The Medium of Memory | ONC2020

1. The Séance

Western New York, 1901

The human mind is wholly unreliable.

This had long worked to my advantage.

I felt Mrs. Barrowmore's fingers brush lightly against mine in the gloom. The single candle in the middle of the table cast flickering shadows over the faces of the six other sitters, giving them a rather ghastly appearance. It made the young man with the high cheekbones—I will refrain from divulging names here—look absolutely cadaverous. I saw the others glancing around the circle at their neighbors and let the subtle psychological magic of darkness, silence, and expectation begin to spread a feeling of unease amongst them.

So much of my profession relies on observation, and patience. 

The participants' hands were placed palms-down in a ring around the edge of the table, lightly touching the hands of their neighbors. Seated next to the aforementioned young man was a very young lady, barely nineteen, and one other man of middle age. On either side of myself and Mrs. Barrowmore were two women, sisters whom I had met once previously. The last woman, of about my own age, had long auburn hair done up in a bun and wore a practical grey dress notably different from the formal attire of the others.

When I sensed the silent waiting had gone on just long enough, I lifted my right hand, my elbow resting on the velvet covered box that had heretofore gone unused on the table before me, in order to keep my arm as still as possible. Between my thumb and first finger I held the end of the chain on which hung an oblong and irregular quartz crystal. I placed my other hand, palm-up, a few inches below it. It hung there, stationary, as I let out a low keening hum, drawing it out as long as I could.

Such unordinary sounds, after a bout of distinct silence, are jarring to most minds and set them still further on the path to susceptibility.

I repeated the sound again, letting it subside gradually into silence just as the crystal began to move on the end of its tether. I held it and my hand in such a way that all could see clearly in the candlelight that my hand was entirely still, and only two fingers held the chain.

The crystal picked up momentum, moving in a clockwise circle. "Show us who. Show us who," I intoned cryptically. I kept my gaze on the moving stone. All the while, my hand and arm remained entirely still. I chose my subject and imagined the crystal swinging toward her.

It is an easy enough artifice. Your mind causes tiny imperceptible movements in your hand, making the chain, and therefore the stone, move in the direction of your choosing.

A gasp escaped the lips of one of the ladies as the crystal changed its circular movement and began a more direct, swinging path. Like a pendulum it started to swing back and forth between myself and the youngest woman. When it was going strong and fast, I sharply looked up into the terrified eyes of the young lady.

Then with a dramatic flourish I abruptly dropped my hand to the table, and the crystal along with it. "The spirits have chosen," I whispered, never taking my eyes off the girl.

 I could see that she was suitably shaken. I tilted my head at an odd angle and let my eyes unfocus, my eyelids fluttering slightly. In her heightened emotional state, her mind, and her memories, would be easy to access. Shifting out of my chair, I leaned across the table in her direction, careful to avoid the candle flame, eyes still unfocused, half-closed, and sniffed the air like a wild creature might. She recoiled as I knew she would, but I grabbed one of her hands and held it firmly to the table.

"Lavender! Do you not all smell that? Lavender!" I said in a hushed and urgent tone.

"My grandmother!" the girl breathed. "That was her favorite scent!"