An Uncanny Experience
Whenever Berdette needed a mood pick-me-up, she discreetly searched her immense circle of friends for who was hosting a seance. To the average spiritualist they were quite serious affairs, she was sure, shrouded in mystery and the Great Beyond. For someone who has seen the shadows crawl and heard them insidiously whisper, it was like watching children pretending to be grown-ups. Oh no, the candle has flickered! That must mean a spirit is here. Even before she arrived, Berdette was having a ball imagining all the mocking she would be doing that night. Ooo, but what if she made something really happen? Wouldn't that give her weeks of glee? Oh yes, at so and so's seance Unmemorable Git had a seizure! Like he was possessed by a spirit!
Maybe it was time for a little fun. At someone else's expense, of course!
Berdette couldn't let anyone else in though, so she put on her most demure dress and bound her hair in a simple psyche knot. White lace gloves were her only decoration for the evening, though in general gloves were a staple in her wardrobe. She considered the hands to be the most fragile structure of the body, as it took minimal effort to cause them extreme pain. Better to hide them out of plain view.
While waiting for the medium arrive, the hostess encouraged everyone to meet all the strangers in the room. For Berdette, there was just one. The woman looked foreign, but she wouldn't hold that against her yet. She politely held out her hand and said, " I am Berdette Daugney, and it is the utmost pleasure to meet you."
"Irina Kirmasov, madame. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
Irina had yet to remove her gloves, and one hand encased in soft leather extended towards the taller woman as she curtsied very slightly. She'd received the invitation to tonight's event and decided on the spur of the moment to attend. Better to cultivate her associations now while she was still fresh among the society of London, before the novelty of a Russian noble among them wore off. People could be so fickle.
"Mrs. Satterwhite has a fine home. It is a treat to be welcomed so kindly."
Still had an accent, but it was European and vaguely charming, not the sexual clingy tones of the Spanish. They could be reading from the Bible and still sound like their minds were in one place and one place only. Most distasteful. Berdette warmed a bit towards Irina, inviting her to sit next to her at the grand table. New friends were always good, right? She was fresh to this city, not yet tainted by the grime that pervaded every nook and cranny.
Both to make conversation and sate her curiosity she asked, " How long have you been with us in the lovely city, Irina? I apologize if my pronunciation of your name is off. I have only been versed in the romantic languages, and your last name sounds... Russian? If not, somewhere in that vicinity of the world"
"St. Petersburg," Irina confirmed as she took a seat, her small frame barely making a dent in the cushion. "I have not been in England for very long, but I am gradually making it my new home." She studied the polished dark wood of the table in front of her, then asked, "You have been to these events before? I do not entirely know what to expect."
That she was just getting her feet wet gave her no qualms, and if anything it only heightened the anticipation. Neophyte though she was, she wanted to tug the curtain back just a bit to see what lay on the other side of it.
"Yes, I have attended a few. After the medium arrives, we will all be hushed, the medium will give his or her speech about what we are about to do and then... well, it depends. They may pull out an ouija board, or we may all hold hands and attempt to contact the spirit ourselves." Berdette didn't sound too terribly entranced with the whole affair, and she wasn't. Still, she musn't ruin it for someone else, and she gave Irina a pleased smile, "Mrs. Satterwhite's gatherings are quite exciting, they remain memorable amongst many others which do not need mention. I believe the medium today is Cora Scott. She is quite well-known in America, and her visit here is quite a treat." Personally, she didn't place much faith in anyone who made money so openly on the supernatural. If she was really a medium, wouldn't the ghosts be screaming at her about how indiscretions? One of the many reasons Berdette herself did not mess with the ghost world. So many dead by her hand, surely one or two remained in a state of neither life or death, and probably quite bitter as well.
The Russian looked down at her still-gloved hands, then slowly peeled the calfskin off one finger at the time. From what she had read, it was best to hold hands skin-on-skin in such a situation. "She is not a charlatan, this Miss Scott?" she asked Berdette, her inquisitive look at the Englishwoman that of a too-intelligent bird. "Many in Russia claim to be...what is the word, conduits? Between the living and the dead. Such bridgeways are to be taken seriously. I have never been to America, of course, so it may well be different there."
Irina looked at the other attendants, who were beginning to take their seats as well, Most of them were at least of her class, she noted, and she reminded herself about contacting Mr. Abbott. Neither of the men he had suggested as tutors were proving suitable, so it looked as if she'd have to discuss terms with him. If she was to improve her English, she would need reliable help.
