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FOUR O’CLOCK TEA WAS not meant to be so tense. The six amateur ghost hunters sat in the drawing room, fidgety, trying to ignore the sporadic, disembodied screams reverberating from above. The god-awful racket finally stopped, allowing everyone a needed breath.
“How does a vicar get syphilis?” Simra unexpectedly asked, puzzled by the quandary.
“The usual habits,” Will speculated facetiously. “Nun too holy.”
Alexandra laughed, desperate for levity. It sparked courage. “Who shall join me upstairs and open the locked bedroom door...? Anybody...? Don’t tempt me to spin the bottle!”
Upon seeing her rise, Gunnar consented, which was not well-received by the cook. Hildegard joined them as far as the kitchen since the stew needed stirring and a further warning with the cleaver was overdue. Alexandra lifted a heavy set of keys from a hook and proceeded up the stairs, needing to click on her flashlight once outside the dim firelight from the Blue room.
They settled at the guilty door.
“You open it and I’ll dart in,” she told Gunnar.
He found the correct key and inserted it.
Alexandra jumped in. A blurry figure stood at the window, and by its silhouette, it was the apparition of the monk gazing out to the grounds for his lost love. It was cloaked in a hooded robe and softly moaning. It was trying to yank a long stick out of its belly.
She aimed her flashlight, and it became clear the spirit was pleasuring itself. Upon discovery, it whisked by, right through the closet door. Alexandra turned to flee and barreled into Gunnar. He toppled back onto the hallway floor and she landed pressed against him. His schlange felt a tad rowdy.
They both screamed in detecting Hildegard’s heel clicks coming up the stairwell in rhythm with the oscillating glow of her flashlight. It so petrified Alexandra that she could not extricate herself to hide in the room’s closet, as sharing time with whatever had flown by spanking its monkey seemed the lesser evil.
The menacing light and heel clicks drew closer—ever closer—on a collision course. The gaseous outline of the monk suddenly floated out of another bedroom and headed down the dark hall.
“Es ist ein guten-schlange!” screamed Hildegard.
Alexandra panicked. She freed herself, ran into the closet, and closed the door. She waited until all the commotion settled before risking a peek. Her eyes burst wide upon opening the door. Murkily looking out the window again stood the specter.
Guten-schlange, indeed her libido sang. She then screamed and flew over the bedframe, traversing the hall and stairs in a mercurial fashion. Everyone gathered near the kitchen. Gunnar tried to comfort Hildegard, who was on the brink of hysteria.
The others stared down the steps leading to the basement. The piercing wail of a distraught woman echoed from below.
“Did you see it, too?” Oliver asked Alexandra.
“It was the monk. He was... how should I say...?”
Hildegard cried out, “Schlagen die wienerschnitzel!”
“What you English label ‘jollying the Roger,’” Gunnar clarified.
“You mean ‘fighting the one-eyed trouser snake?’” Will tossed in. “How do they say it in India?”
Simra replied, “Kobara sohani, as in ‘charming the cobra.’”
Alexandra sighed. If Simra was joining in, things had truly degenerated. The screams from the basement continued.
“We’ve yet to inspect down there. Anybody...?”
Upon seeing Alexandra turn to get the bottle, Will rushed ahead. She waited; arms folded, tapping a foot. Waiting... waiting... Smaaaash. Just as she expected.
Will returned, triumphant. “Sorry. It slipped from my hand.”
Oliver sensed Alexandra was about to pop off. “I’ll go!”
“Good lad,” Will praised. He looked at Alexandra. “Godspeed and chop-chop.”
“Wait.” Alexandra took Hildegard into her arms and shuffled her back to the drawing room. She lifted out two cigarettes from her wool overcoat. After lighting them and passing one along, they both took a long drag, though it had taken effort for Hildegard’s shaking hand to find her mouth. Alexandra liberated a bottle of wine and claimed a seat on the rug. “You saw it, too?”
Hildegard stopped hyperventilating. “I thought he was charging me with a lance. Guter Gott!”
Alexandra laughed wildly. She snarked, “No man should become a monk armed like that.”
Hildegard joined in. “How could the nun resist?”
They laughed, drank, and smoked a while longer.
Alexandra mused, Two Germans down; two poltergeists to go. She stood and headed off to take the plunge. Oliver followed.
