Samurai and Other Stories (20 page)

Mr. Hubbell will be here in two months.
 

Let us hope he arrives before any more trouble comes our way.

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. June 9th 1879

I knew as soon as I walked in the door that he was waiting for me.
 

He says that if I will be his bad girl, he will love me forever and never hurt me again.

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. August 18th 1879

Walter Hubbell arrived today. He may soon wish he had not bothered to make the journey.

It began as soon as he entered the house. He had barely shaken my hand when the whole upstairs of the dwelling started to reverberate with the all too familiar pounding. He followed me upstairs showing no little trepidation.

Esther was in the throes of one of her attacks. Her flesh had bloated and swelled, orange as a pumpkin and almost fit to burst. Hubbell held his umbrella ahead of him as if it were a sword he might use to protect himself.
 

It proved useless. An unseen force tore the umbrella from his hand and dashed it, over and over, against the dresser until it was no more than a tangle of cloth and stays. And the presence did not finish there. Hubbell’s tweed trousers started to smoke—first at the ankles, then at the thighs until he was forced to divest himself of them completely. If it had not been for the raw burns raised on his skin I might have almost found it comical.

A lesser man might have taken to his heels and fled, but it seems that our Mr. Hubbell is made of stern stuff. After redressing himself he once more ventured into the room. He spoke calmly to Esther, as if addressing a distraught child, and, eventually, she did indeed calm herself.
 

I watched from the doorway as he whispered to her. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but from the intonation in his voice I soon realized he was asking a series of questions.
 

After a time
something
began to answer, manifesting itself as a series of raps on the wall... one rap for
No
, two for
Yes.

Hubbell kept up the questioning.
 

Esther seemed to be sleeping soundly, but still the rapping answers echoed around the room.

Finally, after what seemed an age, Hubbell seemed satisfied. He rose and led me back down to the kitchen where I poured us both a large measure of whisky.

The man was quiet for a long time before he spoke, and when he did it was in a hushed whisper. He told me his
expertise
actually comes from the fact that he is a stage magician. He has arrived to debunk Esther’s story, expecting to find fraud.
 

Now he believes he has found something else.

He believes she tells the truth, and that the spirits really do possess my sister-in-law.
 

I know not whether to be happy or appalled.

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. September 12th 1879

Mr. Hubbell has been here for nearly a month now, and I scarcely remember a minute of it.
 

He says that we are making good progress, and that the
personalities
are providing him with a wealth of material. He intends to write a book, and says it will make our fortune.

I do not have the heart to tell him that Rab Nickle is a cheat and a liar. Mr. Hubbell is only being told what he wants to hear, and the poor man is so besotted with the notion of writing the book that he is rushing ahead regardless.
 

In the meantime, Rab has kept whispering to me. He really is
most
insistent. He says he will not go until I do just what he says. He tortures me nightly, with burns and pinpricks. Jane has taken to leaving pails of water around the room, and last night she caught the flames just as the drapes on the window took alight, otherwise we might all have perished.

Rab was not amused, and pricked me mightily in the thighs. He has demanded a burning, a conflagration that will sweep away all doubt. I am sorely afeard that I will give in to his insistence.
 

But I must remain strong. Mr. Hubbell has arranged a
soiree
for next week. He has invited dignitaries from all over and says that I will be a sensation. Rab is already whispering of it. He says that unless I do as he says, he will be very naughty indeed.

But I ain’t no bad girl. I cannot do it. I
will
not do it.

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. September 20th 1879

Mr. Hubbell’s stay had rather an abrupt end. He has only his own
hubris
to blame for the debacle.

The church hall was full last night and people had come from far and wide. There was even a newspaperman from Boston, sitting there in clothes better suited for a Yankee summer than a Maritime Fall. Many of our neighbours packed the rear of the room, eager to finally get a look at the object of all their gossip.

Esther did not disappoint.

It started quietly, with more table rapping taking place in almost total darkness. The large crowd started to get restless, and indeed Tom Allardyce had to be escorted from the hall for making lewd suggestions as to what might be going on
under
the table. Mr. Hubbell remained unruffled, and at this point Esther was calm, even if her blank stare and rapid breathing was proving most disconcerting.

The in-comers at the front were rapt and stiff with attention throughout. Even more so when Hubbell had the lights lit and proceeded to demonstrate Esther’s remarkable affinity with needles. I had seen her attract metal objects several times over the past months, purely by stretching her hand out for them, but Hubbell had taken this aptitude further, using his obvious stagecraft to send needles dancing in the air above the tables. He continued to amuse and entertain, even while poor Esther sat there, red as hot coals and sweating profusely. I had a mind to put a stop to the nonsense then and there, and indeed, some of the audience agreed with me. Several people left, shaking their heads, and yet others started to heckle loudly.

Alice Brown brought the evening to its abrupt end by wondering out loud what Bob MacNeal had ever seen in someone as ugly as Esther. She immediately regretted it when a needle that had just been hovering above the table flew across the hall and embedded itself in her cheek.
 

Things quickly went to hell in a hand basket. Hubbell had to step back sharply as the table overturned. The hall went cold, so quickly that I saw my breath condense in front of me.
 

The curtains on either side of the stage started to smoke and smoulder, and Esther herself convulsed, her body racked with involuntary tremors.
 

I leapt on stage and threw her over my shoulder, intent on carrying her away as quickly as I was able.
 

