Chapter Twenty-Seven

Nigel spooned a silver ladle of strawberry compote over a plate of pancakes. The red sauce ran over his food and nearly off his plate. He wiped the excess from the edge of the white china with his index finger and licked it clean.

“Self-cannibalism, Mr. Pickford?” Annabelle inquired upon entering the room to see Nigel with much of his index finger in his mouth.

Nigel extracted his finger. “Yes, well, you are what you eat,” he said with a grin. He drank some coffee. Nigel felt sleepy but happier than he could remember.

“You sleep well?” Annabelle asked as she sat down.

“Never better.”

“Seems haunted houses agree with you.”

“This one, haunted or not, certainly does.”

Sarah came into the room, sat at the table, and poured herself some coffee. She cradled the cup in her hands and stared at it, mute. While Nigel seemed to be on an upward trajectory, Sarah appeared headed in the opposite direction. She looked wan and troubled, her hair uncombed, and dark circles orbited her eyes.

“Good morning, Sarah,” said Annabelle. “May I serve you some pancakes?”

Sarah remained mute.

“Sarah?”

Sarah looked up as though hearing Annabelle for the first time. “Yes?”

“What may I serve you?”

“Nothing, thanks,” said Sarah. She took a sip of the coffee, set down the cup, and wiped her lips on her sleeve.

“Sarah!” Shocked, Annabelle grabbed the soiled arm. “What’s wrong? This isn’t like you. You missed dinner last night.”

“And ate nothing for breakfast yesterday, far as I could tell,” added Nigel around a mouthful of pancakes.

“I’m worried about you,” said Annabelle. “Perhaps these séances have made you ill.”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what?” pressed Annabelle.

“I’m not sure how we should proceed.”

“Edgar says his device will be operational later today, perhaps before the professor arrives this evening.”

“The professor? I was beginning to think he was afraid of ghosts,” Nigel quipped before putting another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“I assure you, he is anything but,” said Annabelle. “He hopes to see Edgar’s device in action, but it will depend on which ferry he catches. Our hostess is adamant—she wants us finished today.”

“But I’m not sure the spirits mean us harm,” said Sarah.

Nigel choked on a mouthful of pancake. Coughing it up, some landed in the center of his plate. He coughed several times further and looked at Sarah, red-faced. “No harm? What do you call the stunt on the cliff? Or was that your idea?”

Sarah appeared frustrated and about to cry. “Perhaps if I talked to Miss Hutchinson—”

Annabelle shook her head. “It’s no use. She put a note under my door sometime last night apologizing for her lack of faith in us, yet reiterating her plan to bring in a priest if we do not resolve things today.”

“But we don’t know what Edgar’s device will do to them!” Sarah cried, slapping her hand on the table. Her coffee sloshed out of her cup and filled the saucer beneath. Sarah shoved her chair from the table and stood. “Where’s Edgar. I want to speak to him.”

Annabelle calmly poured herself more coffee. “He’s already outside assembling his device.”

Sarah made for the door. Annabelle turned to Nigel. “Please go after her.”

Nigel pushed his plate aside. “Fine,” he muttered, “I’ve lost my appetite.”

He caught up to Sarah before she reached the front door and opened it with mock gallantry. Sarah marched out onto the porch and did not bother to acknowledge his gesture. Nigel followed her out.

On the gravel drive, Edgar stood in the sunshine next to another opened crate. As before, large pieces of splintered wood and piles of packing straw lay strewn about. This time the crate contained a cast-iron machine, parts of a bicycle, and a spool of copper wire.

Sarah regarded the contents with a frown.

“So, this is the gizmo you spoke of?” queried Nigel.

“Dynamo,” said Edgar, as he picked pieces of straw from the machine.

“Huh?”

“Dynamo, not gizmo.”

“This whatchamacallit is supposed to kill ghosts?’ Nigel asked with disdain.

“No, no.”

“Then what good is it?”