All sorts of rusted and moldy debris crammed the basement’s pitch-black passageway. She tried to brush a cobweb from her hair, but it clung like cotton candy. The air smelt putrid and they quickly aimed their flashlights at each squeal from scurrying rodents. The wailing of the woman had subsided, but the scraping of an animal sharpening its claws against the damp bricks grew louder the deeper in they inspected.
“What do you think of my brother?” Alexandra asked Oliver, needing a distraction to calm down.
“He worries over you. About work and women.”
“I fare poorly with other women.”
“So did I,” Oliver admitted. “It’s a relief to know that we both sail into forbidden winds.”
Alexandra turned. “What has sailing to do with this?”
“You know.” Oliver winked. “Dance to the tune of a gayer band?”
“Why are you speaking in riddles and then winking?”
He squinted to shield the light on his face, and said to her feign of denial, “Engage in the love that dare not speak its name?”
“Oliver, are you trying to tell me you’re a dandy?”
“Your expression is telling me you’re not a lesbian.”
Alexandra could see Oliver’s panic that his secret was out. “I am not a lesbian. Who doesn’t find some allure in thoughts of sucking a boob now and then? As for the rest of it, I think not.”
“But Will said that you’re involved in an affair with your Japanese masseuse, Suki. He kept winking!”
“He only has one eye, Oliver. His blink is a wink. As for my masseuse, her name is Miyu. She is only seventeen years old and blind, as they train only the sightless in the art of shiatsu.”
Oliver teared up over this calamity. “I offer my resignation.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she chided sympathetically. “They are your personal affairs. If you get caught, I’ll bail you out, but we must agree it is sound business practice not to muddle our work responsibilities with talk of our love lives.”
“Agreed!” He sighed. “Bravely onward, boss?”
“Good show!” Alexandra turned, and they ventured forward, but after several steps, she spun about. “So, have you met anyone dreamy since moving to London?”
A cry and the thuds of a pounding fist sounded from within the wall. Something was trying to break out of its encasement.
Alexandra looked back. Oliver had gotten the jump and was halfway home. She joined him in flight and locked the basement door upon finding sanctuary. She howled beyond panic, “Sequester! We must Sequester! Bring the stew and bowls!”
Everyone scrambled to transport dishware to the drawing room. “Not you!” Alexandra grabbed Will by the ear.
“What happened to sequester?” he asked as she steered him up the stairs, not resisting his comeuppance.
“After I tinkle. Stand guard!” She released him and slammed the bathroom door. Once seated, she barked, “What is wrong with you? I am a lover of men! Stop telling people differently.”
“I thought you clarified with Father you preferred women?”
“No! Now I’m sure that I’m not the only gal who fantasizes about rubbing nipples with another woman, but as for the rest of it, no thank you.” She flushed the toilet. “If it makes you feel any better, I just engaged in ravenous sex with a man in Jerusalem.”
It didn’t. Will asked, “Then why do you keep talking about your masseuse, Suki?”
“Because I want you to meet her! Her name is Miyu.” Alexandra opened the door. “You’ve been absent from people too long, Will. If you don’t work it out, you’ll be more socially inept than me.”
He looked at her skeptically. “I think not.”
Alexandra moaned and threw up her arms. “You’re insufferable! Sequester! Chop-chop!”
—‡—
SEQUESTER SUCKED. THE only thing worse was Hildegard’s stew, which only Simra took down without complaint. The slamming doors, demonic howls, and other rasps beyond the drawing room’s door were no longer cause for investigation and served as a considerable distraction to each round of Parcheesi.
Things improved once the liquor was broken out.
As midnight drew near, Alexandra completed her tutorial with Simra on how to hold afar the flash powder tray when he fired it off. The tripod camera was aimed and set, with only the spirit of a tormented nun, ridiculously well-hung monk, or headless coachman remaining to be summoned for one immaculate money shot. It was time.
Alexandra clapped to get everyone’s attention. “We should conduct a practice séance. Can I have two volunteers...? Anybody...?” She grumbled and headed for an empty wine bottle.
Gunnar and Hildegard, half-asleep by the fire, raised their hands. For some unbeknownst, but likely highly germane reason, they feared the spinning bottle. Will and Oliver blew out candles to dim the setting. Simra took position behind the Victorian Hasselblad camera.
