Twelve of us huddled around the small, black table in the center of the room upon which were a Bible and one unlit, white candle. A single incandescent bulb glowed while we sat silently listening to the instructions for the séance. Crippled shadows danced on the dirty, replastered walls. An uneasiness filled the air and the faces around the circle. The laughing, disrespectful faces I once knew were now mere morbid, morose masks.
The window behind me rumbled and the circle jerked in closer. It was only the wind. It had been windy since the day we decided to have the séance, and that night wanted to be the highpoint of that dismal weather. The day had been gray and overcast, and the cold rain that had started in the late afternoon hadn't abated. The bare trees snapped wildly in front of the street lights whipped our own crippled shadows into deeper submission. The bulb extinguished, the candle was lit. We were ready to begin. We closed our eyes, bowed our heads and mumbled the Lord's Prayer, then silent concentration in an attempt to make contact ...
The room was exceedingly dark. The walls receded into the darkness. The faces of our little group turned into photo negatives those sitting to my right and left began clutching my hands ever tighter. My heart raced, adrenaline pumped, bright flashes shot through my head, my ears started ringing, throbbing as the blood rushed through them. I was flailing, falling through a void, the air stale, musty, used ... the silence was broken:
"I doubt if we'll make any contact tonight."
A barely audible sigh seeped from the circle. We bowed our heads and again repeated the Lord's Prayer. Someone reached over, fumbled with the switch, bringing the bulb back to life. An uneasy gaiety returned. No one looked at me strangely for I had not budged since started. We got up and walked quietly from the room. Downstairs it was business as usual.
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