The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks - lanyon Josh (читать книги онлайн txt) 📗

The chandelier rocked musically in the winter’s blast. Jane, wearing a black caftan, came to greet them. “There you are! We thought you’d never get here.” She began to usher them toward the little-used “rec room.”

Perry said, “Jeez, Janie, can we have a minute to take our jackets off?”

“You can take your jackets off in there. Everyone’s been waiting.”

“Who’s everyone?” Nick inquired. He had removed his hand from Perry’s back as they climbed the front steps, but he still stood close enough that their shoulders brushed. Perry couldn’t decide if it was an accident or if Nick thought he needed reassurance.

“Everyone,” Jane answered. Adding honestly, “I mean, what else is there to do on a night like this?”

“What happened to the cops?”

She made a face. “There’s a big accident near the border. I guess they needed everyone there. It’s not like there’s much happening here.”

“Just murder,” said Perry.

Astonishingly, Jane said, “Tiny could have been shot by hunters. He could have dragged himself here.”

“You’re not serious,” Perry said.

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

The lights had been turned down low as they walked into the room that served as the residence’s meeting and recreation room -- once the formal drawing room. There were bookshelves filled with used paperbacks, an old television set that never seemed to work, a heavy oval dining table that was supposed to be used for “games.” Two large candelabra sat in the center of the table, casting uncertain light across the bleached wallpaper.

There were three empty chairs at the table. Mr. Teagle, Miss Dembecki, and Mrs. MacQueen were all in attendance. David Center sat at the table head, face turned attentively toward the door.

As Jane escorted Nick and Perry into the room, Center announced, “The spirits are eager to make contact tonight.”

“Wonderful! You sit next to me, Perry,” Jane instructed.

Perry’s jaw got that hard look that sat so oddly with his Christopher Robin face. Nick said calmly, “Perry’s good next to me.”

Perry shot him a grateful look.

“Well!” Jane said, her smile a little forced as she looked from one to the other.

Perry and Nick took the two chairs at the table. There was an awkward silence.

Mr. Teagle said, “How’s that river looking, son?”

“I don’t think it will flood,” Perry said. Mrs. Mac sat directly across from him. She was staring at him. He offered a polite smile. She licked her lips and looked away, reminding him forcibly of one of her unpleasant little dogs.

“If everyone would join hands,” David Center instructed. “Left hand palm up to receive. Right hand palm down to transmit.”

Calling the Twilight Zone.

Perry clasped hands with Miss Dembecki to his left and Nick to his right. Miss Dembecki’s little hand was ice cold -- as cold as his own, Perry thought. Nick’s hand was warm. He squeezed Perry’s with hard, quick reassurance, and as much as Perry did not want to be there, he felt a flare of happiness.

Center said, “For those of you who have not previously attended a seance, I should explain one or two things. There is nothing frightening or mysterious about communing with the dead. Spirits are around us all the time. They are part of the natural world, and if we open our hearts and minds, they are often willing to communicate.”

Belatedly, Perry noticed that Rudy Stein was not at the table. It was hard to picture Stein taking part in a seance, but then, it was hard to picture himself taking part.

He sighed, and out of the corner of his eye saw Nick’s mouth twitch.

Center said, “And this is all a seance amounts to: Communication between the physical world and the spirit world. This communication is moderated by one who is known as a medium. Tonight I will act as the medium as we attempt to call upon the spirits who still linger in this house.”

Jane was smiling -- beaming -- at Center. He continued to talk seriously about the many seances he had conducted and how they all were ordinary, run-of-the-mill, and perfectly harmless. All in a day’s work. If your day job was on the astral plane.

Perry said, “How are we going to contact the spirit of the man in my bathtub, when we don’t even know his name?”

“Perry! Don’t interrupt,” Jane said.

Nick said, “Maybe we can just describe what he was last seen wearing.” His eyes slanted to meet Perry’s.

Perry relaxed, biting his lip.

“I understand nervousness can result in levity,” Center said, “but the spirits don’t like to be mocked. Now if I can ask everyone to remain silent while opening your hearts and minds…”

No one said anything. Perry closed his eyes. He could feel Miss Dembecki breathing quickly beside him. Her hand was still cold, and she was shaking very slightly. Granted, it was cold in the room. The house was always like an icebox. On the other hand -- literally -- he could feel the warmth and solid presence of Nick Reno.

He opened his eyes. Nick glanced at him. Grimaced. Everyone else at the table had their eyes closed, faces screwed up in concentration. Perry bit his lip against inappropriate laughter. But Center was right, he was nervous.

“Perry,” Center said suddenly. Perry started. “Try to visualize the man you saw. Try to remember what his face looked like.”

Perry closed his eyes and then opened them. He’d be just as happy not remembering that gray-green face, the white slits of eyes beneath half-closed lids… Impossible to think what the man would have looked like in life. It was much easier to remember the weave of that ugly plaid coat and those garish yellow socks.

It was very quiet in the room.

Perry’s mind began to wander. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t believe in ghosts, and even if there was such a thing as a ghost, he sure as heck didn’t want to attract its attention.

“Are you there?” Center asked softly, and for a moment Perry thought Center was talking to him. “Are you there? Do you wish to speak to someone here?”

No one said anything, but the silence took on a living, tense quality.

“I feel a presence,” Center said all at once.

Perry studied the circle of faces. Mr. Teagle looked very pale, his face perspiring in the candlelight. Jane’s face was taut with concentration. Mrs. Mac’s eyes opened. She stared at Perry without expression, then closed her eyes like the Sphinx settling down for the night.

Center said in that low, hypnotic voice, “Why have you come here? What is it you wish to tell us? Who is it you wish to speak to?”

And then as though in answer to himself, Center said in a high, thin, eerily feminine voice, “Shane! Where are you? Why --”

“There’s someone in the mirror,” Miss Dembecki cried in terror. Eyes flew open, heads jerked, everyone turned to the mirror hanging over the fireplace.

For an instant, deceived by the shadows thrown by the candlelight, Perry thought that he too saw the reflection of someone framed in the mirror. The figure was indistinct, mutable…

The frozen hand clutching his suddenly relaxed, and Miss Dembecki slid to the floor in a dead faint.

* * * * *

“Shane! Come back, Shane!” Nick mocked in falsetto.

Perry managed a weak grin and took the mug of cocoa Nick offered.

They were back in Nick’s apartment following the abrupt and dramatic end of the seance. Miss Dembecki had come around from her faint within a few seconds, but she had followed that with a bout of hysterical crying. It had been left to Jane and Mrs. Mac to calm her down and put her to bed.

“It did kind of look like someone was standing in the mirror,” Perry said as Nick dropped down beside him onto the sofa.

“A woman,” Nick agreed. “I saw it too. It was the reflection of the portrait on the opposite wall.”

Perry’s jaw dropped, and then he laughed. “I’m such a tool.”