The Medium of Memory | ONC2020

2. The Meeting

It was the following Saturday afternoon, sunny but wet after two days of rain, when armed with a fair sum of money in my purse from Mrs. Barrowmore, I went to the curio shop in search of new props to adorn the séance room.

I nodded politely to the shopkeeper, who recognized me from previous visits. His dimly lit shop held a special charm for me. It was unlike other such stores I have had the misfortune of entering, with their haphazard array of items, piled any old which way.

Here, around the central wooden counter with its behemoth gilded cash register, shelves held long disused objects—lamps, dolls, books, dishes, and myriad curiosities—all organized into categories and furnished with small white tags attached with twine. Artifacts of the past--catalogued, arranged and neatly labeled. I found it deeply pleasing.

As I was perusing a collection of candlesticks, I heard the bell over the door ring. There was the clack, clack of hard-heeled boots on the wooden floor and the shopkeeper's greeting, "Good day. Are you looking for something in particular?"

"Someone," a female voice replied.

I turned to see who had given this odd answer and was immediately thrown into a state of unease. It was the auburn-haired woman from the séance two nights prior. She wore a tailored suit this time, in grey and chestnut brown. "Ah!" she exclaimed and raised a hand to me, as if catching sight of an old friend. She then clack-clacked over to me directly.

"Just the woman I was looking for," she whispered conspiratorially as she came up beside me.

"I can't imagine what you mean," I managed to whisper back, wary of her motives. Then with a realization, "Did you follow me here?"

She avoided my question by asking one of her own. "Can't you read my mind?" Her eyes twinkled. They were green with flecks of brown. I quickly looked away and began to study the candlesticks again as if they were the most interesting items in the shop.

"Of course not. I commune with the spirits of the dead, when the mood strikes them. That is how I get my information. I'm sorry if you think otherwise, but—"

"Nonsense!" she said loudly and I hushed her. Dropping back to a whisper, she added, "There are no spirits of the dead poking about and telling people things. You and I both know that."

So, she was trying to expose me as a fraud! I shoved a silver candlestick back onto the shelf and began moving away from her. "I am sorry to vehemently disagree with you," I said firmly over my shoulder.

She kept doggedly by my side. "If you are trying to show me up as a fake, you will be sorely disappointed." I moved past the teapots, cups and china, and stopped before a display of jewelry. I pretended to be very interested in some beaded necklaces and hoped she would leave me alone if I ignored her.

 Quite to the contrary, she leaned ever closer and whispered into my ear, "Would you like to know what I think?"

"No."

She slid from her wrist a gold bracelet set with squarish amethyst stones and showed it to me. "I think ..." and she abruptly thrust it into my hand.

The darkness descended on me suddenly and my first thought was that I'd somehow gone blind or was about to faint. I was still standing, though, and I felt the woman's warm hands gripping me about the shoulders.

She helped me sink to the floor as a thin shaft of light entered my vision with a foggy glow, like moonlight coming through a window. I heard the sound of a child crying. It was all around me, and yet coming from me too, throbbing in my ears. I was clutching the bracelet, turning it over and over in my hands as I sobbed on the floor in the dark, overwhelmed with despair.