that’s nothing! A hand has been pinching me for five minutes, like it wants me to wake up. Ow! Stop doing that!” he said to his arm.
Foster felt it, too, now. Only this spirit hand wasn’t slapping or pinching him—it was caressing him! He could feel each distinctly feminine finger as the hand tickled his throat then delved down his shirtfront to pet his chest!
Above them, Caleb’s voice boomed out with a new masculine vigor. “I thank you, dear scout, for finding my final resting place. It is good to have our agony acknowledged. Those last weeks we tramped around the Black Hills, dying one by one as Indians picked us off, were not a fitting end to my life that was lived cleanly and properly.”
“Wait!” said Worth. “Who are you?”
Tabitha voiced the words that were in Foster’s head. “Spirits rarely give their names.”
But Foster knew who was speaking through Caleb now. Was the spirit of Ezra Kind—the fellow who had inscribed the rock Foster had taken out of the Black Hills—a berdache? Was it Ezra’s hand that now flitted across his nipple, hardening his cock? This was too, too much!
Foster clambered back into his chair and addressed Caleb directly. “You got your gold in June of eighteen-thirty-four,” he asserted.
Caleb nodded. “That’s right. We came to those hills in thirty-three. Killed by Indians beyond the high hill.”
Ezra was correct—that’s what the rock had said, and Caleb could hardly have known that. Or that Foster even possessed the inscribed stone. The table had now risen so high that Foster could only see Tabitha’s eyes as she peeked over the edge of the table, seated back in her chair. Jeremiah, although he was at Caleb’s end, which had not lifted from the floor, chose to stay kneeling, so he also peeked over the table’s edge.
“Who is it, Foster?” Jeremiah squealed. “Who is possessing Caleb’s body, talking about a final resting place?”
“Ezra Kind,” Worth intoned.
Foster wanted answers. He slapped his hand to the tilted tabletop. “Ezra, can you see events that are beyond your scope when you were in your body? Can you see things that happened in a place where Ezra Kind’s body never set foot?”
“I can, although not reliably. We are totally dependent on atmospheric conditions. Today the atmosphere is charged with electricity, and it’s quite thick, like sand.”
“Can you tell me, then…Who killed my beloved dog?”
Caleb looked at a spot in the distance, far beyond the walls that still danced with the crystalline orbs. “Today an inferior spirit has an influence over me and wishes to give a message.”
Tabitha interrupted. “Is the inferior spirit a woman?” She clutched the edge of the frolicking table as though it were a bucking bronco. “Reason I ask. I think these ghostly hands belong to a woman, and she doesn’t like me very much!”
Jeremiah murmured, “She really must dislike me.”
And likes me too much . Foster clarified, “Yes, is the spirit a woman?”
“Yes,” boomed Caleb—or perhaps Foster should think of him as Ezra. “I cannot get a clear view of her, but she is very discontented. She is weary of life, weary of the earth.”
“So she is alive?” Foster queried. In keeping with the mawkish lingo of the gold miner, he added, “Does she still walk in human form on this planet?”
“Yes,” Ezra affirmed. “Although she feels very hopeless and desperate.”
“Is she the one who killed Phineas?”
Ezra pondered on this. “I believe so. There is a lot of shrieking in my ears right now, so it’s hard to separate the different threads. She is in great turmoil and anguish.”
“What is her message?”
For an answer, a loud and sharp ping sounded in the center of the table where the candle holders had been. A shiny metal object bounced a few times before coming to rest. Immediately the table collapsed back to the carpet in the proper manner of a table, as though it had exhausted itself. Foster and
Foster felt it, too, now. Only this spirit hand wasn’t slapping or pinching him—it was caressing him! He could feel each distinctly feminine finger as the hand tickled his throat then delved down his shirtfront to pet his chest!
Above them, Caleb’s voice boomed out with a new masculine vigor. “I thank you, dear scout, for finding my final resting place. It is good to have our agony acknowledged. Those last weeks we tramped around the Black Hills, dying one by one as Indians picked us off, were not a fitting end to my life that was lived cleanly and properly.”
“Wait!” said Worth. “Who are you?”
Tabitha voiced the words that were in Foster’s head. “Spirits rarely give their names.”
But Foster knew who was speaking through Caleb now. Was the spirit of Ezra Kind—the fellow who had inscribed the rock Foster had taken out of the Black Hills—a berdache? Was it Ezra’s hand that now flitted across his nipple, hardening his cock? This was too, too much!
Foster clambered back into his chair and addressed Caleb directly. “You got your gold in June of eighteen-thirty-four,” he asserted.
Caleb nodded. “That’s right. We came to those hills in thirty-three. Killed by Indians beyond the high hill.”
Ezra was correct—that’s what the rock had said, and Caleb could hardly have known that. Or that Foster even possessed the inscribed stone. The table had now risen so high that Foster could only see Tabitha’s eyes as she peeked over the edge of the table, seated back in her chair. Jeremiah, although he was at Caleb’s end, which had not lifted from the floor, chose to stay kneeling, so he also peeked over the table’s edge.
“Who is it, Foster?” Jeremiah squealed. “Who is possessing Caleb’s body, talking about a final resting place?”
“Ezra Kind,” Worth intoned.
Foster wanted answers. He slapped his hand to the tilted tabletop. “Ezra, can you see events that are beyond your scope when you were in your body? Can you see things that happened in a place where Ezra Kind’s body never set foot?”
“I can, although not reliably. We are totally dependent on atmospheric conditions. Today the atmosphere is charged with electricity, and it’s quite thick, like sand.”
“Can you tell me, then…Who killed my beloved dog?”
Caleb looked at a spot in the distance, far beyond the walls that still danced with the crystalline orbs. “Today an inferior spirit has an influence over me and wishes to give a message.”
Tabitha interrupted. “Is the inferior spirit a woman?” She clutched the edge of the frolicking table as though it were a bucking bronco. “Reason I ask. I think these ghostly hands belong to a woman, and she doesn’t like me very much!”
Jeremiah murmured, “She really must dislike me.”
And likes me too much . Foster clarified, “Yes, is the spirit a woman?”
“Yes,” boomed Caleb—or perhaps Foster should think of him as Ezra. “I cannot get a clear view of her, but she is very discontented. She is weary of life, weary of the earth.”
“So she is alive?” Foster queried. In keeping with the mawkish lingo of the gold miner, he added, “Does she still walk in human form on this planet?”
“Yes,” Ezra affirmed. “Although she feels very hopeless and desperate.”
“Is she the one who killed Phineas?”
Ezra pondered on this. “I believe so. There is a lot of shrieking in my ears right now, so it’s hard to separate the different threads. She is in great turmoil and anguish.”
“What is her message?”
For an answer, a loud and sharp ping sounded in the center of the table where the candle holders had been. A shiny metal object bounced a few times before coming to rest. Immediately the table collapsed back to the carpet in the proper manner of a table, as though it had exhausted itself. Foster and
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