The Girl in the Glass

MANY DOORS ARE OPENED

Pathetic" might just have been an apt description of Parks's existence, for the night of the sйance, when we arrived, he informed us that he could find no one among his acquaintances or family who would participate in it with him. It was to be only Schell and Parks and myself. This then, as it looked from the outset, promised to be the equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel. All the better, as I was somewhat distracted, hoping for another glimpse of Isabel, whom I hadn't been able to get off my mind since we'd been there a week earlier.

We met the tycoon in the same room his butler had led us to on our initial visit. After the normal pleasantries, Schell described the rules of engagement for calling forth the dead: breathe deeply and regularly so as not to hyperventilate; do not shout (it might scare the spirits away); keep your distance from any visual or physical manifestation that might coalesce (to make contact with it could possibly be fatal); be solicitous of the dead (humor them); do not leave your seat unless otherwise instructed. Parks nodded eagerly, obviously anxious to get through the preliminaries and on with it. His voice had gone up an octave or two, and he swung his legs back and forth while sitting in his throne.

We moved to the room that Schell and I had reconnoitered on our last visit, a small drawing room on the eastern side of the mansion. It was at ground level and had a pair of wide glass doors that gave a view of a landscaped terrace with faux Greek statuary and a series of waist-high hedges. The room itself was comfortable, not quite as large as we liked but with a nice round wooden table and rafters over which we could toss a line in order to levitate an object.

Before we began, as Schell lit the candle at the center of the table, Parks made a request. "I don't know if this is possible or warranted," he said, "but, please, Mr. Schell, if my wife tries to…come through, please do everything in your power to prevent it."

"I understand," said Schell. "Her death is too close to you right now."

"Something like that," said Parks.

Schell nodded to me, an indication that I should turn off the lights. This I did while he assumed the mediumistic state. When he went under, so to speak, it was a sight to behold. His entire body trembled, eventually giving way to what appeared to be a kind of living rigor mortis. The eyes turned upward so that the pupils were hidden beneath lowered lids, and his mouth opened wide in a grimace. Parks was entranced by the performance, giving me the opportunity to toss a length of near-invisible thread, a small washer attached to the end to give it weight, up over a rafter. Just as it cleared the beam and began its descent, I took my seat and let loose a string of incomprehensible gibberish. Parks's attention now swung to me, and as it did, Schell caught the end of the line and pulled it down next to him, where it couldn't be detected in the dim candlelight. When Parks turned back to look at Schell, he was again wrapped in his rictus of spirituality.

Before long, there came from out of the darkness a low murmuring, the candle flickered as if caught in a breeze, and sounds of weeping filled the air. Schell, far more expert at projecting his voice than I, covered the murmuring, and I was responsible for the weeping. Parks looked everywhere, up and down, wide-eyed. When I rapped my toe against the bottom of the table, he nearly jumped out of his seat.

Schell lifted his arms in the air and said in a low, croaking voice, filled with urgency, "The gates to the other side open," and a dozen pine whites suddenly appeared between his hands. They swarmed in a chaos of pale, fluttering wings above the table and then made for Parks, who'd already been marked with sugar water. The millionaire panicked and began swatting the air in front of him. Schell then had a chance to slip from beneath his jacket and attach to the end of the line a toy bear we'd picked up at the Salvation Army.

"Georgie, Georgie," came a voice from above. "It's me, your mother."

"Mother?" said Parks. "I can hear you." He raked his fingers through his hair, and within seconds his eyes glistened with tears. "Mother," he called, looking around the room feverishly.

As Parks looked behind him, Schell blew a few grains of flash powder into the candle flame and there was a tiny, bright explosion in the middle of the table. Parks covered his eyes and when he looked again, the bear hovered in the air five feet above our heads.

"I've brought your bear, darling," said the ghostly female voice.

Parks began to stand, as if to grab for the toy, but I cautioned him, "Remain seated, sir. To touch this apparition could mean your life."

He sat back down, but his hands remained thrust upward, the perfect image of a child begging to be carried.

"George, I've been watching you."

"Yes, Mother," he said.

"You've not been on your best behavior."

"I have, Mother. I have."

"No you haven't. If you lie to me I'll go away."

"I'm sorry," cried Parks, "please don't leave."

"Caroline is here with me, George."

Parks groaned.

