The seance was arranged to take place in Aunty Mabel's Parlour in Croyden Hill. Someone had failed to do the maths: it would be a squeeze, especially with the rosewood dining table hogging the centre of the room decked with the ouija board and fresh candles, but it was better to meet somewhere the dear departed had spent time, and nobody could think of any walls that held so many memories of Bert as those (except the legion), even though the cracks had been papered over with bold blowsy blooms in flocked orange and brown. As everyone arrived a mountain of coats grew on Granny's sagging bed. There was no social order there, camel hair coats were flung on top of donkey jackets, mackintoshes on top of ponchos, Madge's fur wrap struggling for air at the bottom. There was a constant to and fro down the narrow corridor from the bedroom and the parlour and greetings could not be ignored, a curt nod here, a fond embrace there, a wink, ; it was an intricate weave of body language and feet as we congregated beyond the front door.
"Maybe we should have gone to George's, it' certainly is going to be cosy" Aunty Mabel trilled nervously adjusting chairs.
"That's it love, if only we had you're gift for foresight," Uncle Bob muttered acidly. Aunty Mabel ducked the verbal blow expertly, used to the sniping belittlements that came her way and chivvied the guests into the room.
"Welcome, welcome, in you come now. Take a seat. Coats in the bedroom John, we're going to be as warm as toast in here."
Ezra arrived, her usual mix of haughty bustle and condescension. She stared glacially at each member of family in turn, assessing her superiority. Uncle Bob was the only one immune to this behaviour. Undeterred by its blatant hostility he came forward to great her, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. He was not quick enough though, as Ezra put up her hands to ward him off.
"No thank you Bob. You know I don't do counterfeit affection. I know we all agreed to be here for this sham but let's not pretend any of us would be together otherwise." Usually oblivious to the sting of words, more familiar with doling them out than receiving them, Bob looked hurt for a moment but quickly recovered and with great decorum and chivalry bowed slightly and pulled out a chair for Aunt Ezra. Long ago My mother told me they had once been close, loved each other even, but what ever lay between them, forgiveness was still a long way off.
The family were finally gathered, everyone seated about the table, the wallpaper flowers bending in, making the room feel even more crowded. Aunty Mabel took her seat in the circle and lit the candles with a long taper, taking control of the room instantly.
"It is time, to remember those who have passed and speak with them in the present. Let us link hands to complete the connection. Rita, as you are on my right you will have your hand on the planchette with me. Is that alright dear?" Rita nodded nervously. Aunty Mabel ceremoniously placed her hand in Uncle Bob's, offering the other to Rita and everyone else followed suit, all in an attempt to determine what stake they would have in great Uncle Bert's meagre estate: war medals, a silver snuff box, savings bonds, the ceremonial sword. Uncle Bob and Aunty Mabel, having cared for Bert in the last few years of his life were probably hoping for the lion's share. If Mabel could sway the spirits to convince everyone she was the rightful heir to the whole lot she would, but more than anything she wanted to keep the furniture. It was rather too good for the upstairs flat she and Uncle Bob shared but I have to say I hoped they would keep it, I didn't fancy being roped into moving it again after the struggle we had on the stairs getting it up here. Ezra had a craving for something but her desires were a mystery to everyone, possibly even herself. As for me, I had no great expectation, but hoped for the old Lyons biscuit tin stuffed with black and white photographs. All of those photographs had a story to tell, a secret to whisper like torchlight on mysteries and I badly wanted to be their confidant.
Aunty Mabel's countenance changed as she settled into the role of medium. She became still and grave, breathing deeply.
"All Hallows' now gather to share your secrets and desires one letter at a time. Share with us your wisdom through the veil of night." Agatha tittered and Aunty Ethel cleared her throat meaningfully, then gave her a sharp dig in the ribs for good measure, at which the titter became a squeak. "Enter our presence through the seams of memory" Aunty Mabel continued "and give us answers to our earthly concerns. Bert, Albert Heather, are you there? Come into the bosom of your loving family once more. Speak with us. Give us a sign."
The planchette twitched beneath her hand and began to glide across the ouija board, hesitantly at first, them more purposefully,
'G
O, S
U CK, E GG S, BITCH'.
The witch sat on the balcony outside the parlour window, hidden by the trellis, twirling a tress of black silky hair, cackling to herself with the satisfaction of a job well done as she viewed the ensuing mayhem as the seance scattered and fled.
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