It was apparently a record of the observations made by my uncle at materialization seances in this country and Europe. Contrary to my usual custom on starting a book, I read the author’s introduction. He began by expressing the wish that those who might read the work should first lay aside all prejudice and all preconceived ideas regarding the subject, which were not based on positive knowledge; then weigh the facts as he had found them before drawing a definite conclusion.
The following passage, in particular, held my attention:
“While it is to be admitted, with regret, that there are many people calling themselves mediums, who deceive their sitters nightly and whose productions are consequently mere optical illusions, produced by chicanery and legerdemain, the writer has nevertheless gathered, at the sittings recorded in this book, where all possibility of fraud was excluded by rigorous examination and control, undeniable evidence that genuine materializations are, and can be, produced.
“The source and physical composition—if indeed it be physical—of a phantasm materialized by a true medium, remains, up to the present time, inexplicable. That such manifestations are not hallucinations, has been proved time and again by taking photographs. One would indeed be compelled to strain his credulity to the utmost, were he to believe that a mere hallucination could be photographed.
“As I have stated, the exact nature and source of the phenomena are apparently inscrutable; however, it is a notable fact that the strongest manifestations take place when the medium is in a state of catalepsy, or suspended animation. Her hands are cold—her body becomes rigid—her eyes, if open, appear to be fixed on space—”
A roll of thunder, quickly followed by a rush of wind, rudely interrupted my reading. The housekeeper appeared in the doorway, lamp in hand.
“Would you mind helping me close the windows, sir?” she asked. “There is a big rainstorm coming, and they must be closed quickly, or the furnishings and wall paper will be soaked.”
Together we ascended the stairs. I rushed from window to window, while she lighted the way with the dim lamp. This duty attended to, she again bade me “Good-night,” and I returned to the living-room.
As I entered, I glanced at the casket; then looked again while a feeling of horror crept over me. Either I was dreaming, or it had been completely draped with a white sheet during my absence.
I rubbed my eyes, pinched myself, and advanced to confirm the evidence of my eyesight by the sense of touch. As I extended my hand, the center of the sheet rose in a sharp peak, as if lifted by some invisible presence, and the entire fabric traveled upward toward the ceiling. I drew back with a cry of dread, watching it with perhaps the same fascination that is experienced by a doomed bird or animal looking into the eyes of a serpent that is about to devour it.