“Well, you’re born into it, aren’t you? It’s a gift.”
I repeat doubtfully, “A gift.”
“Something that comes naturally, like your artistic ability.”
“Only with dead people.”
“Exactly.”
“And she can guarantee this non-spirit who isn’t haunting me will leave after that?”
“Oh no. That’s entirely up to the spirt. And there’s always the chance that…” She chews on the inside of her cheek.
“Don’t leave me hanging. I’m strung out enough as it is.”
“Well, not all spirits are friendly ones. Some of them are vengeful and full of rage.”
I chuckle. “So they used to work at the DMV.”
Her blue eyes glitter. Her voice drops. “This isn’t a joke, my dear. One must exercise extreme caution when dealing with beings from another realm. They’re very unpredictable. If provoked to anger, they’re quite capable of violence.”
The shiver of fear I felt earlier returns, skimming over my flesh and leaving goose bumps in its wake. “How can a ghost be capable of violence if it doesn’t have a body?”
“The same way it can rearrange furniture or knock something off a shelf.”
“I don’t understand.”
She gathers her thoughts for a moment. “A spirit is energy manifesting itself, akin to an electrical storm gathering force until it discharges a bolt of lightning. When a spirit is upset, that emotion—that energy—is transformed into a physical outcome. Hence your open cupboards and drawers.”
She glances upward. “Or your flickering lights.”
I stare at the ceiling in trepidation, half expecting to see a grinning green goblin floating over my head. “So…theoretically speaking, not that I believe any of this…the spirit who lives in my house is mad?”
She replies softly, “I’d say the spirit who lives in this house is bloody furious.”
When I look at her, startled, she adds in an offhand tone, “Or spirits, plural. This house is very old. There’s really no telling how many restless souls are lurking about. Could be dozens.”
“Dozens? You’re saying I’m living in hell?”
“Hell is a state of mind, my dear. Reality is simply what we believe it to be. Each of us make our own truths, even ghosts.”
That statement is the most unsettling thing she’s said so far. “Okay, but I still don’t believe in ghosts. Wouldn’t that put a damper on a séance?”
Fiona lifts her brows. “Do you suppose God is affected one way or another if people don’t believe in him?”
“I mean…maybe his feelings get hurt?”
She sighs. “I can’t make cookies without sugar, my dear.”
“Great. Now you’re speaking in code. Also, you totally can make cookies without sugar. They’re called sugarless cookies. Diabetics eat them all the time.”
She regards me balefully. “My, what a wonderful chat we’re having. I’m so glad for this chance to get to know you better.”
“Ha-ha. Back to the cookie thing. What did that comment mean?”
“It means your skepticism won’t interfere with a medium’s ability to connect with a spirit, but I’m afraid it would cause you to interpret anything you might experience as a byproduct of indigestion or some such. You’d rationalize it away.”
I think about that for a moment. “That does sound like me.”
“Just as I thought. So perhaps you should take a while to mull it over.” She smiles. “See if any more pranks from your ghost might open up your mind.”
“Pranks? I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Well, from what you’ve told me, so far it seems your spirit has been acting relatively well-mannered…”
She trails off and stares at me, unblinking.
I say, “That pause has got to be the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m simply suggesting that ghosts, like people, have moods. I’d be willing to bet you haven’t seen the worst of it yet.”
I press my cold fingertips to my closed eyelids and heave a sigh. “Fine. Let’s assume for argument’s sake that there is a ghost or ghosts living in this house. What other things should I be on the lookout for?”
Fiona cheerfully ticks off a list. “Orbs of light. Whispering voices. Strange dreams. Shadowy forms glimpsed in your peripheral vision or unnatural shadows where there shouldn’t be any. Misplaced items. The radio or television changing stations on their own. Feeling a touch—”