Haunted

Explanations

“You’re right,” he nods. “And why haven’t you ever told me that you were adopted, we’ve been married for two years, and never once did you mention it.”

“I didn’t ever think it was important, besides I was left outside of a hospital. Whatever,” Emily shrugged. ”It doesn’t make me a physical medium,”

Emily continues pacing as Jack reads. “The medium acts as a link between the world of the living and the world of spirit. Mediums claim that they can hear and relay messages from spirits, or that they can allow a spirit to control their body and speak through them.”

“What does that mean? They actually let the spirit take over their body,”

A cold breeze blows through the kitchen despite the closed windows. Emily shivers but keeps pacing.

“This is where it gets tricky—”

“This is where it gets tricky?” Emily groaned. “It hasn’t exactly been a piece of cake so far!”

“The book says that there are two categories of the mediumship. Like two sides of a coin.”

“Or a magnet,” Emily mumbled, but he didn't hear her.

“There are two different types of mediumships "mental" and "physical": Mental mediums "tune in" to the spirit world by listening, sensing, or seeing spirits or symbols. Physical mediums are believed to produce materialization of spirits, transport of objects, and other effects such as knocking, rapping, bell-ringing, among other things by using ectoplasm. During seances, mediums are said to go into a trance, varying from light to deep,”

“It also says that mediums have been quite popular for many centuries,” Jack relayed, finally looking up from the book.

Emily stops pacing. “So mediums are kind of like a radio for the entire human race? Definitely not me, I think. I’m too much of a wimp to let a spirit take over my body willingly,”

“Kind of,” Jack nods. “They even exorcise spirits who refuse to be moved, who wreak havoc on humans’ lives. The word medium means ‘middle in Celtic—”

“Celtic?” I echo.

“Old Irish,” Jack explained. “Okay let’s say that I do believe you and Amy, how is this supposed to help us get rid of the demon in our house,”

“You need to make it leave,” He said.

I’m about to tell Jack that’s crazy when the bulb above us brightens, so bright that it’s blinding like someone set it on fire from the inside. Suddenly it bursts, sending shards of glass down from the ceiling like rain.

Emily screams, jumping up from her chair so that it falls with a crash on the floor behind her. Emily’s dog Snowy dives under the table like she’s ducking for cover. She’s got the right idea because glass continues to rain down, far more glass than a single bulb could possibly contain.

Covering her head with her hands, Emily glanced over at Jack. He’s still seated in his chair, and he hasn’t so much as gasped. But then she sees that he’s holding his hands out in front of him; his hand is covered in blood.

“Oh no,” Emily shouted.

Blood is dripping from his hand onto the papers beneath, rendering them illegible. “What are you doing,” She shouted at the ceiling, certain that the demon/ghost whatever was in her house could hear her.

In answer, the storm of glass stops as abruptly as it began, the teakettle stops whistling, and the light stops swinging back and forth.

“Come here,” Emily screamed frantically to Jack. He stands up and walks to the island in the center of the kitchen while she reaches for the first aid kit under the kitchen sink. She pressed a fistful of gauze into Nolan’s palm, careful not to let my skin touch his, keeping my arm straight so we’re not standing too close. If Jack’s cut leaves a scar, it will be almost in the center of his palm.

“I thought you didn’t do good with blood,”

“I’m not,” Emily pressed harder. “I read somewhere you’re supposed to apply pressure when someone is bleeding, to help stop the blood flow,”

“You seem okay,”

Blood is still dripping from his wound. “You might actually need stitches,” Emily said worriedly. Without warning, Jack places his undamaged right hand on top of hers, applying more pressure.

She takes a deep breath and concentrates so she can swallow the feeling that follows. The sensation is overwhelming: the muscles in her legs are demanding that she take a step backward, away from him. The bones in her fingers want to drop the gauze and slide out from under his grip. And her throat—this is something beyond nausea. It’s not quite that she wants to throw up; it’s more that she wants to expel the scent of blood from her nostrils. 

And yet . . . somehow Emily ignores all the signals her body is sending her and she doesn't move. She won’t move. Her husband is in trouble. Her husband—her friend—is bleeding, and she has to help him. Emily’s Mom once said she should spend the day at the hospital with her to get over her fear of blood. So instead of letting go of his hand, she pressed harder, ignoring her nausea, silently screaming at her muscles to stop trying to move in the opposite direction. She concentrated on the feeling of the calluses in his hands, pressing against the back of her hand. She stared at the creases in his face, which were still soft after so many years of a hard life. And all the while—even though it doesn’t exactly feel good, being so close to him bleeding—there’s also a pleasant flutter of butterflies flapping around my stomach. I feel warmer than I have in months, a warmth coming from the center of my body and spreading out to my extremities. I still loved Jack and knew we could get through this.

“I think it’s stopped bleeding,” he says, lifting his hand off of mine. Emily removed the gauze and took a look. What had been gushing blood has slowed into a trickle. The wound is ugly and wide, but not deep.

“Guess you don’t need stitches.”

“Guess not.” Jack steps away, turning toward the kitchen sink, rinsing the blood from his hand. He holds it out for her to bandage, then grabs a paper towel and wipes away the blood that dripped onto the kitchen counter.

A rush of cold air fills the space he used to take up beside her, and she shivers.

“Where did you put the broom,” he asked and she gestured to a long, skinny cabinet beside the sink. He sweeps up the glass on the floor around the table. Next, he finds a fresh lightbulb and climbs onto the table to replace the one that broke.