Alexandra placed five candles and a half-peeled mushy potato on a tray in the center of the rug fronting the fireplace. “We must make an overture to the spirits.”
“A potato?” Gunnar questioned. “The spirits will need to be starving Irish to go for that.”
“Humor mich,” she implored. “We’ll sit cross-legged around the offering and join hands.”
They did so.
Hildegard had experience with séances. She reminded, “Once started, we mustn’t break the chain or speak. We should summon the headless coachman.”
“Why the coachman?” Will wondered from the sidelines. “He can’t even eat the potato!”
“Ja!” Alexandra closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Here she sat, holding hands with the Germans, free of homicidal urges. Something good had resulted in this plight. She tightened her grip and gave each a friendly shake. “It’s wonderful that we’re all comrades and finally at peace.”
“Do you fear silence?” Hildegard scoffed. “Halt die klappe!”
They spent several minutes establishing a united mental rhythm to beckon the coachman.
“Good God!” Will rushed to the window. “He’s coming for us!”
Those in the séance immediately broke the chain and rushed over to the window. They issued a collective gasp. It was shocking. The lanterns hanging from the coach jiggled in unison with the clops of a horse. It was too dark outside to discern if the seated driver had a noggin. The carriage rolled by and came to a stop near the front door. Panic ensued. Gunnar and Simra picked up chairs to barricade the drawing room door. Oliver tugged at the table.
Alexandra looked at her watch; he was right on time. She cheerfully announced, “At ease. It’s only Geldorf.”
“Who is this Geldorf?” Simra was not alone in wonderment.
“The medium I hired to conduct the séance,” Alexandra declared. “When introduced, we shall only provide our middle names to foil any attempts at deception.”
Alexandra grabbed a flashlight and violated sequester protocols to go out and greet him. Standing outside the front door was a short and portly woman buried in a thick coat, net hat, and numerous scarves. To her side was a lad no older than sixteen, dressed in a baggy black suit, top hat, and cape. He had significant issues with acne on his plump, pasty cheeks and was using his shirt cuff to wipe chocolate drippings from his face. He looked like a magician’s apprentice.
The coachman was not their headless man.
Alexandra gasped. “You’re Geldorf?”
“‘The Magnificent!’” the woman assured. She slapped Geldorf’s hand as it drifted to pick his nose and finished cleaning his mug with a handkerchief. “Geldorf is always paid upfront.”
“I can see why.” Alexandra lifted the fee from her pocket. “You must be Misses Magnificent?”
“The mother, yes. I must say, Illyria, you have a bestial abode. A slim thing like you should buzz about cleaning with the speediness of a hummingbird. Youth, today. So lazy!”
Alexandra calculated pending disaster held better odds than pending tip. She cringed upon showing them into the drawing room. It had been difficult to find a medium in the British countryside on such brief notice. “One and all, I give you, Geldorf the Magnificent!”
Looks of unadulterated disbelief greeted the announcement.
Will cracked, “Isn’t it past his bedtime?”
The mother claimed the empty chair nearest Simra. He advised her to move, as remaining there would put her in the danger zone for being blown up. She complied and took another.
In a high-pitched, nasal voice, Geldorf squawked, “I bid you mortals greeting and a visceral warning. My power in conjuring spirits lost to the otherworld is unparalleled. Those of weak heart, mind, or bladder should not partake.”
Alexandra could see Will and Gunnar were having difficulty holding it together. All her team-building efforts were going to ruin. She motioned for everyone to take their places and form a circle on the rug. Geldorf’s finger was once more flirting with his nose, and her crew was wise enough to leave vacant the spot aside from his favored booger hand.
“Mother! They don’t have a table!” Geldorf whined. He tossed back his cape in a huff and took a seat in front of the fireplace. He greedily eyed the potato. “Who shall I summon?”
“In a minor upset in our blind vote, ‘Well-endowed monk’ has defeated ‘Frisky nun’ three to two.” Alexandra winked at Oliver.
Will and Gunnar pouted, having lobbied hard for the nun. Alexandra sat and everyone joined hands, with Oliver needing to grasp Will’s shoulder to close the circle.
Geldorf’s hand felt gooey.
He said, “Proceed around the circle and state your names.”
Illyria, Vana, Wadsworth, Harry, and Schwanzus were barked out in quick order.