Stagehands were already working hard to douse a fire that had leapt up all around the hall, and as I left, Hubbell had to be soaked to avoid his expensive looking suit bursting into flame.

Esther did not wake until we got her home and into bed. Even then, she showed no memory of the night’s activities.

Mr. Hubbell arrived some time later and sheepishly vacated his room. He is still convinced that he will write his book, but he does not intend to return to Amherst.

I am sure that is for the best, for all of us.

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. September 21st 1879

Rab was happy with his
performance
in the church hall, and even happier to have seen off Mr. Hubbell.
 

He says now that he has me to himself, things will be much better.
 

As for myself, I discovered something very interesting during Mr. Hubbell’s time here. Yes, Rab is inside me. But when he is making his mischief, he is
outside
me.
 

Rab is a bad man.
 

And I ain’t a bad girl.
 

But if I want to get rid of him, that might have to change.

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. October 10th 1879

Wonders will never cease.
 

Esther has taken employment, working for Arthur Davison out at the Barrens, looking after his livestock. And she seems to have settled into a routine.
 

I do believe that with Hubbell leaving, the worst of it may have gone with him.

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. October 28th 1879

I am free and I have Mr. Davison’s barn to thank for it.
 

It happened last night.
 

I had come prepared. The matchbox felt hot in my pocket, and I was worried that at any moment Rab would guess my intent and punish me further.
 

But he had other things on his mind.

I was in the barn fetching some straw for the horses when Rab chose to misbehave. I only noticed when the wall opposite me quivered, the straw shaping and moulding itself, running together and binding, small knots forming as I watched. A bulge appeared in the straw, a bulge that forced itself into shape, first a head covered in flaxen hair then shoulders, tanned and golden. Rab’s face leered at me.

“Be nice to me and I will love you forever,” he whispered.

My hand shook violently as I tried to open the matchbox and I nearly dropped the contents when the straw
thing
that Rab inhabited reached for me. I felt a hand on my knee, attempting to reach under my petticoat.
 

I struck match after match and dropped them in the straw. Slowly but sure they started to take.

I knocked the straw hand away from my leg and dropped a freshly lit match on the forearm. It went up with a
whoosh.
The flames spread fast, and I had to step away to avoid being burned.

Rab laughed loudly, even as the barn took hold and the straw in which his features were etched started to break apart, sending sparks to dance in the wind.

“That’s my bad girl,” he whispered. “You do not need me any more.”
 

And as simply as that, he was gone.
 

I retreated outside and watched the fire burn. Rab’s face leered at me one last time from the raging flames before the roof collapsed and the barn fell in on itself sending sparks, and all that remained of Rab Nickle, flying and dispersing in the wind.

Afterwards they put me in a cell, and said that I would be here for a while.

I do not care. I have been listening hard, and there have been no more whispers.

Extract from the diary of Daniel Teed. December 10th 1879

I cannot tell Esther. I am worried what might happen if I do. She has only just been released to our custody and although she
seems
fine, we are all still tiptoeing around her, and no one will talk of what has occurred.

They found a body out in Croziers Pond yesterday. The critters have been at it, and it cannot with any certainty be said who it might be. But it has a bullet hole in its back, and old Doc Walton says that it has been in the water for more than a year.

Extract from the diary of Esther Cox. December 10th 1879

I am a bad girl.

And I am free.

DANCERS

Yes, I know it’s getting dark, and I know it’s getting cold, but just come over here for a minute. It won’t take much of your time. There’s something I want to show you, someone I’d like you to meet.

Come on. Humour an old man who needs to tell his secret.

It’s just there, behind the church. Yes, in the older graveyard. You’re not afraid are you? I promise, there’s nothing here that would ever hurt you.

Not you.

Watch out for the moss on the stones. Some of the slimier varieties can get embedded in your clothes, and it’s murder trying to get it out.

Just about there is usually the best spot. Stand quietly now—let your eyes get adjusted to the dark. You’ll soon see why I brought you here.

There she is.

Do you see her? She’s standing right there. Look—in front of the large grey angel, just to the left of the patch of moonlight, almost underneath the old elm. Yes, there, beside the largest headstone.

My beautiful Sarah. Forever young, forever twenty.

See how the red of her hair glows like a burning firebrand, a halo around the white perfection of her face. And look—she’s wearing the dress. The one I bought her for the dance, the last dance of our youth.

Three pounds two and sixpence that dress cost me—more than a week’s wages in those days. Times have changed, haven’t they? My mother told me that I was mad, spending all that money on a slip of a girl who was no better than she should be. But I knew she was worth every penny.

I was drunk with the delight that danced in her eyes when she tried it on, swaying her hips to get the full effect from the long flowing pleats. I can still remember even now, fifty odd years and many strangers’ kisses later, the sweet honeyed taste of her lips as she thanked me, the pressure of her hands on my back as we embraced.

I wish she would touch me now. Just one touch, to bring us together at the end. If only she could see me. I have so much that I’ve never told her.

How still she is, how composed. The wind refuses to ruffle her, the rain refuses to dampen her, the earth refuses to cling to her. Yet there’s something more.

Look closer. She breathes; she blinks; her lips part and then connect, but there’s no steam. Not like you and I, standing here puffing at each other. It may be almost winter here, but for her it’s late summer, always summer.

Those lips. How deep and red and enticing they were that night, glistening moistly as she looked up at me. Smiling, dancing, laughing, we moved across the dance floor. We were young; the war had barely touched us, and I was in love for the very first time. The night held the prospect of many new pleasures.