Samurai and Other Stories (19 page)

There was only the clear quiet night sky.
 

We stood there for long minutes but there was no repeat of the noise. After a while we retired inside for some liquid courage.

Jane came down later to tell us that Esther now seemed settled and slept soundly.
 

In the morning Esther showed no sign of remembering any of it, and we have not spoken of it since.
 

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. September 10th 1878

I scarce know where to begin.
 

My sleep has been troubled of late, and it came to a head just this last night. I tossed and turned for hours, alternatively hugging the bedclothes close to me, then throwing them asunder when they became too confining.
 

I had just pulled them tight around me when I heard the scampering of tiny feet once more. I intended to chase that mouse from my chamber. I threw the bedclothes off... and they kept going, sailing across the room as if propelled by a high wind. They hung, suspended in the air, a full foot above the floor.
 

Their crumpled shape looked like a body doubled over in pain.
 

I have no memory of it, but I believe I must have screamed, for I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and cries of concerned alarm. For my part I couldn’t take my gaze from the bundle of bedclothes. It
drifted
, as if being at the whim of wind and tide. Then, just as Jane appeared in the doorway, the bundle fell to the floor with a muffled thud.

Jane and Daniel were most officious, and insisted on treating me like an invalid. Daniel made me drink a sleeping draught. It tasted vile, but within several minutes I had all but forgotten the drifting bedclothes as my mind wandered in a hazy stupor that was not unpleasant.

I have only the vaguest memory of the rest of the night, and only have Daniel’s word as to what actually happened. What cannot be denied is the presence of the writing, and the whispering that I hear even now as I write this entry.

You may not believe any good of me. But if you believe nothing else, believe this.
 

I ain’t a bad girl.

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. September 10th 1878

Esther has not been well, and things reached a climax yesterday evening.

When we arrived in the bedchamber Esther was in a state of distress, and it required a strong dose of Doctor Walton’s opiates to calm her. We were about to retire, confident that the girl was now asleep, when her bedclothes blew from the bed. Esther had not moved, yet the quilt was thrown the full length of the room. When I went to retrieve it I found it to be like wrestling with a recalcitrant sheep. The material seemed to twist in my arms, fighting against me at every turn.
 

Brother John came to my aide. The quilt went still and we were able to drape it over Esther. But the girl was once more swollen up like a dead fish too long in the water, and her skin took on a deep red hue, as if burning from within. I dispatched John to fetch the doctor while Jane and I took turns sitting with Esther. She showed no sign of being aware of our presence, merely stared, wide-eyed and unseeing, at the ceiling.
 

When the doctor finally arrived, my brother John would not come back into the bedroom. Indeed, he has packed his bags and departed without saying goodbye. And I cannot say as I blame him.

The doctor had barely bent over Esther when the bedclothes swirled up as if caught by a maelstrom and wrapped themselves around the man’s head, threatening to suffocate him there and then. It was only through Jane and I combining out strength that we were able to rip them from him. I thought that might be the end of his visit and that he would leave as John had left. But the doctor proved to be made of sterner stuff.
 

He bent forward once more and took Esther’s wrist, feeling for a pulse.
 

At that same instant the room rang as
something
banged hard, like a child slapping his hands against the wall. The noise ran in a circle, the full turn of the room.

Then silence fell.

Esther began to thrash and moan. The banging returned, louder this time, the whole building rocking and echoing as crashes like thunder filled the room. Plaster fell from the walls and every part of my being wanted to flee, to follow my brother to the nearest inn where we could start to forget together. Only Jane’s hand in mine stayed my flight.
 

The doctor administered laudanum and held Esther down. Slowly the drumming started to subside. Even as Esther calmed we all heard the scratching. We could not identify where it was coming from. The noise seemed to fill the air, from everywhere and nowhere.
 

It was Jane who saw it first. The writing appeared, scripted by an invisible hand, in crude four-inch high letters above the headboard of the bed. Just reading it made my blood run cold.

“You are mine to kill.”

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. October 4th 1878

The doctor said the voices would stop. Why have the voices not stopped?
 

Every night he drums on the walls, and every night he whispers to me, so close that I alone can hear him.

He says he loves me.

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. November 6th 1878

It is a week now since we sent Esther to the sanatorium, a week of blessed relief from that infernal drumming and the incessant scratching. The house has returned to a semblance of normality.
 

Esther is on the mend. The doctor says it was diphtheria, and that it will take several more weeks of rest and recuperation before she is able to return home. I am unable to reconcile the diagnosis with all that has occurred in this house, but to admit to anything other would only lead to madness.
 

In her delirium Esther spoke often of Bob MacNeal, and in a lucid moment told Jane that the man had tried to take advantage of her maidenhood. At that very same moment the drumming in the room reached a crescendo of noise that deafened the whole household.
 

I cannot help but think that all we have suffered has been a result of that night back in August. If MacNeal ever shows his face around these parts again, I shall surely kill him.
 

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. December 14th 1878

I have only been home these past two days, yet I fear that once more I will bring terror and fear to my family.

I was so happy to be home and in my own bed again after the weeks of quiet desperation in the sanatorium. I had started to believe that the whispering had all been a delusion on my part, a reaction to the fever that had raged through me.

But the very first night home showed me that I ain’t free. I might never be free again.
 

