Victor Ollnee's Discipline Part 17

She began to make plans for Victor, "subject," she said, "to revision by your 'guides.'"

"You've said that before," he retorted, "but I have no 'guides.' I don't believe in 'guides,' and I don't intend to be ruled by a lot of spooks."

"Be careful," she warned. "They know your every thought and they may resent your att.i.tude."

"Well, let them! What do I care? Suppose, for argument's sake, that these Voices _do_ come from my father and my grandfather. What do they know of this great city? They were country folks. How can they direct me in what I am to do?"

"They know a great deal better than any of us."

"But how can they?"

"Because they are free from the limitations of the flesh."

"I don't see how that is going to help them. Their minds are just the same as they were, aren't they?"

"Indeed no! We grow inconceivably in knowledge and power to discern the moment we drop the flesh."

"I don't see why? If they are existing they're in a world so different from this that their experience here won't help them over there, and their experience over there is of no value to us here, and even if it were, they could not express it."

During their talk the night had deepened into darkness, and now, as they reached a pause in their discussion, a measured rapping could be heard, as though some one were striking with a small wand upon the bra.s.s rod of the bed.

Without knowing exactly why, a thrill very like fear pa.s.sed over Victor, but Mrs. Joyce smiled. "They are here! Don't you hear them? They want to communicate with us."

The youth's high heart sank. His boyish dread of darkness began to people this death-chamber with monstrous shadows, with malignant forces.

He was very grateful for the presence of this cheery and undismayed believer in the spirit world. Without her he would have been panic-stricken.

She rose to enter the bedroom, and he followed as far as the threshold.

It was very dark in there, and for a moment he could see nothing, could hear nothing. Then a faint whisper made itself distinctly audible just above his head. "_Victor, my boy_," it said.

He did not reply for a moment, and Mrs. Joyce eagerly called, "Did you hear that whisper, Victor?"

"Yes, I heard it," he replied.

"It was Lucy. Was it you, Lucy?" asked Mrs. Joyce.

"_Yes_," came the answer.

"Are you still out of the body, Lucy?"

"_Yes._"

"What shall we do?"

"_Wait._"

"Is there anything you want to say to Victor?"

"_No, not now. Father will speak._"

Silence again fell, and in this pause Mrs. Joyce took the chair which stood close beside the bed and motioned Victor to another near the foot.

He sat with thrilling nerves, moved, trembling in spite of himself. The room was now quite dark, save for a faint patch of light on the ceiling and another on the carpet. His mother's body could not be distinguished from the covering of the bed.

As they waited, a singular, cold, and aromatic breeze began to blow over the bed from the dark corner, and then a small, brilliant, bluish flame arose near the sleeper's head, and, floating upward to the ceiling, vanished silently. It was like the flame of a candle twisted and leaping in a breeze.

"The spirit light!" exclaimed Mrs. Joyce, ecstatically. "Wasn't it beautiful? And see, there is a hand holding it!" she whispered, as another flame arose. "Can't you see it?"

"I see the light, but no hand," he replied.

"I can see more. I see the dim form of an old man outlined on the wall.

It must be your grandsire, Nelson Blodgett. Am I right?" she asked, apparently of the dark.

Victor could now perceive a thin, bluish, wavering shape, like a cloud of cigar smoke, and from this a whisper seemed to come, strong and clear. "_Yes, I have come to speak to my grandson._"

"Don't you see him now?" asked Mrs. Joyce.

"I see nothing," he repeated; and as he spoke the misty shape vanished.

"But you heard the whisper, did you not?" Mrs. Joyce persisted.

He did not reply to her, but rose and bent above his mother. "Mother, did you speak?" he asked.

Mrs. Joyce excitedly restrained him. "Sit down! You must not touch her now."

"Why not?"

"Because it is very dangerous while the spirits are using her organism."

"I don't know what you mean!" he retorted, angrily. "I know that that voice sounded exactly like my mother's voice, and I want to know--"

"_Silence, foolish boy!_" was sternly breathed into his ear.

A cloud pa.s.sed over the sky, and as the room became perfectly black a fluttering gray-blue cloud developed out of the darkest corner. It had the movement of steam-wreaths, with each convolution faintly edged with light. At one moment it resembled a handful of lines, fine as cobweb, looping and waving, as if blown upward from below, and the next moment it floated past like the folds of some exquisite drapery, lifting and falling in gentle undulations. At last it rose to the height of a man, drifted across the bed, and there hung poised over the head of the sleeper. As it swung there for an instant Victor could plainly detect a man's figure and face. His eyelids were closed and his features vague, but his chin and the spread of his shoulders were clearly defined. "Who are you?" Victor demanded, as if the apparition were an intruder.

The answer came in a flat, toneless voice, neither male nor female in quality. "_I am your father._"

Victor leaped up impulsively, his hair on end with fright, and the apparition vanished precisely as though an open door had been closed between it and the observer.

Again Mrs. Joyce clutched him. "Be careful! Sit down; don't stir!"

"Somebody is playing a joke on me," he insisted, hotly. "I'm going to strike a light."

Again a voice, this time almost full-toned, but with a metallic accompaniment, as though it had pa.s.sed through a horn, poured into his ear, "_You shall bow to our wisdom._"

He braced himself to receive a blow, and answered through his set teeth: "I will not. I am master of myself, and I don't intend to take orders from you."

"_You are fighting great powers. You will fail_," the voice replied.

"_Your heart is defiant. Expect punishment._"