"The city has always been your home?" she inquired, thinking for some reason that Berdette seemed unsuited for country life. "I find London mostly agreeable, but I do not always look forward to going to the shops."
Reluctantly, Berdette followed suit and carefully removed her delicate gloves, laying them in her lap so they were out of the way. "Miss Scott is absolutely lovely, as you will see, and the confidence on which she speaks of paranormal matters is quite sincere. If she is a charlatan, she has fooled many an educated man. America is well, I find it to be coarse. I went with my husband there, once, and never again" Laughing, she added on, " but I'm not one for roughing it either."
She smiled faintly at Irina's last question, wondering if it was so obvious what a city-girl she was. " Indeed. My mother was a true socialite, and my father the heir to several tea plantations. I have a vague recalling of playing outside in Ceylon, but, well, most of my time was spent here. Indoors, of course, because the smell outside in London is rather... distasteful. Did you spend much time out in the country? I assume there is some near St. Petersburg. "
"We had some woodlands when I was a girl," Irina said, then lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "But I did not spend much time there. For me it was piano lessons and learning to ballroom dance when I was not being tutored in languages and other matters. Mother insisted I be well-rounded, that I could one day assume the role of a..." The Russian waved a hand around, mentally casting about for the word, then finished with, "...aristocrat's wife. Brother was allowed more freedom, but such is the way with men."
Her normally unlined brow creased a bit, and she added, "There are many beggars, I have noticed, those who ask for money. I am all for charity, of course, but in the street?" Irina shook her head, her narrow-lipped mouth clearly expressing her disapproval. "No, I do not care for it."
"I agree, most assuredly. It seems to me many a man has made his way in the world, ground-up. " Not that she had any experience with being poor, or even remotely so. The whole experience seemed dreadful, and well, dirty. By nature her potions work was a messy affair, but she was determined to fight it every step of the way. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and Berdette would love to be immortal.
Idly twisting her wedding band, she asked, "Since you do not wear a ring, I assume you are not married? Not that there is anything wrong with that, but as you said, being involved with the aristocracy does bring about union rather quickly." The tall woman gave a half-shrug and a defeated smile, as if to say there was nothing she could do about society's expectations. Irina wasn't ugly or deformed, at least as far as she could tell, so she was surprised she wasn't snapped up by some barely polite dandy with too much money and too little brains.
Ungloved fingers interlocked, and Irina wondered if she shouldn't have worn the ring Pyotr had given her for this occasion. The articles in the paper about the string of murders in London had her concerned, and before leaving her address that night she'd removed the valuable item from her finger to discourage robbers, but perhaps she should have left it where it was. Although 'love' might have been a strong word to describe their relationship, she had admired her husband and he had respected her, possibly more than a man of his station should respect any woman.
"Husband has been gone for nearly two years," she said, her gaze still downcast. "He became sick with pneumonia and never got well again. The winters in Russia are harsh and he was not strong." The Russian smiled ruefully as she lifted her eyes to meet Berdette's gaze. "I am only recently out of mourning, but I miss him still." That, at least, was true, and the brunette looked at the other woman's ring as she added, "Pyotr was a gentleman among gentlemen. I imagine that your husband is much the same?"
"My sincerest condolences. Such a terrible thing to lose a husband, I imagine. My own is well, he is quite busy you see, so when I am with him, he is quite remarkable but... that is not often. Oh, it's not very flattering to complain, and I apologize for that." She ducked her head to show embarrassment, though inside Berdette was enjoying the charade. Oh yes, her husband was remarkable. Remarkably DEAD.
As Berdette opened her mouth to say something, Mrs. Satterwhite came to the head of the table and gently shushed everyone. Cora Scott had arrived. The medium was dressed severely in a black button up dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Despite this, she was obviously quite pretty, with wide eyes and a pert nose. She seemed excited despite the heaviness of the situation. The seance was about to begin.
Irina sat up straighter in her chair, studying Miss Scott with a veiled interest. The dress befitted a funeral more than anything else, but really that was appropriate. If the woman truly was in touch with the dead, this should prove to be a very enlightening evening. The Russian joined hands with the man on her right, then took an anticipatory breath.
Would this be the real article? There was no way to tell. She was looking forward to finding out.
