Nearly Departed by Max Schlienger (read novels website .TXT) 📗

Elspeth replied. Maybe it was her accent, but Dennis thought he heard a touch of sarcasm in her tone. “No, she has never haunted the house.” She took another sip of her tea, closing her eyes as she swallowed. When she opened them again, they were fixed directly on Dennis’.

“She haunts a chair.”

The silence hung heavy in the air. Dennis felt his sense of paranoia returning with a vengeance, only instead of the fear that this was some kind of legal setup, he now had the growing suspicion that it was an elaborate practical joke.

“A chair?”

“A chair,” repeated Elspeth.

Dennis stared across the table, searching for some sign of amusement on Elspeth’s face. There might have been a hint of a smile there, but it was more a look of satisfaction than anything else. Satisfaction at what, though, Dennis could only guess.

“When you said that you were selling the house…” he began tentatively.

“I’m selling it furnished.”

“But surely –”

Elspeth shook her head and placed her teacup on the table. “I told you on the phone, Doctor, I’m dying, and I don’t intend to hang about. Not now, not ever. By the time I go, I intend to see that she has gone as well.”

There was another moment of silence, although it was considerably more tense than the last one. Dennis brought his own cup up to his lips and peered down into it.

“How long do you have?” he asked quietly. His accent slipped slightly, but he didn’t think Elspeth would notice.

“Six months, maybe less,” she replied. “Cancer, before you ask.” Dennis opened his mouth to speak, but Elspeth interrupted him. “And don’t tell me you’re sorry, Doctor. I’ve had enough of sorry to last me two lifetimes.” She smiled then with the first genuine warmth that he had seen from her.

“Well,” Dennis began, slipping back into character, “perhaps it is time that I met your sister.” He started to rise, but paused midway through the motion and sat back down. “I really must ask, Ms. Palin… Why a chair?”

“You’ll have to ask her, Doctor.” She stood and walked across the foyer, her footsteps sending echoes from the tiled floor. Dennis took a hurried swallow of his tea, grimaced at the heat, and then set the cup down on the table before getting up to follow. He was led down a darkened hallway to a closed wooden door, where Elspeth turned and looked up at him with an appraising half-squint.

“In here?” Dennis prompted, angling his head towards the door. Elspeth nodded and fished a key out of her pocket. “You lock her in?” asked Dennis. That was strange. After all, ghosts were famous for their ability to drift through walls.

“That’s how she wants it,” replied Elspeth, more to the doorknob than to Dennis. The latch opened with an audible click, and the door creaked inward – that was certainly ominous, Dennis thought dryly – to reveal a small bedroom. The hushed light filtering through the single curtained window cast a blue tint over the space, but it was still better lit than Dennis had expected. There was a bed pushed up next to one wall, and a dresser, as well as a mirror on top of a vanity against the room’s opposite wall. In the very center, where it was undoubtedly going against some rule of feng shui, was a brown cushioned armchair. It was obviously worn and weathered, but still in surprisingly good condition, if one believed the story about how old it was.

“So, how does this work?” Dennis asked. Neither of them had moved to step into the room, and he felt a bit silly staring through the doorway. The question seemed to jar Elspeth out of a private reverie, and she walked forward, pulling a wooden stool out from the corner behind the door.

“Sit down and wait. Sometimes it takes her a little while to wake up.” Elspeth placed the stool down in front of the armchair and motioned for Dennis to sit. He had a fair guess about how this would go: He’d sit down and wait, then Elspeth would make an excuse and hurry off. The room would get darker, probably by means of a shade being drawn outside the window, and the chair would start tilting around and shuddering. Hell, it might even start glowing, Dennis thought. He had been treated to this before, during one of the few occasions that he had visited an alleged psychic. It was really just a bad magic act, executed by means of hydraulics and well-placed hidden lights. Still, he was here now, and he might as well enjoy the show. He straightened his tie, and with a display of curious self-assurance, sat down on the stool and stared at the chair.

Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen. Nothing went into an encore performance and kept its show going until well after the audience had gotten bored. Then, just as Dennis was about to greet the empty air, he saw something strange: The armchair was… blurred. He blinked a few times and tried to refocus his eyes, but the chair kept its wavering quality. It was almost as though there were heat waves playing with the dim light, making the chair’s brown material shimmer.

“Here she comes,” said Elspeth, startling Dennis. Thankfully, he’d resisted the urge to jump, even though the sound of her voice had come as a surprise. The chair must be on a timer, then, or she’d turned it on when they were still out in the hall. Hell, she might have even flipped a hidden switch while Dennis had been in his staring match with the upholstery. Really, though, it didn’t matter how she had done it. There was probably a hotplate in the seat, and it had taken some time to warm up.

Well, I’ll play along, thought Dennis. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, Evelyn,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “My name is Doctor September. I’m here to talk to you.”

The heat waves intensified, making the chair’s center appear