Alexandra had not seen that coming. She grew troubled that they were contributing to the delinquency of a minor. She winked at Simra, entrusting him to identify when circumstances were ripe to capture the spirit on film.
Everyone closed their eyes and fell silent.
After a minute of tempered breathing, Geldorf called out, “Oh, Well-endowed monk, we bring you gifts from life to death. Commune with us, Well-endowed monk, and move among us.”
The entire circle repeated the chant multiple times.
An icy breeze infiltrated the room. Alexandra peeked. While the candles flickered, there were no bites on the potato.
Geldorf’s slouched posture, flabby cheeks, and limp hold on her hand suddenly became rigid. His eyes dilated, and he stared blankly ahead, mouth ajar, yet offering no words to its drool. She hoped that if he started discharging ectoplasm that it would not stain her overcoat.
“What heretical wretches herein gathered.”
The disembodied voice disseminating from Geldorf sounded little like that of a well-hung monk: more so, an old, bitter crone. Its menacing tone starched the backs of all those seated.
“You befoul this house, yee buggering sodomite amongst thee.”
Alexandra again opened her eyes. Everyone else already had, and for some unjust reason, they were all looking at her. All she could do was shake her head and silently mouth, “It’s not me!”
“Oh, yee, once at the right hand of God. Now more suited to wield the right hand of self-pleasure!”
Three good options for that one. Alexandra felt off the hook.
“An aspirant lust of infidelities fouls this fetid air I breathe.”
The accusation was fifty-fifty between Vana and Schwanzus. He twitched first. Judging by how tight Hildegard was squeezing her hand, Alexandra judged if this went much deeper, the cleaver would leave Gunnar schwanzless!
Geldorf remained entranced, and his mother looked worried. Five minutes passed in silence.
Geldorf the Magnificent remained in a deep stupor. He shook violently and began emoting in the highly guttural voice of a man—hissing singular words in a strange, ancient tongue. The séance was devolving into a far more disturbing and serious matter.
“Hither and dither, Wilhelmina, but hid not from mine eyes. Thou hast fled, but we shall soon take you back.”
Most turned their heads toward Wadsworth, thinking it a bastardization of his first name, but the small whimpers Hildegard expelled told Alexandra differently. Those within the circle were becoming fretful in their seats and close to abandoning the ritual.
Alexandra conjectured Hildegard had changed her name, Oliver was not an anal virgin, Gunnar held lust for her, and Will choked the chicken. It left only her secrets on the chopping block. Lo-and-behold, what terrible mischief an omnipotent entity could have with that! She closed her eyes and braced for the worst.
“Alas, Alexandra... affianced to the Master. Your male broods will luxuriate in more blood than Anna, the last pleasured mistress of the Nyírbátor. You shall then reign supreme among the Fallen.”
Geldorf’s mother stood and shrieked.
A blinding explosion of light violated the proceedings. The ghastly image of a horned demon materialized out of the smoky ether fogging the room. It hovered behind Alexandra, embracing her in its wings.
A curtain on one window started smoldering.
Everyone screamed.
Geldorf broke out of his trance and shited himself.
The demon vanished.
The smoke and smell from the ignited flash powder lingered in the air. Alexandra opened her eyes, alarmed, as she had sexually climaxed. She shook free of her funk to witness Simra throwing buckets of water on a burning window, Hildegard passed out, and the shit-stained Geldorf fleeing with his mother. By the licentious noises emanating from upstairs, it sounded like the monk and nun had belatedly found each other.
Alexandra cried out, “Did we get the photograph, Simra?”
“Yes! I hope Miss Hildegard is still alive.”
She was.
Everyone watched as the horse-drawn coach sped off into the night beyond the frosted windowpane.
Alexandra looked at Will. “What’s wrong with you?”
He was yet ready to share what they all had witnessed. “Between supplies, building damages, and paying Simra, how much is this job costing you?”
“Quite a lot, I’m afraid.” Alexandra shrugged. “But you see, we got the photograph. That’s what matters.”
Will shook his head. “Don’t continue with this business of yours. I beseech you!”
“Oh, go smack your salami!” Alexandra stood in a huff. The fire was finally out. She harkened to all, “Let’s report to the kitchen to wash dishes before getting disturbingly drunk. Chop-chop!”