A Salem Seance

"Bull-fucking-shit!" I cried.

"Oh, you always say that!" said Sandy. "You're such a skeptic!"

"Yes," I said proudly. "I am. Those so-called 'mediums' are all frauds.  They waltz up into those tiny shops wearing far too much purple eyeshadow and suck money out of the pockets of emotionally vulnerable people."

"You honestly don't think any of them are for real?"

"No. No, I do not."

Sandy sighed. The corners of her mouth drooped as she looked forlornly at the brochure in her hand. "Well," she began, "maybe you'll still find it entertaining. You know, sure you don't believe in mediums.  Fine.  Whatever.  But maybe you'll enjoy... the acting?" She shrugged and gave me a bat of those long eyelashes.

I took a deep breath. "You really want to go to this stupid seance?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, Tom!" Sandy exclaimed, practically dancing with excitement. "It just sounds like so much fun! And we never go anywhere or do anything or---"

"Fine, fine!" I said. She had won at last. "We'll go, we'll go."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Sandy sang as she laid kiss after kiss on my cheek.

And so, that night, we were off to the city of Salem, Massachusetts. As I followed Sandy through the busy streets, I couldn't help but marvel at my surroundings. It had been so long since I'd been there. Damn near everything had changed. So many shops. So many people. It used to be much quieter. Much less lively. But that's what happens I suppose. Time keeps moving whether we want it to or not.

At last we came to the little shop on the corner. Outside was a giant sign, hand-written in chalk: "Seance tonight! 8PM!"

"Ooh, this is the place!" Sandy said, clapping her hands with joy.

We worked our way into the tightly packed room. In the middle stood a large, pale-skinned woman dressed in all black and wearing the customary purple on her eyes. "Looks barely alive herself," I quipped, only to be shushed by Sandy.

"My friends," the woman began, "thank you all for being here this evening! I am your host and medium, Lady Myra Baldwin.  If everybody's ready, I think we should jump right in as I can already sense that there are spirits among us."

The crowd oohed and ahhed as the Lady Myra's eyes took on a faraway look. "Yes.... Yes...." She seemed to be speaking as much to herself as anyone else. "Now tell me, friends, did anyone here lose an older female relative whose name began... with M?"

A woman gasped from the other side of the room. "Yes!" she said. "Yes, I did!"

"Ah, yes," said Lady Myra. "I can feel that. Thank you." She turned to face the woman. "This relative of yours. She was your mother?"

"No," said the woman. Her shoulders drooped with disappointment.

"Ah, but she was like a mother to you?" Lady Myra quickly added.

"Yes!" The woman perked right back up. "Yes, she was!" She turned to the man beside her, an apparently unwilling husband and my spiritual brother. "It's her, Harry! I knew she'd come through!"

Lady Myra continued. "This woman's name. It was... Mary?"

"Yes!" the woman said. "My Aunt Mary!" Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "Oh, my God!"

"Yes, my dear, your Aunt Mary's here," Lady Myra said softly. "She wants to thank you for the flowers you gave her."

"Oh, my Jesus!" the woman exclaimed. "I did give her flowers! A few times!"

"Indeed," Lady Myra said. "She's pulling her energy away from me now, but I'm so very glad she could come through for you."

Well, now, I realize that what I was seeing was sad---a poor, weepy woman being taken advantage of---but at the moment, I couldn't help but think it was the damn funniest thing. I couldn't contain myself anymore and let out a sharp laugh.

“Stop it, Tom!” Sandy demanded.

When Lady Myra heard us, she turned to look straight at me and glared.

I nearly choked. I guess I stood corrected. It looks like some folks really can communicate with the dead.