The medium's introductory speech about spiritual matters was quite interesting, if you didn't know better. Berdette kept her stare on Cora Scott, but slowly but surely zoned out on what she was saying. She tried to ignore the foreign sweat coating her palm from the woman next to her, resisting the urge to pull her hand away and douse it with soap. Sure everyone was excited, but was sweating in excess really necessary? Berdette did not think so.
When Mrs. Satterwhite finally brought out the ouji board, she started giving her full attention again. All the candles in the room but one were extinguished, and with the mood set Cora Scott said softly, "Is there any spirit with us tonight?"
As the candles began to go out, gradually throwing the room into shadow, Irina watched the planchette where Miss Scott's fingers rested on it. The hand interlocked with hers was plump, almost feminine, and she saw the man's avid expression out of the corner of her eye as a soft scratching noise became audible. The planchette began to move in a slow circle, and the medium's expression turned dreamy as her eyes closed. "Who is with us?" she asked in that same soft voice. A low murmur rose from the spectators.
The single candle sparked, and there was the smell of melted wax as droplets ran down either side of the flickering taper. Irina closed her eyes, tried to clear her mind of any interfering thoughts. Novice though she was, she felt as if there might be a presence nearby. The planchette began to move faster, and the magnifying lens of glass in the object passed over the ornate letters on the Oujia board;
HELP...HELP...HELP ME...
A chill ran down Berdette's spine as the words were spelled out. What if it was one of her victims? She hadn't killed anyone in the Satterwhite house, or even near it, but did they follow you around like a lost child? Now that woman was opening a gateway to the spirit world and any of the tortured souls stuck there could take a form of revenge. Before she got hysterical, she consoled herself with the fact that London was indeed a very nasty place. She knew for a fact she wasn't the only murderer in this city, and that the person crying for help could be a victim of the Rippers for all she knew!
Nervously she licked her lips and leaned forward to get a better look at the board. Without realizing it, she gave Irina's hand a squeeze. The flame of the candle jerked and climbed higher, dangerously close to the sleeve of Mrs. Satterwhite who stood above it. The medium's voice turned heavy, every word falling out her mouth like lead, " What is your name? " she intoned, and the planchette moved frantically to spell out...
ROSY
"You are among friends, Rosy," Cora Scott said, and her droning was as soothing as any lullaby. Nevertheless, the fat man next to Irina also gave her hand a squeeze, and she squeezed back harder, warning him to silence. A child, it was a child... The temperature in the parlor had gradually begun to drop, and even through her closed eyelids the candle seemed very bright, almost too much so. "Come, child, come and speak. We would hear you."
HELP...HURT...HURTING ME...HELP
There was a loud bang as an open window closed tight of its own volition, and the gooseflesh on the Russian's arms was now not solely a product of the chill in the air. The parlor was slowly turning into a meat locker, and small puffs of whitish air could be seen as the attendants of the seance breathed. Faster still the planchette spun, the message from Otherwhere spelling itself out even more insistently.
HURT...PAIN...WHY
"They're killing her." It took a moment for Irina to realize that she was the one who'd said it, her heavy accent squeezing the words at each end of the sentence. Cold, it was cold in here, freezing. And something....Something...was pushing at her.
When Irina's grip became bone-crushingly tight, Berdette turned to look at her and let out an audible gasp. The Russian's face was stiff with shock and her eyes wide open, some inner battle beginning that none of them could see. By now the medium was simply a conduit, her eyes rolled back in their sockets and rapidly flickering as the planchette raced her hands across the board. Everybody was too preoccupied to notice how limp Cora Scott's hold on the heart-shaped piece of wood had become.
SAVE ME... SAVE ME
Desperately the hostess tried to swipe the ouji board off the table and end the night there. But she couldn't. Whatever had caused the room to drop below freezing was not allowing her to move. It knew her intention, didn't like it, and prevented it. The lone candle in the room suddenly went out as it rocked on the table and fell to the floor. Both the medium and Irina were now only illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the slats of the house's shuttered windows. It had been awhile since Berdette had felt fear, but as this event wasn't caused by her, she was utterly afraid. Not the fear of the unknown, but of what the unknown would want to do to her.
Pain the likes of which Irina had never experienced burned its way up her legs, racing up each limb as though it were a ravening mouth, and she moaned into the now dark room. Blood, so much blood, they were slicing into her. That Something was pushing harder, demanding a voice, and another window banged shut before the glass in the windowpane shattered. The room was icy, in some far-off place she could hear her own teeth chattering, and the pain, the agony, was enormous.
