Asylum - 13 Tales of Terror by Matt Drabble Page B

statement that could mean anything, and Janet relied on Marigold’s fragile state of mind to push her further down the line. After a week she had left her business card under Marigold’s car windscreen wiper, she had left another poked through the gap into Marigolds health club locker and so on. Eventually she got the call. As usual she played down her interest, even explaining to Marigold that she couldn’t possibly take on any more clients at the minute and hanging up. It was a patient waiting game that had to be played; the more desperate that Marigold became, the more Janet could get away with. She had upped the messages, and because Marigold Milton was such a big fish, she had taken more risks than she would have normally. She had snuck into the Milton’s rear garden and spelled out the same message in weed killer, and then she had scratched the message into one of Marigold’s cars. Eventually she had agreed to meet with Marigold, begrudgingly of course. By this time the rich woman had sounded positively desperate.
    Marigold sat down again with trembling hands clasped in front of her. Janet could see that her fingernails were buffed and polished, but bitten down to the quick. The woman held herself with vanity and derision, but Janet could see through the act. Marigold Milton was frightened and that smelled like money.
    “Do we need to hold hands?” Marigold whispered.
    “That is the tale of the films I think,” Janet said, chuckling in a deep dark voice for effect. “We must have quiet; it is very difficult for me you understand.”
    Janet punched the second button on the remote under the table and an eerie hissing noise filled the room. The large round table that they sat around had one leg that was fitted with a hinged section on the leg by Janet’s foot. She was able to ease the hinged section aside and slip her foot under the gap. From there she was able to wobble the table by moving her foot. It was a simple but effective trick, especially under the heightened emotional conditions of a séance. She watched as Marigold’s face became drawn and haunted, her eyes darting nervously around the room.
    “Is he…, is he coming? Is he here?” Marigold asked, her head whipping around from side to side.
    “The spirits are wild tonight, they are so restless,” Janet said straining, her face twisted into a mask of effort and stress. She let the table drop heavily, “It is no good,” she panted, “No good tonight, they are too much for me. It is too much, you must go now I think.”
    “No, please,” Marigold pleaded, fumbling at her handbag and reaching for the only answer to life’s problems that she had ever known. “I have money, I can pay you, whatever it takes, I must speak to him,” she said as she pulled out her checkbook.
    “Not tonight, I don’t think so Mrs. Milton, no good tonight.”
    “I can give you a thousand, ten, twenty, please.”
    Janet strove to keep the smugness from her face; if Marigold was willing to offer so much for her first visit, then she would keep on the line for much more.
    “It is not zee money Mrs. Milton. It is so very dangerous for me when they are so restless,” Janet protested.
    “Fifty, fifty thousand, here I’m writing it out now,” Marigold said as she scribbled.
    “I will try,” Janet relented reluctantly, “I can only try.”
    Marigold thrust the check forward and Janet made it disappear quickly. She put on her best face and began to feel for the spirit world. Her act was mainly derived from her endless studies of the past, tweaked with modern technology.
    “There are so many tonight,” she strained, “So many faces of pain and suffering.”
    “Please find him, I must talk to him.”
    Janet registered the terrified panic in Marigold’s voice and had a brief and rare flash of empathy. Usually she was able to ignore the morality of what she did for a living; she’d always figured that if people were so stupid then they deserved to have their