Borrower of the Night

‘Is there a spirit present?’

At opposite sides of the circle of alphabet cards were two cards bearing the words ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ The planchette sidled across the table and nudged the ‘yes’ card.

Someone gave a little gasp.

‘Quiet!’ hissed Miss Burton. ‘Do you wish to communicate with someone here?’

The planchette edged coyly away, and then, with a swoop, again pushed the ‘yes’ card.

‘What is your name?’

The diabolical little wooden triangle teetered out into the centre of the table. It hesitated. Then it moved purposefully around the alphabet cards.

‘K-O-N––’

My elbows ached. I watched the animated chunk of wood with horrid fascination as it bobbed and dipped around the ‘N’ card, scraping back and forth in painful little jerks. I realized that I was mentally describing its actions with words I would have used for a living creature. It seemed to be alive, to be directed by a guiding intelligence.

After an uncanny suggestion of struggle, the planchette slid slowly towards the ‘no’ card. ‘No’ – then ‘no’ again – then it gave a violent heave – upwards, against six sets of fingertips. It fell over and lay still. I felt as if something had died.

‘What the hell,’ George began.

‘Hush,’ said Miss Burton solemnly. ‘There is conflict – a hostile entity . . .’

The candle needed trimming. The room was noticeably darker. The other faces were dim white blurs. I rubbed my elbows, and wondered how much practise it would take to manipulate a planchette unobtrusively. It could be done. It had been done, in thousands of fake seances. Maybe it didn’t require practise. I mused, ignorantly, on the eccentricities of the subconscious.

‘This is a very strange thing,’ Schmidt began, and then gasped. ‘Look – the young countess!’

Irma had fallen back in her chair, arms dangling at her sides. I could hear her breathing in low, deep sighs. It was a horrible sound.

Blankenhagen got to his feet.

‘Don’t touch her!’ Miss Burton’s voice stopped the doctor as he reached for Irma’s wrist. ‘She is in trance. If you try to waken her, it could be disastrous. Let me handle this. Irma – can you hear me?’

There was no answer. The doctor looked from Miss Burton to the unconscious girl. Miss Burton took a deep breath and said distinctly, ‘Who are you?’

For a few seconds there was only silence. Then, from the sleeping girl’s mouth, came a voice speaking a strange garble of words. It sounded like German, but it was a form of the language I had never heard. Or . . . had I? It sounded vaguely familiar.

Then, for the first time, my hair literally bristled. I had heard the language before, when a visiting professor of Germanic literature read some of the Meistergesang of the sixteenth century in their original form. Irma was speaking Fruhneuhochdeutsch – the earliest form of modern German, the language used by Martin Luther and his contemporaries.

Miss Burton scribbled like a maniac, taking the speech down in phonetic symbols. Her cold-blooded competence was repulsive.

The voice – I couldn’t think of it as Irma’s – stopped.

‘Why have you come?’ Miss Burton asked. This time, prepared, I caught some of the answer. I didn’t like what I heard. Tony understood, too; his breath caught angrily, and he pushed his chair back.

‘This has gone far enough,’ he began, and was cut short by the scream that ripped from Irma’s throat. The next words were horribly clear.

‘Das Feuer! Das Feuer!’ She shrieked, and slid sideways out of her chair.

Blankenhagen caught her before she hit the floor.

That broke up the seance. Miss Burton moved about lighting candles. Her eyes glittered. Blankenhagen knelt by Irma, and the rest of us huddled in a group near the door.

‘What did it mean?’ George hissed. ‘That last word?’

‘Fire,’ said Tony uneasily. ‘Fire.’

‘What fire?’ George demanded. ‘Is she trying to tell us the Schloss is going to burn?’

‘How should I know?’

Miss Burton came back to the table.

‘Did anyone recognize the language?’ she asked briskly.

I gave her a hostile, unbelieving stare, which didn’t disturb her in the slightest, and turned to Blankenhagen.

‘How is Irma?’

‘She recovers,’ the doctor said shortly.

‘She will feel no ill effects, except for great weariness,’ Miss Burton said complacently. ‘I have seen deep trance before. My dear Elfrida, how fortunate. You told me the girl was susceptible, but I had no idea!’

The countess hadn’t moved from her chair. She didn’t look at Irma.

‘Now, the language,’ Miss Burton went on. ‘A form of German, I believe. Professor Lawrence?’

‘Not now!’ Tony said angrily.

‘Professor Schmidt? Really, this is too important – ’

Schmidt was too shaken to argue. I felt a touch of sympathy for the little guy when I saw his twitching face; he was like a man who goes out hunting for a lost pussycat, and meets a tiger. With a despairing shrug he took the paper Miss Burton thrust at him.

‘Yes, yes,’ he muttered. ‘It is the early form of modern High German. “I am the Grafin Konstanze von Drachenstein; from the sunny land of Spain I came, to die in this place of cold winters and colder hearts.”’

‘Lousy prose,’ George said critically.

Schmidt hurried on.

‘Then, it is something like this: “There is danger everywhere. I cannot rest. I cannot sleep, here in the cold of eternity. Let me see the sun again, let me feel warmth, breathe the air. Give me life. She has so much; let her share life and breath with me. Let me have – ”’

The sobbing cry might have been the ghost’s own addition to Schmidt’s translation. It was Irma’s voice, though. Supported by Blankenhagen, she had raised herself to a sitting position. As we turned, guilty and surprised, she slumped back with closed eyes.

‘Idiot,’ said the doctor furiously. ‘It is criminal, what you do! To put such insane ideas into the girl’s mind – ’

‘It is you who are insane, to deny the evidence of your own senses!’ Miss Burton was as angry as Blankenhagen. Two febrile spots of colour burned on her sallow cheeks. ‘You heard her; you must know it was not Irma who said those words. Possession by the spirits of the dead is a well-documented fact; only a bigoted scientist would deny – ’

‘Herr Gott in Himmel,’ bellowed Blankenhagen. ‘Will no one stop that cursed woman’s mouth?’

He surged to his feet, lifting Irma as if she were a child. Miss Burton’s colour faded; she fell back a step as the irate doctor advanced on her. I decided it was time to intervene.

‘I’ll stop it,’ I said. ‘If she says another word, I’ll gag her. Come on, Doctor. You’d better get Irma out of here.’

Miss Burton gave me a long, measuring look, and decided I was not only willing to carry out my threat, but capable of enforcing it. The Grafin smiled like Andersen’s Snow Queen. George was smiling too, but he looked rather thoughtful. Tony didn’t say a word; he just moved up behind me and put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Of the whole group, the one who was most upset was little Herr Schmidt. His face was puckered like that of a baby about to cry.

‘Furchtbar,’ he muttered. ‘I am ashamed; I did not know she heard. I did not realize – ’

George gave him a slap on the back.