Exasperated, Edgar stood up and brushed straw from his clothes. “They’re already dead, so it won’t kill them, just neutralize them.” Edgar took out his handkerchief and used it to bat away flecks of straw from the machine. “All life is energy. Even spirits possess it—in fact, that’s all they are. I am going to surround this house with a powerful charge, like a giant electromagnet. The spirits won’t be able to resist. Then I’m going to ground them like a lightning rod dissipates a charge into the earth.”

“So you’re sending ’em straight to Hell?”

“What does Hell have to do with it?” Edgar’s voice sounded brittle.

“Don’t get all uppity.”

Edgar walked off in disgust.

Nigel turned to Sarah. “What did I say?” he asked.

“He helped save your life in Atlanta,” she said, distractedly, still staring at the equipment.

“So, I need to show him respect? That’ll be a cold day in Hell.”

Nigel forgot his reason for being there, turned around, and started to walk back into the house. Before he entered, he heard a loud metallic clang and then another. He looked back to see Sarah slamming the crowbar against Edgar’s machine again and again.

Nigel ran up and grabbed her from behind in a bear hug.

****

“Let me go!” screamed Sarah. She kicked her legs and struggled to get free.

Edgar raced back and snatched the crowbar from Sarah. “What in God’s name were you doing?”

“You can’t use this thing! They’re not bad. We must help them to move on without destroying them!”

Nigel grinned. “Did some handsome gentleman ghost come to call?”

Sarah stomped down hard on Nigel’s foot.

“Ow!” he yelled and released her.

Sarah stepped away and turned to confront Nigel. “You’re impossible!” She turned to Edgar, who shook his head in dismay.

“What’s gotten into you?” Edgar asked. “We can free this place of its curse. Where spirits go after we’re done, I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“You’re just as impossible!” shouted Sarah. “Somehow I expected more from you!”

Sarah ran back into the house and began to look around every which way. “Betsy!” she called out just before her feet tangled in the debris in the foyer. Sarah fell and slid across the marble floor. She picked herself up, unhurt. “Betsy!” she called again and hoisted her skirts so she could run up the staircase.

****

Annabelle came into the foyer as Nigel and Edgar entered through the front door. “Where’s Sarah? I heard her shouting.”

Edgar looked dismayed. “She went berserk and tried to wreck the dynamo. Fortunately, she didn’t know what to strike.”

Nigel made an unconcerned gesture and grinned. “I think she’s taken a shine to a ghostly gentleman.”

They could hear Sarah’s shouts from the second floor.

Annabelle shook her head. “She’s calling a girl’s name, but you’re right about her becoming too involved. Come, we must hurry!”

****

Sarah ascended the stairs and ran down the hall. She flung open the doors to all the rooms along the way and continued to call for Betsy, her voice becoming hoarse.

She burst into her own room.

Betsy stood next to the bed, appearing like the night before, in the party dress with the horrendous wound in her neck.

“Betsy, you’re in danger! Let me show you to the others—convince them not to destroy you—”

The little girl shook her head. “I’m not in danger. You are.”

Sarah stopped moving and scrutinized the apparition with new anxiety. Betsy smiled in reassurance, stepped up to Sarah, and took her hand. “Let me help you.”

Betsy led Sarah across the room to the full-length mirror. She halted for a moment, looked up to smile again at Sarah, and then pulled her into the mirror where they both disappeared.

****

Annabelle raced up the staircase, followed by the two men.

They ran from room to room, and when they came to Sarah’s, Annabelle ran inside and called her name. No sign of her. Annabelle looked under the bed and began to move around the room, but when she approached the mirror, she put her hand to her mouth and reflexively took a step back. “Oh, my God! No!”

Nigel and Edgar sprang to her side as Annabelle reached out to touch the solid surface of the mirror.

On the other side of the glass, through a swirling red fog, Sarah appeared to be desperately screaming for help though no sound emerged. She pounded on the mirror, unable to escape. The rest of the group stared at her, dumbfounded, and Sarah’s panic escalated.

