Servant

 ....As we gathered around the table as before, clasping hands in a circle around the white candle, (the beacon to the otherworld) Gladys had specific queries for Jedidiah. Responses to these queries would either release him from his burden or cue us to learn the next phase of his journey to the afterlife. Gladys also brought the velum paper and antique fountain pen for automatic writing should Jedidiah need to communicate anything visual he could not translate via Gladys’voice.

        Gladys repeats the same strange incantation while lighting the candle. This is the third time Buck and I’ve heard it, and neither of us has yet to raise the question as to its language, origin, or meaning. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s simply because we have had more pressing issues to address. We settle into our circle of clasped hands as Gladys chants her opening mantra.

       “I call on the spirits of this house. We ask that we may learn your purpose for contacting the living by answering our questions. If the answer to my question is yes, please alter the flame of the candle once; if the answer is no, please alter the flame twice.”

      Within seconds, the temperature in the room drops significantly; I can feel the surge of goose flesh on my exposed arms spreading through my chest and back, and my nipples are uncomfortably erect. Looking toward Buck to see if he’s experiencing the same phenomenon, I can see the frosty breath emanating from his quiet breathing and the mist coming from my mouth. Turning toward Gladys, it’s obvious by her shivering posture that she’s also visibly affected by the cold, but her eyes remain closed, deep in her trance.

      Inexplicably, the mist coming from our exhalations coalesces, growing into a significant cloud of vapor beyond the capacity of our lungs to produce a suspension of this size. Collecting in the middle of the table above the candle, the cloud begins to swirl. A vortex forming in the air above us, strangely illuminated by the flame of the white columnar candle. The thick mist begins to take form, elongating into the rudimentary shape of a human torso and appendages, translucent limbs floating motionless in the air. The identity of the being is still unknown, as the development of the head and face is not complete.

       I glance momentarily at Gladys to see if she has broken her trance to witness this fantastic materialization occurring above our heads; she has not. Her eyes remain closed. The final stage of the emergence of the ethereal being reveals the face of a youth with shoulder-length hair, a face that has become familiar to me, to all of us, it’s the face of Jedidiah Sheppard. At the moment Jedidiah’s visage becomes recognizable, Gladys’ eyes open. She’s now staring at his ghostly presence floating above us, in awe like the rest of us.

        As more of Jedidiah’s physical details emerge, I’m struck by the sheer beauty of his angelic face and lithe body,  completely naked except for the veil that clothes his mid-section, hiding his genitalia; the same image we saw on the altar before he enlightened us with the grotesque manner in which he was killed. His ectoplasmic feet hanging just above the wick of the candle, he is a statue of spiritual smoke suspended in mid-air. Then unexpectedly, an aberration begins to develop in the perfect sculpture of his chest: a wound near his left nipple. A wound in which ethereal blood seeps into the air, defying gravity as it floats into the atmosphere and slowly disappears as it escapes the body. This is where the sacrificial dagger was plunged, and this is the blood that spurted from that fatal laceration. Forever marring this otherwise perfect creation.

        Jedidiah, this vulnerable being revealing himself to us again, stares straight ahead into space. Without any signs of emotion, his handsome face remains frozen, mask-like, un-reactive to the penetrating wound and the hemorrhage of ghostly blood.

         Gladys addresses him. “Jedidiah, we’re here for you, to help you cross into the next plane. Have you materialized before us tonight for a purpose?” The candle wick flickers once from a non-existent breeze.

         “Is it because we have fulfilled your purpose and you are moving on to the afterlife?” The invisible breeze gaining strength, the candle flickers vehemently once and then again. My hypothesis is destroyed.

         “Do you appear before us tonight because you seek justice for what has happened to you?” The light of the candle dims once. Gladys is correct in her assumption.

       “Do you want the truth of what your father did to you to be known?” The candle’s wick fizzles once with force. “How can we help you?” Gladys asks.

        Gladys’ eyes glaze over immediately, her gaze empty, staring blankly into space. “No rest…no rest,” are the words coming from her mouth. But it is not her voice that resonates, but the voice of a young man, masculine, but with a youthful lilt.

          I take the lead. “Jedidiah, what can we do to help you find rest?”

          “NO REST, NO REST,” he repeats more loudly through his human puppet.

         "Unexpectedly, the bleeding spirit floating above us ascends higher into the air and begins to fluoresce. A whitish glow emanates from Jedidiah’s form as if the full moon were reflecting on it from a transparent ceiling. His presence illuminates the entire gallery. Then without warning, the fluorescent spirit catapults itself through the largest window facing the lake, the illuminating mass rocketing toward the body of water. Once we realize what is happening, Buck and I stand quickly and run toward the window the ghost soared through (as if the physical presence of the structure did not exist) to watch the trajectory. From the middle of the lake, a hot white glow radiates and ripples, as if the energy source is underwater and the rays of light are emanating through a watery filter.

         “He is showing us where his body is,” Gladys states, startling us, as she stands next to us. Her trance was broken by the departure of the host and our broken circle.

        “How do you know?” Buck innocently asks.

         “What else could it be?” Gladys replies.

       The glow gathers and rises above the water. Within seconds, the fluorescent mass soars back toward the shore, coming back to Blackstone. Quickly, we re-assemble ourselves into our positions at the table, realigning our circle of hands, watching as the glowing ethereal cloud passes through the windowpanes and settles to hover above the table once again. The mass attains the shape of the specter of a beautiful, wounded youth.

        “Are we to find your body in the lake?” Gladys inquires. The candle’s flame whips about once.

        “This will give you the justice you need?” The flame of the candle does not move. Gladys repeats the question. “Jedidiah, this will give you the justice you need?”

         Gladys snaps back into a trance-like state, the youthful voice now shouting through her mouth “NO REST! NO REST! DEMON! DEMON! NO REST! DEMON!”