Free Poltergeist by James Kahn Page B

agreeably, lifting his Styrofoam coffee cup to his lips. He was a renowned Lothario, a great champion of the sensual realities.
    “And you?” Lesh addressed Ryan.
    “Me—I’m a naturalist. I believe all objects and events can be accounted for by scientific explanation. The universe is neither a derivation of the self, nor a function of reason, independent of experience. The universe is . . . what it is.”
    “What it is, and what it ain’t, bro.” Marty held out his hand, and Ryan returned him some skin.
    “And what it is ,” Ryan continued, “can be explained. And what it ain’t, all comes out in the wash.”
    “And just what is it that it is, Dr. Mitchell?” Dr. Lesh asked jovially.
    “It’s waves, it’s definitely waves,” he asserted, half mocking himself, half serious. “Electromagnetic waves.”
    “It’s energy, man,” said Marty. “It’s all energy. There is no matter. This chair, here, it’s just another kind of energy. Atoms, that’s just energy, too. You got your dense energy, and you got your dilute energy. This chair, this is your dense energy.” He knocked the leg three times with his knuckles, to demonstrate. “But this light comin’ down here, this is your dilute energy.” He rapped his knuckles three times through the bright air beneath the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The third time, there was a loud KNOCK. The scientists all jumped.
    Lesh looked at the monitor, and laughed. Tangina had just turned in her sleep—the back of her hand had hit the headboard, right under the microphone.
    The others shook their heads. Ryan wiped his brow. “For a second, there, I was worried we were all inventions of Marty’s mind. What a grim thought.”
    “Well, watch your step, pal, or I’ll think up an even grimmer thought, and it’ll eat you alive.”
    “Aha, now we have dueling solipsists . . .”
    “Wait, look, something’s happening.”
    They all looked at the EEG paper flowing unhurriedly under the jiggling pens.
    “Stage IV sleep—but you’re right, that is odd—there shouldn’t really be spindle activity like that. Marty, check the GSR.”
    Marty looked over one of the voltimeters, and shrugged. “No, it corresponds to Stage IV, too.”
    “You sure your leads were standardized?”
    “What do you mean, am I sure ?”
    “I just mean . . .”
    “Hey, look at that!”
    They looked at the printout again.
    “PGO spikes.”
    “PGO activity isn’t so uncommon in Stage IV.”
    “But usually only one or two signals—we shouldn’t be seeing this much firing except during REM sleep—when she’s dreaming.”
    “Maybe she is dreaming.”
    “In Stage IV?”
    “Sleepwalkers can have a lot of PGO activity in Stage IV. People who get night-terrors, too.”
    “Right, it’s like this unnatural electrical activity breaks through during slow sleep . . .”
    “There—she just turned, and the PGO’s disappeared. Probably just . . .”
    “Holy shit, look at that!”
    The pens were going wild. There was suddenly more electrical activity registering on the brainwave patterns than they’d ever seen—and, oddly, during a stage of sleep usually characterized by slow, low-frequency waves. These pens were shooting off the page.
    “Check the Evoked Potentials.”
    Marty pushed some buttons on the computer console; patterns lit up on the screen.
    “I’ve never seen this before.” He shook his head.
    “Look at the monitor.”
    They watched the closed-circuit picture of Tangina lying in bed. She looked distressed.
    She tossed and struggled in the throes of an unnamed terror. Her face contorted; her fists opened and closed. Perspiration matted her hair to her forehead. Slowly, her mouth opened, as if to scream. But instead, out came a child’s voice, high and chill:
    “Mommy! I can’t see you. Where are you, Mommy?”
    Involuntarily, Dr. Lesh shivered.
    “ What is that all about?” whispered Marty.
    “Doesn’t sound like she’s dreaming about any circus, that’s for