"Stop, make it stop." Her voice and yet not her voice, the inflections of a child, and her spine arched as if that would relieve her. The planchette whirled across the Ouija board, the letters seemng to scream up off of the flat surface to anyone who would heed them;
HELP ME...SAVE ME...HELP ROSY
Irina screamed. A million tiny cuts, some barely slits, some so deep they exposed bone, the wounds doused with brine. A girl, a little girl, a simple child with a hand over her mouth. Pretty Clover left behind, forever waiting for the tea that would never be poured. An arctic gust of wind from nowhere made the heavy curtains sway. On the other side of the veil, Rosalie Crandall pushed, and the Russian's chair went over backwards, tumbling her to the floor.
Propriety forgotten, Berdette jumped out of her own chair and kneeled next to Irina, cradling the possessed's head on her lap. Mentally she berated the foreign woman for letting down her defenses. The chit probably didn't even realize what she was doing, but this "Rosy" had seen the opening and dove for it with all the childish gusto she had when she was alive. Still, she couldn't expose herself, couldn't give Irina the charm she wore to prevent such things from occuring. For now, all she could do was try and keep her from thrashing too violently.
The spirit's temper tantrum slammed the shutters on the windows and hurtled priceless vases against the wall, causing porcelain to shatter and spray over the guests and the mahogany table. A high-pitched giggle wafted through the chaos, but Berdette could of sworn it had come from Irina's mouth.
SUFFER
Shoes drummed a frantic rhythm on the Persian carpet, and Irina's fisted hands hammered at her own thighs as if trying to extinguish a blaze. Fire ants, that was what it felt like, a thousand biting, stinging insects burrowing their way under her flesh. The gathering was thoroughly disrupted now, and beyond the doors of the parlor could be heard the sound of running feet. Broken glass was scattered over the Russian's heavy skirt.
And then it was over. Like a summer storm blowing itself out, the childishly malevolent presence vanished, and the parlor began to warm up again in slow degrees. The diminutive Russian was in tears by now, and she'd buried her face against Berdette's side before a new Eastern European accent was heard.
"What in God's name goes on in here?" It was Anna Gorski, who served as Irina's lady's maid. She had been with the household for years, and the stout Pole marched into the shambles of the parlor as if not noticing that anything was out of place. Seeing that Berdette seemed to be the only one with her wits still about her, the servant looked to her inquiringly. "Madame, what has happened?"
The medium collapsed just as Irina's pain ended, her thin form completely limp and sagging down against the chair. Berdette didn't catalog her suffering as particularly important. Cora Scott should be used to such occurances by now. Her attention turned completely to the tiny woman she cradled against her and she tried to soothe her by brushing her hair back from her face and murmuring soft words. If the Russian had known this would of occurred, would she have come? The wounds left by the supernatural were deep, and Berdette had scars to attest to that. This would either scare her away from spiritualism for good, or drive her deeper into pursuit. In a brief moment of compassion, Berdette hoped it was the former.
When the lady's maid walked in and questioned her, she replied calmly, not a hint of panic in her voice or her expression, " It appears your mistress was the target of a very angry, very young spirit. The little girl has passed now, and was thankfully not malignant enough to do worse things. "
Anna's nearly lipless mouth tightened to the point that she had little more than a knifeslash under her nose, and her knees popped slightly as she crouched down close to Irina. She'd been the Russian's wet-nurse when she was a baby, had served long and faithfully even into her sixties. The back of her hand touched a damp forehead, found it feverish. She and Sergei would have to watch her for the next few days.
"My lady is delicate." The words could have meant anything. Irina had always been high-strung, even as a girl. "Anna," the young noble said, her voice still clogged with tears. "Anna, it hurts..."
"Here, give her to me." One of the men, the gentleman who'd been holding Irina's hand before chaos descended, tried to lend his aid, and Anna's blunt chin tilted upwards with all the scorn of someone who served royalty. Away, swine! "I will see to her. You are a friend?"
"We have just met, but under the circumstances I would say yes, I am a friend." Berdette gave Anna a warm smile to show that she indeed, had Irina's best interest in mind. The rest of those involved quickly said their goodbyes and left, not wanting to dwell on what occurred any long. Mrs. Satterwhite was busy herself with rousing Cora Scott, enlisting the help of a male servant to carry her to the chambers in the house she would be staying in.
