Free The manitou by Graham Masterton Page A

know.”
    We sat tight
with our hands clasped while Amelia murmured a long incantation. I was trying
desperately hard to think about the spirits who were moving through the room,
but when you don’t really believe in spirits, it’s not exactly easy. I could
hear Mrs. Karmann breathing right next to me, and MacArthur’s hand was
fidgeting in mine. But at least he had the sense not to let go. From what I’ve
heard, it’s dangerous if you break the circle once the seance has begun.
    “I am calling
any spirit who can help me,” said Amelia. “I am calling any spirit who can
guide me.”
    Gradually, I
was able to concentrate more and more, directing my mind to the idea that there
was really something or somebody around, some vibration in the room that would
answer us. I felt the pulse of our whole circle go through my hands, I felt us
join together in a complete circuit of minds and bodies. There seemed to be a
current that flowed around and around the table, through our hands and our
brains and our bodies, building up strength and voltage.
    “Kalem estradim, ikona purista,”
whispered Amelia. “Venora, venora, optu luminari.”
    The darkness
stayed utterly dark, and there was nothing but the strange sensation that
coursed through the four of us, the pulse that throbbed through our hands.
    “Spirita
halestim, venora suim,” breathed Amelia. “Kalem estradim, ikon purista venora.”
    I suddenly had
the feeling that somebody had opened a window. There seemed to be a cold draught
in the room, breezing around my ankles. It wasn’t enough to make you feel
uncomfortable, but there was a definite sensation of stirring air.
    “Venora, venora, optu luminari,”
chanted Amelia softly. “Venora, venora, spirit
halestim.”
    The realization
that I could see something in the darkness came so slowly and gradually that at
first I thought it was just my eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom. The
shadowy forms of Amelia and MacArthur and Mrs. Karmann clotted into shape
through the blackness, and I could see their eyes glittering. The table was
like a bottomless pool between us.
    Then I looked
up and realized that the chandelier was glowing, with a dim and greenish light.
    The filaments
of the bulbs seemed to crawl and flicker with current, like fireflies on a
summer evening. But it was colder than summer, and the invisible draught made
it colder and colder all the time.
    “Are you
there?” asked Amelia quietly. “I can see your signs. Are you there?”
    There was an
odd rustling sound, as though there was someone else in the room, shifting and
stirring. I could swear I heard breathing – deep, even breathing that wasn’t
the breathing of any of us.
    “Are you
there?” asked Amelia again. “I can hear you now. Are you there?”
    There was a
long silence. The chandelier continued to glow dimly in the darkness, and I
could hear the breathing more loudly now.
    “Talk,”
insisted Amelia. “Tell us who you are. I command you to talk.”
    The breathing
seemed to change. It grew harsher and louder, and with each breath the
chandelier pulsed and flickered. I could see its green reflections in the dark
pool of the cherrywood table.
    Mrs. Karmann’s
hand was digging deep into mine, but I hardly felt it. There was a persistent
chilliness around the room, and the draught blew uncomfortably up my legs.
    “Talk,”
repeated Amelia. “Speak and tell us who you are.”
    “Christ,” said
MacArthur impatiently, “this is...”
    “Ssshhh,” I
told him. “Just wait, MacArthur, it’s coming.”
    And it was
coming. I stared at the center of the table, and there seemed to be something
shivering in the air a few inches above the surface. I felt the hairs on the
back of my neck prickle and creep as the air twisted and flowed like smoke,
then began to form itself into some sort of shape.
    The breathing
grew deep and loud and close, as though someone was actually breathing in my
ear. The dim light of the chandelier faded altogether but