"That is what he say. What you say. The same funny big words, that Little Flower find too big to say. Jon-a-than — he say you must buy it quick. It must be quick — before it come too late—"
"Ask him how much to buy, Little Flower!" exclaimed the woman breathlessly. "How much!"
"I talk to him. Wait. He has hear. Through the ear of Little Flower, he has hear. I tell what he say." The piping voice became still. There was a long, breathless pause. Then an incoherent jabber of the shrill voice, and words that were meaningless. Finally, the tones of Little Flower:
"He is say one — one something — one — some-thing — some funny number, he say—" AS the voice dwindled, and the breathlessness increased, a new sound pervaded the seance room. It seemed to begin from nowhere, and grow to a terrifying crescendo.
It was the sound of an uncanny, mirthless laugh. A whispered laugh, it lost its eerie shudder and rose to a loud, mocking peal that drowned the babbling of Little Flower.
Sharp gasps came from the members of the circle. The linked hands of the sitters trembled. That laugh had sounded like a dooming knell uttered by some fierce power of another world!
The laugh died away; then came a low reverberation, as though the tones had echoed back from space itself.
A creepy chilling silence followed. Then, Little Flower's babble resumed, incoherent and tremulous, no longer certain!
"John — Jon-a-than — he try to say — he try to say — one — one-"
With terrifying suddenness, that awful laugh again burst through the darkness. Shorter, louder it sounded. It broke off in the midst of a weird peal; then, after a second's pause, the same tones were duplicated with less volume. A longer pause, and another mirthless peal. Then, after a heart-bursting wait, the uncanny gibe came as a sinister whisper from corridors of nothingness!