We Hear the Dead Read Free

them steadily, because then he turned to Mother and said, “If you search, I am sure you will find a cause for it, as it must be something about the house.”
    â€œI have searched,” Father said gruffly, almost his first words to us all day.
    David paused, then said smoothly, “All the more reason to be out of this place as soon as possible. Can I expect to see you tomorrow at the building site?”
    â€œYes, of course,” Father murmured, looking cross.
    â€œIf the rapping comes tonight,” said Mother with a false brightness, “we will not mind it but try and get a good night’s rest. You are right, David. We have wasted too much effort on what is surely the normal creaking and groaning of a poorly constructed house. We will look forward to a more silent home in the future!”
    David departed, and we took our evening meal. The sky had hardly turned dark before Mother was urging us all to sleep. Kate had just ventured out of bed when she was suddenly ushered back into it. After sleeping away the day, Kate was the only one of us who had truly rested, and she complained bitterly about being turned back to bed. I should have known that lively events were bound to occur that night!
    The raps commenced as usual, when we had all lain down. Lizzie moaned and threw her arms over her head. “’Tis the devil!” she whispered loudly in consternation.
    Kate suddenly sat up. “If it is the devil, then let us see his tricks.” Speaking loudly, so that our parents in the next bed would not miss it, she said, “Here, Mr. Splitfoot, do as I do!” And then she snapped her fingers four times.
    Four raps immediately followed.
    â€œJohn!” Mother gasped. “John, wake up!”
    â€œOh, you can hear me, can you?” said Kate, speaking to the air. “Can you see me as well? How many fingers am I showing?”
    Three sharp raps startled us all from any chance of sleep. Lizzie squeaked in fear, and we all felt a shiver of cold upon our skin. It was too dark to see Kate, but we did not have any doubt that she was holding up three fingers.
    â€œCount to ten!” I was startled to hear my mother give this command. She was lighting the lantern by then, and she had a shaky but determined timbre to her voice.
    By now, nobody was surprised to hear a slow, labored sequence of ten raps. We were too exhausted to be fearful, but there was a strange feeling of being separate from reality. It was as if we were all sharing the same dream, and because it was a dream, there was no reason to be afraid.
    â€œAre you a human being?” my mother asked. When there was no immediate response, she cried, “Are you a spirit?”
    â€œMargaret!” my father protested, taking her shoulder. But she shrugged his hand off and turned her back on him.
    â€œIf you are a spirit, give me two sounds,” she said, and there came a reply of two sounds almost before she had finished speaking.
    â€œAre you an injured spirit?” Two raps.
    â€œWere you injured in this house?” Two raps.
    By this time, Father had moved to the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. He sat with his back to us, as if trying to separate himself.
    Lizzie, meanwhile, was gripping my arm so tightly that it was starting to go numb, and Mother was pacing the bedroom excitedly with her lantern. “Spirit,” she asked, “give me one sound for no and two sounds for yes. Did you die of natural cause?”
    One rap.
    â€œWere you murdered?” Two raps.
    â€œIn this house?” Two raps.
    â€œIs the person who murdered you still living?” Two raps.
    â€œAre your remains still present in this house?” Two raps.
    Lizzie wailed, “Grandmother, stop!” My mother turned around, suddenly becoming aware that there were terrified children in the room.
    â€œOh, girls!” she cried, repentant. She rushed to the bed and sheltered us with her arms.