Poltergeist (26 page)

Dr. Farrow raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Have you thought of selling it to the movies?”

“Tony!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just a thought. You know, it’s going to be impossible to get anyone in the scientific community to believe you for a moment.”

“Except Ryan, anyway,” Martha glumly retorted.

“Yes, except Ryan. And me. I believe you.”

“You. They don’t even let you out of your cloister here, anymore, except to attend honorary dinners.”

He laughed. There was a comfortable silence as they both reflected. “The family,” he said. “They’re all right now?”

“Yes, thank God. A little the worse for wear—but a high-velocity emotional experience like that always brings people much closer together, if it doesn’t tear them apart.”

He nodded, looked serious. “
You’re
a sage woman, Martha. What do you think happened?”

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Or something like that.”

“And how do you know what I dream of in my philosophy?”

“Maybe this
was
a dream. How’s this for an explanation: Tangina was chronically sleep and dream deprived for weeks, because of nightmares which kept waking her. Now, you know when that happens to people, their dream-states break through into their waking life—they nod off for a second or two of intense REM activity, then wake up to continue whatever they were doing. Well, maybe Tangina’s waking-dream activity was so intense, so strongly telepathic, she projected it into all our minds--starting with the little girl, and then eventually all of us concerned. So it was all Tangina’s dream, so intensely experienced and projected we all thought it was real.”

Dr. Farrow bobbed his head as he considered it. “Not bad, not bad. I like it actually. It has some flaws, though. What about the jewelry, for example?”

“The jewelry.” Martha nodded. “The jewelry is problematic.”

“Well,” he ventured, “what is jewelry but matter, and what is matter but a special case of energy, and these phenomena you’ve described are certainly nothing more nor less than very special cases of energy, manifesting themselves in very special ways. Who can say what the source of the energy is? Not me. My brain is too atrophied to do anything but muse anymore. There are energy sources everywhere, though. Energy from our minds? Certainly. Energy from extraterrestrial beings? I couldn’t say impossible. From rents in the fabric of space and time? Black holes? Exploding suns, other dimensions, alternate universes? Yes, yes, yes. All, possible. And very likely something related to one of those generalizations was the cause of the Freeling Fantasy Mystery.”

“How about spirits of the dead?”

Dr. Farrow put his palm down firmly on the desk. “No. At spirits I put my foot down.”

“That’s your hand.”

“Rather would I subscribe to your silly solipsism—and say the jewelry and
all
of you are inventions of my mind—than postulate spirits.” He was adamant.

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot—we
are
scientists, after all.”

He pounded his fist gently in mock emphasis of her dictum. His look turned quixotic then. “By the way . . . what
did
happen to all the jewelry?”

Martha lifted her shoulders. “She Who Waits asked us to give it back—but what was I to do? Send it parcel post, certified? I tried leaving it with the Freelings, but they wanted nothing to do with it—too many bad associations. They told me to study it—their donation to Science. It’s in the lab now. We’ll make some routine analyses, and get some answers, I expect. I don’t know, maybe we should use it to start a museum of paranormal artifacts.” She smiled wryly. “Perhaps the spirits of the dead will someday return to claim their necklaces and rings. For now, thank God, it’s over, though. Whatever it was, it’s come and gone.”

Dr. Farrow made his eyes wide, and whispered: “Like a poltergeist.”

Bekins boxes filled the living room, stacked in clusters all around. Half the furniture was packed and crated, the other half tagged and numbered. Curtains were down, books and papers were strewn everywhere, awaiting cataloguing. Moving day was dead ahead.

The Freeling family sat around the dining room table as Diane entered from the kitchen carrying a succulent roast on a platter. This was to be the last supper in this house.

E. Buzz sat patiently beside Robbie, knowing the treats he’d get if he behaved long enough. Diane sat down, and everyone bowed their heads. “Bless us oh Lord for these Thy gifts which we are about to receive . . .”

“And for bringing serenity back to our home,” Steve added.

At which Robbie chimed in, “Rub-a-dub-dub, Thanks for the grub. Yay, God.”

They all laughed, and food was passed. Steve carved the roast. Diane got her purse off the coffee table, reached into it, and extracted an envelope addressed to the entire family.

