of his candle, Fischer blew his out. Only hers remained, a tiny, pulsing aura of light in the vastness of the hall; the fire had gone out an hour earlier. Edith was unable to make herself extinguish it. Barrett reached out and did it for her.
Blackness seemed to crash across her like a tidal wave, taking her breath. She groped for Lionel's hand, the moment reminding her of a visit she had made once to the Carlsbad Caverns. In one of the caverns, the guide had turned out the lights, and the darkness had been so intense that she had felt it pressing at her eyes.
"O Spirit of Love and Tenderness," Florence began. "We gather here tonight to discover a more perfect understanding of the laws which govern our being."
Barrett felt how cold Edith's hand was and smiled in sympathy. He knew what she was going through; he'd been through the same thing dozens of times in the early days of his work. True, she'd been to séances with him before, but never in a place with such an awesome size and history.
"Give us, O Divine Teacher, avenues of communication with those beyond, particularly those who walk this house in restless torment."
Fischer pulled in a long, erratic breath. He recalled his first sitting here in 1940-in this hall, at this very table. Objects had been hurled about; Dr. Graham had been knocked unconscious by one of them. A greenish, glowing mist had filled the air. Fischer's throat felt parched. I shouldn't be sitting in on this, he thought.
"May the work of bridging the chasm of death be, by us, so faithfully accomplished that pain may be transformed into joy, sorrow into peace. All this we ask in the name of our infinite Father. Amen."
It was silent for a while. Then Edith's legs retracted as Florence began to sing in a soft, melodious voice: "'The world hath felt a quickening breath from heaven's eternal shore. And souls, triumphant over death, return to earth once more.'" Something about the sound of her muted singing in the darkness made Edith's flesh crawl.
When the hymn had ended. Florence started to breathe in deeply, making passes in front of her face. After several minutes, she began to rub both hands over her arms and shoulders, down across her breasts, and over her stomach and thighs. The strokings were almost sensual as she massaged herself, lips parted, eyes half-closed, an expression of torpid abandonment on her face. Her breathing became slower and louder. Soon it was a hoarsely sibilant, wheezing sound. By then, her hands lay flaccid in her lap, her arms and legs twitching slightly. Bit by bit, her head leaned back until it touched the chair. She drew in an extended, quavering breath, then was still.
The great hall was without a sound. Barrett stared at the place where Florence sat, though nothing was visible to him. Edith had closed her eyes, preferring an individual darkness to that of the room. Fischer sat tensely in his chair, waiting.
Florence's chair made a creaking noise. "Me Red Cloud," she said in a sonorous voice. Her face, in the darkness, was stonelike, her expression imperious. "Me Red Cloud," she repeated.
Barrett sighed. "Good evening."
Florence grunted, nodding. "Me come from afar. Bring greeting to you from realm of Eternal Peace. Red Cloud happy see you. Always happy see earthlings gather in circle of belief. We with you always, watch and ward. Death not end of road. Death but door to world without end. This we know."
"Could you-?" Barrett started.
"Earthling souls in prison," Florence interrupted. "Bound in dungeons of flesh."
"Yes," said Barrett. "Could you-?"
"Death the pardon, the release. Leave behind what poet call 'muddy vesture of decay.' Find freedom-light-eternal joy."
"Yes, but do you think-?"
Edith bit her lower lip to keep from laughing as Florence interrupted again. "Tanner woman say put on machine, get voice on ribbon. Not know what she mean. You do that?"
Barrett grunted. "Very well." Reaching across the table, he felt around for the tape recorder, switched it on, and pushed the microphone toward Florence. "Now, if you'd-"
"Red Cloud Tanner woman guide. Guide second medium on this side. Talk with Tanner woman. Bring other spirits to her."
Florence looked around abruptly, teeth bared, eyebrows pressing down, a growl of disapproval rumbling in her throat "Bad house. Place of sickness. Evil here. Bad medicine." She shook her head and growled again. "
Bad
medicine."
She twisted around the other way, grunting in surprise, as though someone had come up behind her and attracted her attention. "Man here. Ugly man. Like caveman. Long hair. Dirt on face. Scratches, sores. Yellow teeth. Man bent over, twisted. No clothes. Like animal. Breathing hard. In pain. Very sick. Say: 'Give me peace. Let free.'"
Edith clutched at Lionel's hand, afraid to open her eyes lest she see the figure Florence had described.
Florence shook her head, then slowly raised her arm and pointed toward the entry hall. "Go. Leave house." She stared into the darkness, turned back with a grunt. "No good. Here too long. Not listen. Not understand." She tapped her head with an index finger. "Too much sick inside."
