The Walker in Shadows (10 page)

"I always dress in my best for a round-table discussion about burglars," Pat said disagreeably.

Kathy was sitting at the kitchen table, looking sleepy and adorable in Pat's favorite robe, the pale-blue chiffon she had bought on sale at Saks, and saved for special occasions. The girl was watching Mark with wide-eyed admiration as he moved efficiently from the sink to the stove. When Pat appeared she jumped up-the tribute of youth to age-and Pat noticed in passing that the gown was several inches too long for her. No doubt the hem would be ripped, and dirty.

"Thanks," she muttered, as Kathy pulled out a chair. "Where's your father?"

The back door opened and Josef came in. He was freshly shaved and was dressed neatly in tan slacks and plaid sports shirt, but his expression was grim.

"All quiet on the home front," he said. "I think it's safe for us to go back. We won't intrude on your hospitality any longer."

"You can't run away from it," Mark said, placing a platter of scrambled eggs and sausage on the table. "You can't pretend it didn't happen. Kathy can't go back to that house, Mr. Friedrichs."

"Now just a minute, young man," Pat began. Josef shook his head.

"He's right, Pat. We do have a few things to discuss. First and foremost, I think, is the question of what you were doing in my daughter's room last night…"

"Mark," said that young man helpfully. "The name is Mark, Mr. Friedrichs. Have some scrambled eggs."

"He makes wonderful scrambled eggs," Kathy said. "How many heroes can also cook?"

She smiled broadly at her father. After a moment he smiled back at her. Pat blinked. She had never imagined that a smile could do so much for a man's looks. He was really quite handsome when his eyes lost their steely coldness.

"Mark won't defend himself, so I will," Kathy said. Mark's mother wondered where she had gotten this idea, but did not contradict it; and Kathy went on, "We planned it yesterday afternoon, Dad. He suspected what might happen. And he was right, wasn't he? If he hadn't been there…"

A shiver ran through her body, and Friedrichs' smile faded.

"What precisely did happen?" he asked.

"Well, it came back," Kathy said simply. "We were sitting in the dark, just talking, in whispers… And then it came. First the light. It was kind of a sickly glow, faint at first; then it got stronger. And things started to move around. You know what it was like, Dad? Like somebody very weak, trying to move after lying for a long time in bed. First it just blew the papers on the desk. Then it got stronger. The mirror lifted up off the wall and broke. A chair fell over. Mark helped me out the window-"

"Why didn't you go out the door?" Pat asked.

"It was between us and the door," Mark said.

He spoke through a mouthful of eggs, and his voice was muffled; but instead of sounding funny, the statement sent a chill up Pat's spine.

"I was outside the window," she said. "I saw it. At least, I saw the light, and felt… It was indescribably bad. All the same-"

"Come on, Mom," Mark exclaimed. "You're not going to insist that it was burglars, are you? Damn it, you were down below, but I was there. I never felt anything like that in my life. It was fascinating."

Josef choked on a mouthful of food. When he had recovered himself he looked at Mark and said thoughtfully, "I have a feeling, Mark, that you are going to be one of the greater trials I have encountered in a lifetime not entirely free of aggravation. All the same, I can't help admiring your attitude. Fascinating?"

"Well, you know," Mark mumbled around a sausage. "I never believed in that stuff before, not really. Ghost stories are fun, but in real life… When Kathy and I talked it over yesterday afternoon, I was ninety percent convinced, but it was intellectual conviction, you know what I mean? Not a real gut belief. Then the damned thing began-and it was like, well, like Saint Theresa describing her meeting with God. It can't be described, it has to be experienced; and when you do experience it, you have no doubts at all."

Pat had not been to church for years, but she had once been a good Presbyterian. She was about to protest Mark's comments, which smacked of one of the lesser heresies, when Josef said calmly, "That's not a bad analogy. Poorly expressed, of course-your generation is barely literate, Mark-but the comparison is valid."

"Josef!" Pat exclaimed.