“This came in the mail today. It’s from Tangina—she’s in Acapulco.”

She passed around a Polaroid of Tangina standing on a sunny beach beside a handsome young beach boy, nearly twice her height.

“Who’s that with Aunt Tangie?” Carol Anne wanted to know.

Diane read the accompanying letter out loud: “This photograph just goes on to prove that they do grow things bigger south of the border . . .”

The others dug in eating as she read. Robbie and Dana exchanged a quick series of three punches over the last roll—no knockouts, the fight was called by the ref (Steve). Carol Anne surreptitiously dipped a fingerful of butter to E. Buzz under the table, during the main event.

Diane’s voice trailed off, then picked up again. “She wants to know how our therapy is coming, and says there is no better road to a normal life than through the love we have shown for each other . . .”

“You call this a normal life?” Dana wrinkled her nose.

“You look like a hog when you do that,” Robbie attested.

“Well, you
are
a hog.”

“. . . and she thinks moving is a good idea even if the house is clean,” Diane continued as if she’d been uninterrupted. “You’re still seeing Teague tonight, aren’t you? About arranging a second for us?”

“Yeah, he’s coming by after dinner. We’ll probably go to the club to set it up.”

“Well, I’m going to the Roxy with Kirk and Franklin, so don’t expect me back until late,” Dana announced.

“I don’t expect you back at all,” Robbie commented, making a monster face.

“Creep.”

“It’s a school night, young lady.”

“It is not, Mother; it’s a Friday.”

Diane frowned, then laughed. “Right. Right. I guess your mother is getting old.”

“Just her hair,” razzed Steve.

“Well, I like it,” Diane protested.

“I can lend you some of my Grecian Formula . . .”

“I
like
my hair like this—it’s very distinguished.”

“I think it ought to be
ex
tinguished,” muttered Dana.

“That’s what
you
oughtta be, hog.”

This started round two, which the referee also had to call.

“I thought
all
old people had gray hair,” piped up Carol Anne.

“That reminds me,” Diane laughed, “speaking of forgetting things. We got a call from Dr. Bremer’s office today . . .”

“Who?” cut in Steve.

“Dr. Bremer, the ‘sleep disorder specialist’ I took Carol Anne to see last week. They said we missed the second appointment we’d set up, and didn’t call to cancel, so they’re charging us anyway, but they’re willing to give us one more chance.” She started laughing and couldn’t stop, and then Steve cracked up as well, and the two of them were a pair.

Dana just rolled her eyes. Parents, it seemed, were inexplicable.

“Mom, Carol Anne gots more sweet potatoes on her plate,” Robbie noted after Mom and Dad had finished being silly.

“You can have seconds. Finish firsts first.” Diane wiped a residual tear of laughter from her eye.

Carol Anne pointed at Robbie’s plate, singing, giggling. “Looky-loo. Looky-loo, lookylooky looky-loo . . .”

And of course, Robbie rose to the challenge. “Looky-loo to you too too, looky-loo are you, too, looky-loo, looky-loo . . .”

Dana shook her head and pushed her chair back. “I’m outta here . . .”

She trotted upstairs to get ready for her double date.

Steve and Diane stared at each other with monumental love, then leaned across the table and kissed.

Robbie snuck a piece of fat to E. Buzz under the table, while Carol Anne squeezed some sweet potato in her fist, just to see how it felt.

Diane watched Steve through the living room window as he got into Teague’s Bronco and drove off. She put the dishes into the dishwasher, finished packing a few more items, paused, sighed. Smiled. Time for some gratuitous self-indulgence.

She walked upstairs, pulling the pins from her hair. Crossing the hall to her room, she stopped a moment beside Robbie’s and Carol Anne’s room. The door was closed; warm light filtered out from the crack at the bottom jamb. Quietly, she put her ear to the door: children’s giggled games filtered through—secret high-level conferences with imaginary friends and magical stuffed animals. Diane smiled contentedly, took her hand off the knob, and continued on down to her own room.

It was pretty bare. Only the bed and dressing table remained up; everything else was boxed in the corner. The sheets were new. The television was gone. The stain on the wall had completely disappeared.

She entered the master bathroom, stoppered the tub, began running in a mix of hot and cold water. Steamy hot, to soothe her aching muscles.