She made a sound as though something interesting had been imparted to her. "Limits," she said. "Nations. Terms. Not know what that mean. Extremes and limits. Terminations and extremities." She shook her head. "Not know."
She jerked around as though someone had grabbed her rudely by the shoulder. "No. Go away." She grunted. "Young man here. Say must talk-must talk." She made a grumbling noise and then was still.
All three twitched as Florence cried out, "I don't know you people!" She looked around the table, her expression one of rabid agitation. "Why are you here? It does no good. Nothing ever changes.
Nothing!
Get out of here, or I'll hurt you! I can't help myself! God damn you filthy sons of bitches!"
Edith pressed back hard against her chair. The voice was totally unlike Florence's-hysterical, unbalanced, threatening. "Can't you see I'm helpless! I don't want to hurt you, but I
must!
" Florence's head shifted forward, eyes hooding, lips drawn back from clenching teeth. "I warn you," she told them in a guttural voice. "
Get out of this house before I kill you all
."
Edith cried out as a series of loud, staccato rappings sounded on the table. "What's that?" she asked. Her voice was lost beneath the chain of savage blows. It sounded as though a berserk man were pounding a hammer on the tabletop as hard and fast as he could. Barrett started to reach for his instruments, then remembered that there was no electricity. Damn! he thought.
Abruptly, the rappings ceased. Edith looked toward Florence as the medium started making groaning noises. She could still hear the blows ringing in her ears. Her body felt numb, as though the vibrations had deadened her flesh.
She started as Lionel pulled his hand free. She heard a rustling of his clothes, then started again as a small red light appeared where he was sitting. He had taken the pencil flashlight from his pocket and was pointing it at Florence. In the dim illumination, Edith could see the medium's head lolling back against the chair, eyes shut, mouth hanging open.
She stiffened, suddenly aware of a mounting coldness underneath the table. Shuddering, she crossed her arms. Fischer clenched his teeth together, willing himself not to jump from his chair.
Barrett tugged at the microphone wire, the scraping of the microphone across the table making Edith shudder. Picking it up, he noted quickly, "Temperature decline. Strictly tactile. Instrument reading impossible. Physical phenomena commenced with series of severe percussions." He pointed the flashlight at Florence again. "Miss Tanner reacting erratically. Trance state retained, but variable. Possible confusion at onset of unexpected physical phenomena. Absence of cabinet a probable factor. Handing subject tube of uranium-salt solution."
Edith watched the red light flicking around the tabletop. She saw Lionel's dark hand pick up the tube. The coldness beneath the table was making her legs and ankles ache. Still, she felt a little better, the unruffled tone of Lionel's voice having had a quieting effect on het. She watched as he pressed the tube into Florence's hands.
Florence sat up quickly, opening her eyes.
Barrett frowned in disappointment. "Subject out of trance." He switched off the tape recorder and struck a match. Florence averted her face while he relit the candles.
Fischer stood and moved around the table to a pitcher of water. As he poured some into a glass, the lip of the pitcher rattled on the glass edge. Barrett glanced at him. Fischer handed the glass to Florence, who drank its contents in a single swallow. "There." She smiled at Fischer. "Thank you." She set the glass down, shivering. "What happened?"
When Barrett told her, she stared at him in confusion. "I don't understand. I'm not a physical medium."
"You were just now. The embryo of one, at any rate."
Florence looked disturbed. "That doesn't make sense. Why should I suddenly become a physical medium after all these years?"
"I have no idea."
Florence gazed at him. Finally she nodded with reluctance. "Yes; this house." She looked around. At last she sighed. "God's will, not mine," she said. "If my part in the cleansing is to alter my mediumship, so be it. All that matters is the end." She didn't look at Fischer as she spoke. The weight's been lifted from his shoulders to be put on mine, she thought.
"We can work together now if you're amenable," said Barrett.
"Yes, of course."
"I'll telephone Deutsch's man and have him see to the construction of a cabinet tomorrow morning." Barrett wasn't convinced that what had happened indicated a physical mediumship in Florence extensive enough for his needs. There was certainly no immediate harm in seeing if she had the capability, however. If she did it would be more expeditious to work with her than be forced to wait for Deutsch's permission to bring up one of his own people.
Seeing her expression still reflect uneasy doubt, he asked, "You really want this?"
"
Yes, yes
." Her smile was disconcerted. "It's just that… well, it's difficult for me to understand. All these years, a mental medium." She shook her head. "Now this." She made a sound of wry amusement. "The Lord moves in mysterious ways indeed."
"So does this house," said Fischer.
Florence looked at him in surprise. "You think the house had something to do with me-?"
"Just watch your step," he cut her off. "The Lord may not have too much influence in Hell House."