"He's right, Pat. I experienced it. I'm sure you and all the good ladies of the neighborhood are aware of the fact that I am a lawyer. That doesn't mean I'm not a fool; but the legal profession does give one some regard for evidence." His hand went to the back of his head, where the lump was rising to spectacular proportions. "That's evidence, Pat. I wasn't drunk, or drugged, last night. I was dozing; after what had happened the previous night I was a little apprehensive about Kathy, and I meant to stay awake, but I was pretty tired. I didn't hear the trouble begin. One particularly loud crash woke me, and I went tearing toward her room. I was almost there when the vase-that Chinese vase that stood on a pedestal in the hall-rose up off its base and flew at me."

Pat stared, her eyes wide. Josef nodded.

"Yes, I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, admittedly; but I couldn't be mistaken. There was no one there. The vase didn't fall, it lifted up into the air before it came at me. I had just time enough to turn and shield my head with my right arm. My hand deflected it somewhat, I think, or I'd be in worse shape than I am. It was quite heavy."

"Poltergeist," Mark said.

"Well…" Again the glance Josef gave Mark was mingled with unwilling respect. "I suppose you're right. I hadn't thought of it in quite those terms."

"What is a poltergeist?" Pat asked, hoping it wasn't quite as unacceptable to common sense as an ordinary ghost.

Apparently she was the only one unfamiliar with the term. The others all spoke at once. As was to be expected, Mark's voice dominated.

"It's a mischievous spirit, or malicious ghost. It makes rapping noises and throws stones and things. The classic case-the one that marks the beginning of the Spiritualist movement-was that of the Fox sisters, in 1848-"

"Not a good example, Mark," Josef interrupted. "Margaret Fox confessed, forty years later, that she produced the rappings by cracking the joint of her big toe."

"But-" Mark began.

"Let me finish." Josef turned to Pat. "I became interested in the subject because I once had a case that in-volved a supposed poltergeist. A family had bought a house that proved to be virtually uninhabitable. The bedclothes were pulled off the beds while people were sleeping in them, the walls reverberated with knocking and rapping all night long, stones and rocks fell, apparently out of empty air. The family sued my client, claiming that he knew when he sold them the house that it was haunted. There was no denying that disturbances had occurred; several unimpeachable outside witnesses had observed them."

"You never told me about that case," Kathy said.

"It was ten years ago, Kathy; and God knows I never imagined we'd have any personal interest in haunted houses. At any rate, I did some research on poltergeists and learned a few facts that saved my client from an expensive settlement.

"In almost every reported case, as in that one, there was an adolescent child living in the disturbed house. Often psychic investigators were able to prove that the child had caused the disturbances by the same sort of trickery practiced by stage magicians. The hand is faster than the eye, in fact, and these kids were amazingly adept at twitching strings, pushing objects with their toes, and so on."

"Wait a minute," Mark said. "Not all the cases could be explained that way. I remember reading-"

"A book by some quack ghost hunter, probably. People of that ilk are either cynical professional writers, willing to report anything that will sell, or they are incredibly gullible. The investigators of the Society for Psychic Research aren't so naive. When a thorough, controlled investigation of a poltergeist was made, trickery was almost always found."

Mark's face was getting red. Pat knew he was controlling himself with an effort; he would have interrupted anyone but Kathy's father long since.

"Aren't you being inconsistent, Josef?" she asked. "You say you saw the vase move, but you maintain that all poltergeist cases are faked. Or are you accusing Kathy?"

"Certainly not! Besides, if Mark's evidence can be trusted, she was outside the house when the vase moved."

It was Mark's turn to choke with indignation.

"If that's what legal training does for you, I don't want it. You can't clear your own daughter of trying to brain you unless she's got an alibi? What kind of-"

"That's the only way we can approach this mess," Josef said angrily. "By being rigorously logical. If we make exceptions-"

"Well, dammit, I don't suspect the people I love of-"

"You young jackass, it isn't a question-"

Pat banged her hand down on the table. Plates rattled, and the debaters stopped shouting.

"That's enough," she said severely. "You're behaving like spoiled brats-both of you. Mark, is there any more coffee?"

Mark got up and went to the stove. Even the back of his neck was red.