"She will be weak for a few days, possession takes its toll both physically and mentally. I assume there is another such as yourself of the male persuasion to help us assist or carry your mistress to the carriage? If not, we could probably do so ourselves, but the process would probably not be as smooth." Berdette used her gentlest touch to turn Irina onto her back, placing the other woman's head in the cradle of her arm. The Russian was unusually warm and sweat dotted her brow, but that was to be expected. She trusted Anna to know how to take care of her and any ailments that might of been worsened by the event.
For her part, Irina could only loll her head back and direct a somewhat glassy stare back and forth between the other two women. Her legs were no longer in agony, but the sensation lingered. One small hand reached out and latched onto the gray sleeve of Anna's dress. The Pole covered the fingers with her own chapped hand.
"My husband is outside with one of his disgusting cigars," she said with a borderline amused headshake, but the look in her eyes was grave. "They do not let him smoke in the house. I was in the kitchen with the other servants, that is how I heard the noise. I tell her, do not tamper with dybbuks, but she is still a child and she does not listen."
Another headshake, and she brushed sweat-damp hair away from her mistress' brow. "I will fetch Sergei. He has been carrying her since she was the size of a pumpkin. I am glad one of these peoples was here for her."
As Anna left to retrieve her husband, Berdette looked back down to Irina and tsked softly, murmuring to her, "Oh my dear, you opened the door just a little too wide. This is your first seance, you said? I suppose you cannot take too much of the blame, as you did not know what you were doing. Rosy was only a child, and an innocent one at that. Imagine if a murderer had heard Cora's call? No, I think it's better if you do not. Not at all spirits want to hurt you, and I would say Rosy was just angry with her untimely demise."
She shook her head, remembering her own first possession. Mrs. Pleasant was particularly demanding that day, and when she had failed for the tenth time to complete a summoning circle, the demon helped Berdette learn the best way it could. Since then, she had a high tolerance of pain. Nothing could quite compare to that agony.
"I...I am...I am fine." Irina's voice was still watery, and she felt as if she'd been razor-burned from the inside out. But despite her small size, there was a solid-steel core buried under her demure demeanor. She was descended from Cossacks, those warriors who had swept down from the steppes of the Ukraine and into Russia in a conquering horde, and no ghost, no dybbuk, could forestall her explorations. She would simply have to be more careful next time.
"Thank you," she told the Englishwoman, managing to sit up a bit. "I was foolish, was I not? I did not expect the girl to be...right on the other side." The hem of her skirt twitched in her hands as she flicked the material aside to inspect her calves. Beneath her stockings, the flesh was unmarked, intact. She looked at Berdette through tired eyes, continued to try pulling herself together. "Thank you for assisting me."
"You are very welcome. Perhaps you were a little foolish, but you could not of expected what was to transpire. I'm sure this has given everyone a conversation piece for at least a month, and they will be glad it was not them." Berdette rose to her feet and smoothed out her skirt, offering her hand to Irina to help her up." Do you wish to continue your journey into the occult? I must say this could all be an excellent base for it. You've already had a true encounter, after all. You may want to look into someone helping you with your mental fortitude and defense. Perhaps a book or two? While some consider it to be play, I, just like your maid, consider it to be quite serious. No doubt there are countless lunatics locked away because they trifled with something they did not understand. It can warp the brain, and the heart."
Berdette knew from personal experience just how twisted the occult could make you, but so far she had escaped insanity and merely enjoyed being malicious and having power to go with it.
"I have been reading," the Russian offered, accepting the hand. Rising, she winced a little, the pain echoing along her legs. "Clearly I must study further, discover how to protect myself." The other question was, what was she to do about this encounter? Obviously the girl meant to make herself heard, and she didn't like to think what would happen if she decided that more action should be taken. Irina put a hand to her forehead, felt herself sway.
"My lady?" And then Sergei was there, smelling of cigar smoke, and the manservant bowed slightly in Berdette's direction before putting a burly arm around his mistress' waist. She leaned her temple against his shoulder briefly, then murmured, "I am pleased to have met you this evening, Mrs. Daugney. We should meet again later, under less...stressful circumstances. I bid you a good evening, for I must get home and rest."
"Good evening to you as well, Mrs. Kiramasov. I hope you recover swiftly. " That said, Berdette collected her bag, gave a good night to Mrs. Satterwhite and headed out the door into the cool night. Just around the corner she had a carriage waiting to take her home. Oh, she and Irina would definitely be meeting again.