Suddenly, Sarah stopped beating on the glass and froze. She cocked her head, turned, and looked behind her, then drifted off into the mist.

“No!” shouted Annabelle, going to the mirror. “Sarah, don’t go!”

Nigel stepped up and wedged himself between Annabelle and the glass. “Annie, step away. We don’t want to lose you too.”

“Stop!”

“No,” Nigel said, shaking his head, “I’m serious! Step away.”

“Don’t move,” Annabelle commanded with as much authority as she could muster. She took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. “Look at your right elbow.”

Nigel did so and saw part of his arm disappeared into the mirror. He jerked it free. Blood-red slime covered his elbow, but it otherwise felt fine.

Edgar came up and touched the now-solid surface of the mirror. “Remarkable.”

“Well, Mr. Pickford,” said Annabelle, “it appears you may be of some use after all.”

Nigel stared in shock at the impossibility of the mirror. He suddenly realized what Annabelle implied. “Not on your life.”

“It appears you alone can save Sarah,” she said.

“Why not break the mirror?”

“I’m worried it may trap her on the other side.”

“He should touch the mirror again,” said Edgar. “The other time may have been a fluke.”

Nigel turned and poked an index finger at the mirror. It passed through and emerged covered in slime but unhurt. Nigel wiped his finger clean on the front of Edgar’s jacket.

“There’s the sample you wanted.” Nigel stepped back from the mirror “I don’t like it. Perhaps it’s one-directional. It trapped Sarah.”

“Your finger and elbow passed both in and out,” noted Edgar.

“We could attach a line to you, if it makes you feel any better,” Annabelle added.

“But I could suffocate in that slime! I didn’t sign on for this.”

“Sarah, while distressed, is alive on the other side,” said Annabelle. “For some reason, only you can pass through to rescue her. Perhaps she knew this from the start, which is why she insisted we recruit you.”

“That’s reassuring. If she’s so gifted, why’d she get trapped in the first place?”

“Will you do it?” pressed Annabelle.

Nigel looked at the two of them. He turned to regard the mirror portal. Slowly, he nodded. “God help me.”

As Nigel removed his jacket, vest, and tie, Edgar ran from the room in search of a rope. He returned a short while later with a long coil of hemp.

“Found this in the basement,” said Edgar.

Nigel tied one end of the rope around his waist. Edgar and Annabelle would hold the other end.

“Would a tether help a lamb being led to the slaughter?” asked Nigel.

“Thank you.” Annabelle gave him a quick hug and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. She patted his chest. “You’re the only one who can rescue her.”

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Lucky me.” He turned, tentatively stepped up to the mirror, and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Here goes,” he said. He held his breath, stepped through the glass, and disappeared.

****

Thick blood-red fog swirled around Nigel in a gale so strong, he could barely remain upright. He looked around and saw no sign of Sarah. All looked red. Where could she be? Was it a trick to get me here? To what end? After almost a minute, he could hold his breath no longer and exhaled. He feared choking on the slime. Instead, he discovered he could breathe. The air tasted oddly metallic but could sustain him.

“Sarah!” he shouted, but the gale swallowed his voice.

Nigel stumbled forward on the slippery terrain and yanked the rope with him. “Sarah!” he called as he moved further into this other world. He repeated her name, then stopped to listen.

Sarah’s faint voice answered from the distance.

Nigel moved ahead. How long will the rope stretch? Perhaps distance became something altogether different in this mirror world. The fog grew thinner and a light seemed to glow up ahead. He made for it.

At long last, Nigel emerged from the mist and saw Sarah next to a young girl. Red light bathed the two from an unseen source. Like him, wind buffeted Sarah, but for some reason, the little girl looked unaffected.

Sarah’s dress became a sail. It caught the hurricane-force wind and she fell. She struggled to her feet, as her hair whipped around her face. She swiped it away and watched Nigel’s approach. Above her, bolts of lightning seared through the dark red sky, followed by booming claps of thunder.

