Then, again, take that matter of meeting Pringle in Gatchard just at
that time, within the same week. It was due to Davidson’s sister. She
had invited Mr. and Mrs. Pringle in to meet him one evening, without
telling him that they were spiritualists and might discuss spiritualism.
Clairvoyance, Pringle called it, or seeing what can’t be seen with
material eyes, and clairaudience, or hearing what can’t be heard
with material ears, as well as materialization, or ghosts, and
table-rapping, and the like. Table-rapping—that damned tap-tapping that
he had been hearing ever since!
It was Pringle’s fault, really. Pringle had persisted in talking.
He, Davidson, wouldn’t have listened, except that he somehow became
fascinated by what Pringle said concerning what he had heard and seen
in his time. Mersereau must have been at the bottom of that, too.
At any rate, after he had listened, he was sorry, for Pringle had had
time to fill his mind full of those awful facts or ideas which had
since harassed him so much—all that stuff about drunkards, degenerates,
and weak people generally being followed about by vile, evil spirits
and used to effect those spirits’ purposes or desires in this world.
Horrible!
Wasn’t it terrible? Pringle—big, mushy, creature that he was, sickly
and stagnant like a springless pool—insisted that he had even seen
clouds of these spirits about drunkards, degenerates, and the like, in
street-cars, on trains, and about vile corners at night. Once, he said,
he had seen just one evil spirit—think of that!—following a certain man
all the time, at his left elbow—a dark, evil, red-eyed thing, until
finally the man had been killed in a quarrel.
Pringle described their shapes, these spirits, as varied. They were
small, dark, irregular clouds, with red or green spots somewhere for
eyes, changing in form and becoming longish or round like a jellyfish,
or even like a misshapen cat or dog. They could take any form at
will—even that of a man.
Once, Pringle declared, he had seen as many as fifty about a drunkard
who was staggering down a street, all of them trying to urge him into
the nearest saloon, so that they might re-experience in some vague
way the sensation of drunkenness, which at some time or other they
themselves, having been drunkards in life, had enjoyed!
It would be the same with a drug fiend, or indeed with any one of weak
or evil habits. They gathered about such an one like flies, their red
or green eyes glowing—attempting to get something from them, perhaps,
if nothing more than a little sense of their old earth-life.
The whole thing was so terrible and disturbing at the time,
particularly that idea of men being persuaded or influenced to murder,
that he, Davidson, could stand it no longer, and got up and left. But
in his room upstairs he meditated on it, standing before his mirror.
Suddenly—would he ever forget it—as he was taking off his collar and
tie, he had heard that queer tap, tap, tap, right on his dressing-table
or under it, and for the first time, which Pringle said, ghosts made
when table-rapping in answer to a call, or to give warning of their
presence.
Then something said to him, almost as clearly as if he heard it:
“_This is me, Mersereau, come back at last to get you! Pringle was
just an excuse of mine to let you know I was coming, and so was that
hand in that old house, in Issaqueena County. It was mine! I will be
with you from now on. Don’t think I will ever leave you!_”
It had frightened and made him half sick, so wrought up was he. For the
first time he felt cold chills run up and down his spine—the creeps. He
felt as if some one were standing over him—Mersereau, of course—only he
could not see or hear a thing, just that faint tap at first, growing
louder a little later, and quite angry when he tried to ignore it.
People did live, then, after they were dead, especially evil
people—people stronger than you, perhaps. They had the power to come
back, to haunt, to annoy you if they didn’t like anything you had
done to them. No doubt Mersereau was following him in the hope of
revenge, there in the spirit world, just outside this one, close at his
heels, like that evil spirit attending the other man whom Pringle had
described.