Under the Lake by Stuart Woods Page A

accents,” Harry said.
    “I’m game,” Scotty said.
    Jack looked at Helen, who nodded. “Sure, why not?” he said.
    Only Howell said nothing. He had the odd feeling that things were about to get out of hand.
    “John?” Joyce asked. “There’s no point unless we have the cooperation of everyone.”
    Howell felt on the spot. He didn’t want to do this, but he would be a poor host if he didn’t go along. “Sure,” he said, unenthusiastically. “How do we go about it?”
    “We need a table,” Joyce said, “preferably a round one.”
    “We’ve got that,” Howell replied.
    “Will you place it as near the center of the room as you can? And will someone please switch off the piano?”
    “Sure.” Howell stopped the piano, and the three menwent to the table. “This isn’t going to be all that easy,” Howell said as they gathered around it. “The base of this thing is a section of a tree trunk that’s almost petrified. I don’t know how they managed to saw through it.”
    “Ooph,” Harry said as he tugged at the tabletop. “Maybe we just ought to tilt the thing and roll it on its base. We might pull the top loose trying to lift it.”
    The three men, not without difficulty, got the table tilted and, using the tree-trunk base like a wheel, rolled it toward the center of the room. “I think that’s close enough,” Harry said. He seemed to have done this before.
    They dragged over the chairs, and Joyce indicated where they should each sit, alternating them by sex. “Would someone turn all the lights in the house off, please?” she asked.
    Scotty jumped up, and moments later came back from the kitchen. “That’s everything,” she said. It seemed pitch dark for a moment, then their eyes began to become accustomed to it, and they discovered that the moonlight and the fire lit the cabin quite well. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the noisy chatter of the crickets outside. They all sat down and pulled their chairs up to the table.
    Joyce placed her hands on the tabletop, her fingers spread, her thumbs touching. “Will everyone please spread your hands like this? Be sure that your thumbs are touching and that the tips of your little fingers touch the person’s next to you. What we want is an unbroken chain around the table.” They did as instructed. “Please, whatever happens, do not break this chain. It joins our spirits as well as our bodies, and we need the collective help of everyone. We may be at this for some time, so I must ask you to be patient, and if anyone needs to go to the bathroom, please go now.”
    No one moved.
    “I want all of you to relax and be as comfortable as possible. Close your eyes, if you wish. It’s important that you each empty your mind of everything but what is happening here. It will be much easier to establish contact if you can do that.” Joyce settled herself. “We are all joined here in God to receive the spirits of those departed. If there is any spirit here, please make your presence known.” She was silent for a moment, then began to speak again, rhythmically, swaying slightly as she spoke, her blind eyes wandering aimlessly. “Come to us, spirits, speak to us, communicate with us, hear our call, touch us.”
    Howell felt oddly relaxed. He was unconcerned with his work or his wife or the sheriff of the county or his growing attraction to Scotty. He floated on the moment and listened to Joyce. As she continued, he thought that it seemed to grow quieter, but he reflected that there had not been much noise in the first place. Then he realized that the crickets had stopped. The only sound now was the crackling of the fire.
    “Hear us, O spirits, join with us—” She stopped in midsentence.
    The room was as before; he wondered why Joyce had stopped. Then the table moved.
    “I feel a presence,” Joyce said. There was a slight stirring among the group.
    The table moved again, more distinctly this time. Howell tried to figure out what was