"You are quite right," Josef said, his flush subsiding. "I apologize for shouting. All the same-"

Mark returned with the coffeepot and poured, rather sloppily. Being younger, he was not as well disciplined as Josef; his cheekbones still showed bright spots of temper, but when he spoke he was obviously trying to be conciliatory.

"I-uh-guess I should apologize too. But if you'd just let me say something…"

"He's right, Dad, it's his turn," Kathy said. "You aren't conversing, you're lecturing."

Josef turned impetuously to his daughter.

"Kathy, you know I didn't mean-"

"I know." She patted his hand. "It's that blasted legal training. Now listen to Mark."

A lesser personage might have been intimidated by the glare Josef turned upon him, but Mark was not the most modest of men. His chest expanded visibly as the others sat waiting for him to speak, and he took his time about beginning, measuring sugar into his coffee and clearing his throat several times.

"You left out one thing about poltergeists, Mr. Fried-richs. Sure, some of them are out-and-out fakes. But there is another theory. Some psychologists claim that a young person, especially a female entering puberty, is sort of… well… overflowing with psychic and sexual energy. Sometimes, especially if the adolescent personality is disturbed to begin with, this energy finds an outlet in poltergeist-type manifestations."

Despite Mark's pompous language, his meaning was clear. Pat half expected Kathy to throw something at him. Instead she laughed, freely and delightfully.

"That's the silliest thing I ever heard of."

"It certainly couldn't apply to Kathy," Pat agreed. She smiled at the girl, ready to forgive even the ruination of her favorite negligee. "I've never seen a less disturbed adolescent personality. Besides, if you are talking about puberty-"

"I went through that six years ago," Kathy said scornfully. "It's just silly, Mark. I mean, back in the nineteenth century maybe it was a shock to a girl, but these days…"

"Oh, I don't believe it," Mark said. "I just mentioned it to clear the air. I don't think what we've got is a poltergeist, anyway."

Josef followed the exchange interestedly, his elbows on the table, his fingers buried in his hair.

"Then what you believe," he said precisely, "is that there is an active, malevolent personality behind this-not just some vague, undefined burst of psychic energy."

"Good," Mark said patronizingly. "Right on. What we have got, ladies and sir, is a ghost."

Silence followed this statement. The refrigerator turned itself on with a click. Sunlight streamed through the windows, brightening the faded, flowery chintz of the cur-tains and setting sparks flaring off the coppery molds that adorned the walls. In the center of the kitchen table the yellow roses had spread their petals wide.

"This is unreal," Pat said.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. Josef's were a deep brown, almost black. She hadn't noticed their color before.

"I know how you feel," he said gently. "But I'm afraid it's a possibility. At least I'm willing to listen to Mark's statement." His voice sharpened as he turned to Mark. "I assume he has a statement-a long one."

"Not as long as I'd like it to be," Mark said, with unusual humility. "However, I will start with the fact that this isn't the first time your house has seen manifestations. Old Hiram-"

"Yes, I've heard of old Hiram," Josef said. "Go on."

"He wasn't crazy," Mark said. "I guess you could call him eccentric, although Dad used to say any man had the right to live the way he wanted, so long as he wasn't hurting anybody else."

"Did old Hiram hurt anybody else?" Josef asked.

Mark grinned. The chipped front tooth, damaged in a hard fall on the basketball court, gave his smile a gamin look.

"He threw rocks at us," he said. "Looking back on it, I don't think he really meant to hit anybody, any more than we meant to hassle him. Well, maybe we did, a little, he was such an old grouch. But mostly it was the place-all overgrown and weedy, a swell place to play war games and spies. And there were the buried-treasure stories. But then old Hiram complained, and Dad made me build that fence. Wow. That really hurt. Spending three Saturdays working, when I could have been playing baseball. Anyhow, after that we didn't bug Hiram; but he kind of liked Dad…"

"You are wandering from the subject," Pat said.

"What?" Mark gave her a startled look. "Oh. I guess I was. Anyhow, Hiram told Dad that when he first moved into the house some funny things happened. Lights, and objects moving around. He said he figured it was a ghost, so he stood in the middle of the hall and yelled out that he was a stranger, and he wouldn't bother it if it didn't bother him."