In a flash of lightning, Nigel spotted hundreds of people standing upwind, hands outstretched toward Sarah and him, all with their mouths wide, as though screaming. As the fog cleared further, he could see their faces and the hideous wounds to their necks. They were of all ages—men, women, boys, and girls. Black and white. Some were naked. Others wore clothing of various economic classes. Many appeared to be sailors or fishermen in oiled trousers and jackets.

The wind did not seem to affect these people. In fact, it seemed to originate from their screams. They stood there, sentinels to Sarah’s and his distress. As Nigel approached, the young girl moved away.

Nigel fought against the wind and at last reached the exhausted Sarah. “Nigel Pickford,” he shouted, as he smiled and grabbed her hand. “At your service.”

Sarah collapsed into his arms and croaked, “She didn’t realize I’d be trapped.” Sarah glanced up at the figures nearby. “They told me what’s been happening. Oh, God, I know—” Sarah’s eyes rolled up into her head. She fainted and became dead weight in his arms.

Nigel looked around. The hundreds who stood nearby closed their mouths and lowered their arms. The gale abruptly stopped.

Nigel slipped and fell into the muck beneath them. He fought to keep Sarah’s head up, worried still about her suffocating in the thicker stuff at their feet. When at last he managed to stand with her in his arms, he began to retrace his route by following the slime-covered rope.

****

“I see them!” yelled Annabelle. She and Edgar peered into the mirror, while still clutching their end of the rope.

“But the mirror has become solid.”

Indeed, the rope merged into the mirror and would not budge. On the other side, they could see a blurry image of Nigel with Sarah in his arms. He looked panicked.

“How can that be?” asked Annabelle.

“Should I break it?” Edgar asked.

“No! They could be trapped forever.”

****

Inside the mirror world, Nigel noticed Annabelle and Edgar did not take up the slack in the rope as he approached the portal. At the interior side of the mirror, he could see why. The rope hung suspended through the now-solid surface. He could see Annabelle and Edgar arguing on the other side but could not hear their words.

He shifted Sarah onto one shoulder and battered a hand against the glass. Each strike caused a thunderous boom and earthquake-like tremors throughout the mirror world. Nigel tried to kick the mirror, which caused a still louder sound and more intense shaking.

Nigel looked through the glass at Annabelle and Edgar. He moved Sarah, still unconscious, around in his arms, and pressed her head to his chest. He took a couple of steps back. “Hang on, kid.”

****

They saw Nigel back away from the mirror.

“Is he giving up?” asked Edgar.

“No! Don’t!” Annabelle shouted, hoping Nigel could hear.

Instead, Nigel, with Sarah in his arms, charged full tilt at the portal. Edgar and Annabelle dove to the side and jumped clear before Nigel and Sarah crashed through the glass and fell to the floor. The two escapees were covered in red slime and broken glass, but, though hard to tell, seemed miraculously unhurt.

Nigel looked up at Annabelle and Edgar. “I believe she’s okay, only fainted.”

Annabelle checked Sarah’s pulse and peered under both of her eyelids. “I agree. Let’s get her onto the bed, and I’ll clean her up.”

This time, Nigel didn’t interfere when Edgar picked her up. Edgar set Sarah on her bed, and the two men left the room as Annabelle began to remove Sarah’s soiled clothes.

In the hall, Nigel noticed the front of Edgar’s shirt and jacket, now covered in blood-red gelatinous goo. “I guess you got more of that stuff than you bargained for. As for myself, I hoped to come out of this adventure with a clean set of clothes.” He glanced down at his own attire, also covered with slime and pieces of broken glass. “Looks like I got gypped.”

Back in his room, Nigel went to the washbasin and discovered soap and water dissolved the muck with ease. Still, he needed to be careful of the broken glass, which made cleaning himself a time-consuming process.