She took off her shirt, draped it over the mirror, kicked off her Adidas, peeled off her sweat socks, unzipped and slipped out of her Levi’s. She put on a big terry-cloth robe. She walked back out into the hall, pinning up her hair.

She crossed the corridor once more, once more put her hand on the children’s room door. It was hard for her, opening this door—it always would be. She was glad they were leaving this place. She could never live here with all these memories.

She turned the knob, and the door opened easily. She peeked her head in, tentative as an intruding mother.

Robbie and Carol Anne sat quietly, playing with a whole batch of brand new toys. They turned briefly to look at their mother, then went back to playing.

“Just checkin’ up. I’ll be in the tub a few minutes. You get the phone?”

“Sure, Mom. Hey, cut it out, Carol Anne, that’s mine!”

“Yeah, but you said I could use it, too.”

“You can’t use it until I’m done with it—
then
you could use it, I said.”

“Play nice, or it’s bedtime right now,” Diane smiled. She turned to go, when she noticed the closet light was off. She reached in with her hand, feeling for the switch . . . fumbled with something a few seconds . . . felt something, and flinched. She pulled her hand . . . and the light went on. Warm, yellow. She let go of the pull cord. Edgy. This closet would always make her edgy. She hoped she didn’t get a
thing
about closets.

She left the kids playing and padded back into her own room. Into the bathroom. She dropped the robe in a pile at her feet and stepped into the steaming tub. Inch by inch, she lowered herself into the luxuriously hot water. All the way up to her neck. She sighed, closed her eyes.

The water began to gurgle into the overflow drain under the spigot. It was an ugly sound . . . what did it remind her of? Unconsciously she made a face. She tossed the washcloth over her foot, and, using her big toe, stuffed the cloth into the drain, clogging it. The annoying sound ceased.

E. Buzz sauntered in and lay down on the bathroom rug. Diane reached her hand out, scratched his head a few times, then retracted her arm to soak again. The dog sighed, curled up, closed his eyes.

Diane closed her eyes. So relaxing . . . she knew she mustn’t let herself fall asleep, but she could let herself get close. Her muscles hummed with pleasure; all her tension was oozing away. Her breathing slowed down, became regular. Her mind drifted off . . .

Robbie grew tired of the game. He yawned, and climbed into his new bed. Carol Anne watched him, yawned like him, and, like her older brother, climbed into her own new bed.

The floor was a field of toy rubble; it looked like the cloth-animal burial ground.

“G’night, Robbie.”

“’Night, Carol Anne.”

Robbie looked over at the new rocking chair resting quietly in the corner. The old clown doll sat there bolt upright—quirkishly, the only remaining plaything left over from . . . before. Everything was divided into before and after, now.

Robbie didn’t like the way the doll looked, just sitting there all smiley and cockeyed, so he wadded up his discarded shirt by the bed and tried tossing it over the clown’s head. He missed. The shirt hit the top of the chair, then tumbled down over the arm rest. The impact started the chair rocking.

Robbie shrugged, and turned out the light by the bed. Only the cloud-shaded moon sifting through the window and a warm yellow shaft from the partially open closet illuminated the room. Outside, far in the distance, the rumble of thunder, more felt than heard.

Carol Anne was already fast asleep. Her man-in-the-moon clock ticked quietly by the bed. Car headlights briefly flashed across the window, then disappeared. Robbie turned to the wall, looking for a comfortable position.

In the corner, the chair kept rocking.

“I sure wish you’d reconsider, Steve. This is a golden opportunity you’re turning down.”

Teague sat with Steve in a quiet booth at the rear of the club bar, nursing a dry martini. A waitress noticed his glass was almost empty, and started toward the table, but when she was halfway across the room, Teague shook his head once, and she veered off to do something else.

“I know it is, Frank, and I appreciate your offer. Really, I do. I just . . . we’re just set on moving, and there’s no second opinion on the subject.”

Teague squinted. “This wouldn’t be your wife’s idea, would it? You know, Steve, sometimes women don’t understand . . .”

“This is something we both agree on, Frank. It’s just, well, the kids have had some bad experiences here, and for their sake mostly, we want to get . . .”