"She said you were unkind to her."

"I wasn't," he said.

"Good-bye," said the voice.

"All right, yes, I didn't like her. She was too…forceful. I'm sorry."

"That's better, dear. To make up for it, I want you to be kinder to others. Treat the young woman Isabel nicely. She works so hard."

"I'll raise her salary," said Parks.

"That's an excellent start. Be kinder to everyone, George. That way Death will treat you kindly when it's time for you to make the voyage."

"Yes," he said, his voice and body trembling.

"I'm on the terrace, dear. Come to the glass and I will let you see me, but you mustn't open the doors."

Parks looked over at me. I nodded. He got out of his chair, and Schell and I also stood. We moved toward the glass doors, I in front of Parks, and Schell bringing up the rear.

"Behold, sir, your mother's ectoplasmic form," I said.

He stepped up next to me and pressed his face against the glass. Outside the wind was blowing through the giant oaks that bordered the property. There was a half moon that night, its pale light shining through a very light mist. Standing behind one of the hedges, so that she was visible from the waist up, was the glowing form of Ma Parks, a good deal larger in death than life. She wore a wide-brimmed hat as she did in three of the photos in Parks's parlor, and stared directly at us. Through the glass, we could hear her repeating the name "Georgie."

Parks lost control and started fumbling with the knobs on the doors. I put my hand upon his shoulder and cautioned him not to open them. He paid no attention to me, and I tried to restrain him long enough so that Schell could get a hand on him. But Schell just stood there, staring at the glass, a strange look on his face, completely immobile. Then Parks rammed me with his elbow and sent me tripping backward onto my rear end.

From where I lay on the floor, I expected to see Schell jump to action, but he didn't. Parks got the doors open and slipped out onto the terrace. He ran toward the apparition, screaming, "Mother!"

I scrambled to my feet just in time to see him reach the hedge behind which the ghost stood. Schell finally came to and lunged forward out the door after him. As Parks reached out for the object of his affection, his mother's spirit feinted to the side and threw a right cross. The punch caught him on the jaw and dropped him, unconscious, onto the grass.

I reached the scene in time to see the ghost of Ma Parks, now grown to something well over six feet tall, lumbering across the perfectly manicured lawn toward the circular driveway at the front of the house.

"Help me lift him," said Schell.

He took the arms and I the legs. There were a hundred questions I had concerning what had just happened, but I knew to keep my mouth shut, not sure as to how deeply Parks was under. We managed to get him inside and lay him on a divan in the drawing room. As Schell tried to gently revive him, I latched the glass doors and wound up the line we had used for the levitation. I left the bear at his spot on the table, a sort of party favor to make up for the sйance having ended with him getting slugged. When I was finished with these small tasks, Schell instructed me to turn the lights on and blow out the candle.

"He's coming around," Schell whispered, crouching next to the divan.

I stood at a short distance and watched as Parks surfaced, calling for his mother.

"Lie still," Schell said to him. "You're all right. You've had a physical encounter with the void. Breathe deeply."

Parks's eyes were wild, and he was agitated to the extreme. He flung his legs over the side of the divan and sat up, rubbing his jaw.

"I warned you not to make contact with the materialized forms of the dead," said Schell, "and now you see why."

"The veil must remain intact," I said.

Parks calmed down and winced as he touched his chin. "I'm okay," he said. "I apologize for getting carried away." He couldn't look directly at either of us.

"Window," he said, addressing me. "There's whiskey and a tumbler in that small bar in the corner. Please pour me a drink."

"Ondoo, your excellence," I said as I moved to the task.

Schell stood and backed away from our patron.

"My mother hasn't changed in death," said Parks. "She still packs a wallop."

"One of the most remarkable visitations I've ever witnessed," said Schell.

I brought Parks his drink, and he dashed it off in three gulps. He then handed me the glass and stood unsteadily. It took a few seconds for him to get his bearings, but then he saw the toy bear lying on the table. He rushed to it, almost losing his balance in the process. "Look here," he said, "she's left it behind for me." He took it up and held it cradled in his arms like an infant. "You know, Schell, I had absolutely no recollection of this bear until I saw it hovering in the air tonight. Then it all came back to me."

"Yes, Mr. Parks," said Schell, "this is often the way. Many doors are opened when the dead pay a visit."