I was lying in my own bed, just luxuriating in the soft quilts, when I smelled smoke. Somebody laughed, a deep chuckle that sounded cold and hard. Suddenly there was heat at my feet. I had to throw the quilt to the ground and stomp on it to stop it smouldering, and if Jane ever finds out about the blackened hole there then I will be in serious trouble.

Afterwards, I found a spent match on the floor, and when I picked it up, the chuckle came again, closer this time, as if someone stood at my ear.
 

That was the only occurrence, but last night it happened twice—I was sitting reading quietly when once more the quilt started to burn. And even as I stomped to extinguish it, the drawer of the dresser opened and smoke came from the petticoats I have stored there.
 

This time I found two spent matches. As I threw the blackened stumps from the window the chuckling returned, louder this time, and with a distinct air of malice.
 

My heart raced, and I was unable to get any rest after that. As I lay there in the darkness the sound I had not heard in months came back—sibilant whisperings in my ear, of love and honor, of fidelity... and of death.

I am greatly afeard, but I dare not tell.
 

If I tell, they will surely send me away again. That is what happens to bad girls. And next time I may not be allowed to return.

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. December 26th 1878

We cannot take any more. Yuletide is meant to be a time of rejoicing and celebration. This year, our gifts were only fire and terror.
 

It all started so innocuously. The alarms of the autumn had been forgotten, and, while Esther was still pale and confined herself mostly to her room, there had been no incident of real note since her return these two weeks past.
 

I set the Yule Log to burn on the fire and nailed the holly wreaths in the porch. There had been a light snowfall overnight, and I called the family to see the scene before any thaw could tarnish it. It was an idyllic moment... but that was as good as the day ever got.

We were all on the porch when Esther started to scream—so loud that I saw lace curtains twitch and doors open all along the street as our neighbours took notice. As luck would have it I was closest to the door, and first up the stairs.

Esther sat on a bed of quilting that was already well alight, screaming as dancing flames reached for her. Jane arrived at my heels and between us we managed to drag her off the bed and away from the fire.
 

The flame had already taken hold in the walls, and we had to take to ferrying buckets up the stairwell. Townsfolk arrived to throw water on the exterior to prevent the fire spreading, and even then we only just managed to control the raging conflagration.

Afterwards, as we all stood outside staring at the charred side of the building, I was aware that our neighbours were being vocal in their disapproval of Esther’s continued presence in the street. There was even talk of sending for a priest.
 

I myself had to stand between Esther and three women intent on
beating the devil out of the girl.

Matters came round to shouting and pushing, and may have turned to something even worse had John White not intervened. He has always had a soft spot for Esther, even when she was but a child, and he has offered to take her into rooms in his inn on the other side of town, until things calm down.

Esther seems amenable to this offer, and she has gone with the innkeeper.
 

I spent much of my Christmas clearing up water damage and salvaging what I can from the ruin of her room.
 

I am far from feeling any festive cheer.
 

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. February 14th 1879

I had thought John White to be a friend. Indeed, I do believe his intentions to be sincere. But this table rapping smacks of the devil’s business, and I ain’t sure that any good will come of it.
 

His friends are nice people, and they mean well, but they seemed far too excited when my whispering friend decided to share his affections with them around their table. There is talk of inviting a man from the newspapers, and Mr. White whispered of visitors from as far as New York.
 

And I have discovered something I did not know. My whispering man has a name. Rab Nickle he calls himself, and right proud of it he seems too.
 

The others have not yet seen his cruelty. He pricks me with needles that can not be seen, scratches me with invisible nails. The pain is excruciating. He says I deserve it. He says that one day I will burn with him in hell.

The others think I jest when I talk like this. They do not know him as I do... they do not fear him, and the foul beings that he sometimes brings with him.

But they will come to realize the error of their ways.

I can only hope it will not be too late.
 

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. June 8th 1879

She is home.
 

Jane at least is most glad to see her sister after such an absence. And Esther herself is full of stories of
away
. Her sojourn with John White has led to a change in her, and I am not yet sure it is for the better. She says there have been no
incidents
for some months.

Indeed, she has travelled farther than any of us have, to Moncton and Halifax, St John and Fredrickstown. She seems to have spent most of her time sitting at tables and interpreting the raps that have ensued. She now says that the events of last year were due to people
from the other side
trying to communicate with her. She clearly believes herself to be communing with these spirits, and indeed John White shares these fantasies.

Esther does not seem quite herself. There is a distant quality to her that was not previously apparent, and she is pale and drawn. She wears high necked and long sleeved dresses, and will not even suffer Jane to see what is beneath, but at lunch one arm of her dress rode up and showed a mess of purple bruising and raised welts.

John White says that everything has been
normal
. However, there was a look in his eye that told a lie to that statement. I pressed him for information, and he regaled me with tales of
experiments
and even showed me some newspaper cuttings that declared Esther to be a marvel.
 

John White has asked my permission to invite a certain Mr. Walter Hubbell to talk to Esther. Mr. Hubbell is deemed an
expert
on these matters... if there is indeed any such thing. But John seems to believe that the man may be able to help, and I have given my tentative agreement.

Over supper I started to wonder whether I had made the right decision. Esther barely touched her food. She seemed over-eager to get back to
her
room. We have had it redecorated for her return, and it looks just as she left it.

And that is what worries me.

Just before she retired for the night she was asking after Bob MacNeal, and whether there was any news of him. It is almost as if she still expects the man to call on her again... almost as if that is what she has been waiting for all these months.