get started right away.”
Sarah didn’t answer but walked up to the counter and placed the book face down in front of the sales clerk. The woman promptly flipped it over and read the title out loud. She searched unsuccessfully for the price, then checked the computer. When nothing came up, she held the book in the air and called loudly for the manager.
“Have you seen
The Tibetan Book of the Dead?”
she chattered as they waited.
Sarah glanced nervously over her shoulder at the man standing behind her in line. “No, I haven’t,” she said.
“It’s a
wonderful
text,” the clerk continued. “I think everyone should read it.”
The manager finally appeared, a teenager, apparently, in a vest too big for his thin chest. He inspected the book and scratched his head. “Must be old stock,” he said, entering a code into the computer.
The total came to nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. Before the clerk could bag the book, Sarah grabbed it from the counter and stuffed it into her knapsack. Punching her PIN number into the keypad, she waited for the approval prompt to light up the screen as the clerk stood, bank card held casually in the air. Once the machine began to ring the transaction through, the clerk handed the card back to Sarah.
“Have a great day,” she called out cheerfully as Sarah and Donna left the store.
“We can do it at my house,” Donna offered. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. You know I’ve been into this kind of stuff for a while, but I’ve never had the opportunity to do it for real, for something serious like this.”
“You mean, like
The Exorcist?”
Sarah said. She placed her hand on her friend’s arm. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Donna. But I think I need to do this alone.”
Donna’s face crumpled in disappointment. “But it helps if you have more than one person. It creates more positive energy …” She saw the refusal in Sarah’s face and relented. “Fine, Wagner. Whatever. It’s your ghost.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’ll tell you how it goes, I promise.”
It was rare to find her mother away from home. Sarah checked the rooms twice, to make sure. But it was true. She was alone. She threw her jacket over the back of the couch, opened her knapsack and pulled the book out. Kicking off her shoes, she curled like a cat in one corner of the sofa and turned eagerly to the section on ghosts. She discoveredalmost immediately that hauntings are rarely violent or indiscriminate. More often they are personal, generated by the incapacity of the living to atone for the loss of the dead. Hadn’t Michael said something similar? Sarah felt a sudden rush of gratitude. Here was the answer before her, and the knowledge that she was not alone. She wasn’t crazy. The book was proof of that. Other people had had the same experience. She checked the cover for the author’s name but couldn’t find one. She searched the pages inside. Nothing. “How odd.”
Turning back to the chapter, Sarah learned that death can be confusing for the dead. That sometimes they get lost in their journey to the other side. It seemed that it was up to the living to help the spirit of the deceased, to let it know what has happened. She paused, considering this. Had John’s spirit simply got lost? At the bottom of the passage, a ritual was described. It began with a series of items. Sarah made a list of the things she would need: an altar appropriately set up (she put a question mark after this), a photo of the dead person, tea-lights, sheets of paper and pencils, an apple, a pin, a cauldron and, if possible, a statue of the Lady or Lord—whoever they were.
Sarah dog-eared the page in the book and looked at her list. She didn’t have a cauldron or statue of the Lady or Lord. She did have a small jade Buddha, though, and a heavy glass ashtray—there were lots of ashtrays in the house. Would these substitutions affect the magic? There was no way to know for sure. She
Sarah didn’t answer but walked up to the counter and placed the book face down in front of the sales clerk. The woman promptly flipped it over and read the title out loud. She searched unsuccessfully for the price, then checked the computer. When nothing came up, she held the book in the air and called loudly for the manager.
“Have you seen
The Tibetan Book of the Dead?”
she chattered as they waited.
Sarah glanced nervously over her shoulder at the man standing behind her in line. “No, I haven’t,” she said.
“It’s a
wonderful
text,” the clerk continued. “I think everyone should read it.”
The manager finally appeared, a teenager, apparently, in a vest too big for his thin chest. He inspected the book and scratched his head. “Must be old stock,” he said, entering a code into the computer.
The total came to nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. Before the clerk could bag the book, Sarah grabbed it from the counter and stuffed it into her knapsack. Punching her PIN number into the keypad, she waited for the approval prompt to light up the screen as the clerk stood, bank card held casually in the air. Once the machine began to ring the transaction through, the clerk handed the card back to Sarah.
“Have a great day,” she called out cheerfully as Sarah and Donna left the store.
“We can do it at my house,” Donna offered. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. You know I’ve been into this kind of stuff for a while, but I’ve never had the opportunity to do it for real, for something serious like this.”
“You mean, like
The Exorcist?”
Sarah said. She placed her hand on her friend’s arm. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Donna. But I think I need to do this alone.”
Donna’s face crumpled in disappointment. “But it helps if you have more than one person. It creates more positive energy …” She saw the refusal in Sarah’s face and relented. “Fine, Wagner. Whatever. It’s your ghost.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’ll tell you how it goes, I promise.”
It was rare to find her mother away from home. Sarah checked the rooms twice, to make sure. But it was true. She was alone. She threw her jacket over the back of the couch, opened her knapsack and pulled the book out. Kicking off her shoes, she curled like a cat in one corner of the sofa and turned eagerly to the section on ghosts. She discoveredalmost immediately that hauntings are rarely violent or indiscriminate. More often they are personal, generated by the incapacity of the living to atone for the loss of the dead. Hadn’t Michael said something similar? Sarah felt a sudden rush of gratitude. Here was the answer before her, and the knowledge that she was not alone. She wasn’t crazy. The book was proof of that. Other people had had the same experience. She checked the cover for the author’s name but couldn’t find one. She searched the pages inside. Nothing. “How odd.”
Turning back to the chapter, Sarah learned that death can be confusing for the dead. That sometimes they get lost in their journey to the other side. It seemed that it was up to the living to help the spirit of the deceased, to let it know what has happened. She paused, considering this. Had John’s spirit simply got lost? At the bottom of the passage, a ritual was described. It began with a series of items. Sarah made a list of the things she would need: an altar appropriately set up (she put a question mark after this), a photo of the dead person, tea-lights, sheets of paper and pencils, an apple, a pin, a cauldron and, if possible, a statue of the Lady or Lord—whoever they were.
Sarah dog-eared the page in the book and looked at her list. She didn’t have a cauldron or statue of the Lady or Lord. She did have a small jade Buddha, though, and a heavy glass ashtray—there were lots of ashtrays in the house. Would these substitutions affect the magic? There was no way to know for sure. She
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