Resurrectionists by Kim Wilkins

Author:Kim Wilkins [Wilkins, Kim]
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General, Fiction, Modern fiction, Horror & ghost stories, Australians, Yorkshire (England)
ISBN: 9781857987935
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2001-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

With the fire at her back, with Tabby curled up on her favourite armchair, and with a circle of thirteen candles around her, Maisie went through the preparations for psychic ritual which Sacha had taught her. Opening energy centres, focusing, breathing. She was flying without a safety net now; nobody was around to encourage her or save her. It was both frightening and exhilarating. Rain beat on the eaves and wind shook the panes. Though only early evening, it may as well have been midnight on doomsday outside. She really had no idea what she was doing as she closed her eyes and tried to sketch in her mind Sybill’s face. As she had only ever seen photos of her grandmother, she found this difficult. For fifteen minutes or more she tried, but nothing happened. The problem was she had no memories of Sybill to draw upon. She climbed to her feet and carefully stepped outside her circle of candles. In her bedroom she found the few pieces of Sybill’s jewellery that she had kept, and selected an amber brooch. Perhaps this could provide the connection with her grandmother she needed. Unless Sacha was right. Unless Sybill had already gone across.

But she had to try.

She switched off the bedroom light and went back to the circle. With the brooch closed tightly in her fist, she sat down and began the whole process again. Breathing, centring, focusing, lining up the coloured lights along her spine.

“Okay, Sybill,” Maisie said, a little embarrassed about speaking to herself in the dark. Then she remembered what Sacha had said, that her negative attitude might be holding her back. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. “Sybill,” she said, more confidently. “This is your granddaughter, Maisie. I’m trying to contact you . . .” She trailed off, not quite sure what else to say. A cold breeze tickled at the base of her spine and she thought of getting up to close a window when she realised that she had no windows open. The cold must be coming from elsewhere. Her first instinct was to open her eyes, but instead she kept them closed.

“Sybill? Are you there? Can you speak to me?”

Suddenly, the cold engulfed her and a vision flashed into her mind: fists beating against a window, a mad flapping as though of wings, a muffled cry for help. Maisie’s eyes flew open. Safely back in the quiet, firelit lounge room.

More deep breaths.

She closed her eyes again. “Sybill?” Her voice sounded thin, fearful. “Do you have a message for me?”

Again the frantic beating as though from behind a thick glass barrier. A muffled scream of terror. It went on and on, and once more Maisie had to break the trance. The sound was too horrible, too desperate and frenzied. She shook herself, stood and turned on the light. Had she made contact with Sybill? Was hers the voice of that awful smothered scream?

She blew out all the candles and placed them carefully on the hearth.

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