When the candle at the center of the table and the two caches of incense were lit, smoke rising and twining about the room, I began seating people. I held my hand to my forehead for a moment, as if receiving a signal from the spirit world, and then, with a whispered phrase of "Yes," or "I understand" sought out the guests one by one, bringing each in turn to his or her spiritually ordained chair. It was during this that I learned their names and took a quick inventory of who was who. Schell had instructed me to place the two oldest participants on either side of him. Although I offered my hand, few would take it, but one gentleman slipped me a dollar when I showed him his spot. The chair opposite Schell's was reserved for his faithful servant, Ondoo.

When the Barneses and all of their guests were seated, I bowed beside Mr. Barnes and told him that I would fetch Mr. Schell. As I left the room to get him, Antony turned out the lights. I found Schell meandering down the hallway like a simpleton, weaving from side to side, sunken deep in his mediumistic trance. I took his arm, and he whispered to me, "How do I look?" His hair was now crazier than ever, and his eyes were rolled up. "Like an escapee from the Immaculate Redeemer Nursing Home," I said. "Perfect," he said and smiled. I could readily sense his joy at being back in action.

We entered the dining room, and Antony, who had taken up a position by the door, as if standing guard, closed it behind us. Stifled gasps went up from Barnes's friends at the sight of Schell. I led him to his seat and helped him into it while holding my breath against the prodigious output of the incense burners. Before seating myself, I walked over to the easel and lit the two candles directly in front of it. Once I was situated, Schell instantly began twitching.

We warmed up with some preliminaries-the moth from the mouth, the knocking of my big toe on the underside of the table, voices thrown here and there, a couple of bangs of flash powder. The crowd was jittery, expectant, the gentlemen losing their gruff facades, the women losing their breath. When Schell was shuddering so badly it seemed as if he would soon explode, he opened his mouth wide and in a vibrating voice, the words seeming to leap from his tongue rather than being spoken, he said, "We call forth Charlotte Barnes. We implore you to pass through the vale of tears and leap the yawning divide to help us understand your departure from this world."

Mrs. Barnes, who sat to the right of Schell, began weeping. Her husband looked as if he might simply crumble to dust. The gentleman I had marked as Mr. Trumball dabbed his high forehead with a handkerchief, and the old woman in the blue chiffon, Mrs. Charles, nervously pursed and unpursed her lips, as if offering dainty kisses to the unseen. Just to the right of me, the family physician, Dr. Greaves, watched suspiciously from behind thick-lensed glasses.

"We ask you to identify your killer, Charlotte Barnes," intoned Schell, "by way of your art. Come forth and show us who took your life."

"Absurd," said Collins, a gentleman with a drooping black mustache and one continuous eyebrow.

"Please, refrain from speaking," I said, and Collins, instead of looking annoyed at my request, suddenly appeared chastened.

The voice of a young child could be heard in the room. At first it was only a murmur, but it soon grew into the clear sound of a girl's voice singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb." It wavered on a breeze that blew increasingly strong. Luckily no one seemed to notice that it came from the spot where Antony was standing in the shadows.

"The child has come," said Schell, his ghoulish demeanor taking on a look of triumph.

"My god," said Mrs. Barnes in a shrill voice. "Look, there, at the picture."

Everyone turned his attention to the easel, where a drawing was slowly revealing itself one line at a time.

"This can't be…," said the oldest woman, sitting to the left of Schell.

But it was, the figure appeared incrementally, as if an invisible entity was standing before the easel, sketching. The portrait in the process of becoming was obviously that of a man, but the distinguishing features had not yet been rendered.

"Who is it?" cried Barnes. "Charlotte, who?"

The flame at the center of the table exploded with a dull pop, and sparks streamed out in all directions. All eyes were diverted, but when the effect from that had passed, and the group's attention reverted back to the drawing, what we saw, nearly completely executed, was the misshapen head and snarling visage of the phantom Antony had done battle with.

"It's a demon," said Trumball.

"Harold, it's the figure from her drawings," said Mrs. Barnes. "The figure that haunted the grounds before she was abducted."

"Yes, but who or what is it?" asked Barnes, posing his question as much to the darkness around him as to his wife and the others. "Schell, ask her for a name."

"What more can you tell us about this horror?" said Schell.

My eyes went wide, and when the others saw my expression they also looked up, for behind Schell's chair, amid the billowing incense smoke, rose the ghost of Charlotte Barnes. Her hair was in curls as it had been when she had died, and her cheeks shone with a strange waxen palor.

Mr. Gallard passed out sideways off his chair, and his wife hit the tabletop with a thud. Trumball made to lift Mrs. Gallard, but I whispered harshly to him to stay still.

The ghost of Charlotte Barnes cast down her icy stare, and her gaze swept across the assembled participants. Mrs. Barnes was breathing heavily, audibly, and clutching her chest.

"My killer moves among you," said the spirit, and the voice was high and tremulous. "Avenge my death."

Mrs. Barnes grasped at her own throat and then sprawled back in her chair. "Helen," her husband called and reached one arm out toward her and one toward the image of Charlotte. The doctor, sitting next to me, yelled, "Mrs. Barnes!" rose to his feet, and began to make his way around the table. I slipped my foot back beneath my chair and caught his ankle at the last second as he went by. He sprawled headlong onto the floor. The last thing Charlotte did was toss something down that landed on the table with a definite material impact.

"Turn on the lights now," cried Barnes. Antony did as he was told, and the lights suddenly flashed on, temporarily blinding everyone. The room was filled with sobs, gasps, and hushed comments of the guests. When we looked back, the girl was gone, and Schell was bent forward, head down, passed out on the table.

IT'S ALL RUBBISH

By the time Doctor Greaves managed to pick himself up off the floor, Helen Barnes had revived, so when he continued on around to that side of the room and passed her by, I thought he was going to see if he could assist Schell. Nothing doing. Instead, he got down on his knees and looked under the table, obviously believing that the spirit of Charlotte Barnes had been merely an impostor and was now hiding, waiting for a chance to slip out unseen. Schell came to then, looking like he'd been through the mill. He was groggy and disoriented, and when he noticed Greaves on the floor at his feet, he said, "I beg your pardon, sir."

Greaves stood up. "An effective stage trick, Mr… What was your name again?" he asked.

Schell answered.

"Yes, very amusing, but complete rubbish," said Greaves. "Have you no decency? To perform this kind of whim-wham on these poor grieving people-shameful."

"Adam, please, let Mr. Schell catch his breath. He's been through a harrowing experience," said Barnes, coming more fully to life than he had all evening.

"Harold," said Greaves, "it's all rubbish."

Mrs. Barnes pulled herself up, using the table for support, and wobbled over to where Schell was sitting. "Doctor, if you can't respect this great man's ability, at least don't hound him after he's rendered us such a service." She put her hand on Schell's shoulder and said, "Thank you."