Under the Night

Part Three

That night, the couple sat in their kitchen, wearing long white nightgowns. Ida, however, draped a long brownish-gray fur coat over her shoulders. George paced up and down the room, scattering small white specks on the floor.

"George, darling," Ida asked, "Why are you sprinkling salt on the floor? Are we having wood for dessert, hmm?"

George leapt up and pressed his arms behind his back, one sweaty fist clutching the salt-shaker.

"Oh, uh...'twas an accident, Ida."

"You're afraid of ghosts, aren't you?"

George blinked.

"Well, perhaps...after all this talk."

Ida nodded, but chuckled playfully into her hand.

"The dead fear us more than we fear them. In fact, they feed off of our fear. If you keep calm, so will they."

"Pastor Kneller didn't tell me that!"

"Pastor Kneller is a man. You must soften your heart to the spiritual realm."

She swayed over to the ashtray and lit a cigarette.

"Ida," George warned, "Don't smoke. It's vulgar."

"But you smoke sometimes, luvvy."

"Now, that's different! You'll destroy my primroses, and I'll have no column, and no money!"

George grabbed the glass vase of dark-pink primroses and set them aside. Ida exhaled a soft gray ring of smoke, then stubbed it out. He yawned.

"Darling, it's almost midnight. Aren't you wearing out?"

"No. I want to see Grandmother Spinner. My Ouija's upstairs, but I don't think I'll use it yet. One must never doubt the power of the next world." She lit a silver-plated wax candle and began to carry it upstairs. "Especially not the power of female spirits. Good night, George. I'll tell you if I find something interesting."

"Good night, Ida...wait!"

She whirled around, her face in the white-gold candlelight.

"Yes?"

"What about Mrs. Fincher? I haven't seen her in a while."

"She must be asleep."

"Indeed. Happy birthday, my love."

"Thank you."

But as he watched his wife sway upstairs, his heart pulsed into his throat.

XXX

Ida stood at a safe distance from the scarlet curtain, watching the night wind flutter into the room, and the small spirit shift behind the fabric. It was strange to think this, but in the cold darkness of the February night, the upstairs parlor felt like the bottom of the sea. Tonight it was nothing but a nightmare-- a cold darkness glistening with a thousand jagged rows of teeth. It was sand and faded bone, crumbling along broken temples of stone. It was her greatest fear-- her breath fading in an unknown depth....