We Hear the Dead Read Free Page A

“Spirit, do you mean us any harm?”
    One rap.
    â€œWill you make these sounds before other people if we bring them here as witness?”
    A long pause followed, and I had almost started to relax when two sharp raps answered the question. I could hardly believe my ears. Was Mr. Splitfoot, our devil or spirit or whatever he was, going to perform now for people outside the family?
    â€œJohn!” Mother rushed back to the other bed. “Get dressed quickly and fetch the Redfields. They must witness this testimony.”
    â€œAre you mad?” my father whispered harshly, without removing his hands from his face.
    â€œNo, I don’t believe I am,” Mother said indignantly. “And if the Redfields hear this spirit also, then I will know that I am not.”
    â€œIt is too late.” This was a feeble protest, and my father knew it, because he was already on his feet and pulling on his overalls.
    â€œIt is barely eight o’clock. While you are out, you can see if the Dueslers are home and bring them, too!”
    My mother outweighed my father in bulk and character, and so he was swiftly bundled off to bid our neighbors come visit with our ghost. While he was gone, I contemplated my course of action. Truthfully, I nearly spoke out then and there. I do not know what held my tongue, unless it was Kate’s force of will or simply my own destiny. When I heard the front door open and voices in the parlor, the time to confess had passed and I was trapped in the deception.
    â€œNow, what kind of tomfoolery is going on in here?” boomed the voice of Mrs. Redfield, a neighbor from across the street. She bustled into the bedroom, stout and brisk, dressed in what passed for a good cloak and hat in this tiny hamlet of Hydesville. Her commonplace appearance reminded us suddenly that we were all in our bedclothes and that we had invited this woman into our sleeping chamber, where she could see the intimate details of our threadbare lives. I retreated like a turtle into the bedcoverings, and Mother put one hand self-consciously to her hair, which was plaited and hanging down across her bosom.
    Then Mother drew her dignity to herself as if it were a cloak much fancier than Mrs. Redfield’s and said, “Thank you for coming, Mary. We greatly appreciate your good judgment and wise counsel. Has John told you what happened here tonight?”
    Mrs. Redfield drew off her gloves, looking curiously around the room. “He has told me some tale of injured spirits and ghostly knockings. My husband refused to come for what is surely an early Fools’ Day prank by some persons who should know better.” Her eyes alighted on Lizzie and me. I imagine that I looked very guilty, but Lizzie’s surprise was genuine and indignant. Kate was ignored by all. She was eleven years old but gave the appearance of being much younger.
    â€œSpirit,” my mother called out, addressing the air like a madwoman, “is our good neighbor right? Are you a manifestation of an April Fools’ Day prank? Rap once for no and twice for yes.”
    One loud knock sounded.
    My father’s shoulders hunched in apparent embarrassment. My mother looked vindicated. Mrs. Redfield’s eyebrows rose sharply, and she took a few steps toward my bed, looking us over carefully. Our hands were all within sight, and we had not moved even the slightest bit.
    â€œCan you count to five for Mrs. Redfield?” my mother continued.
    We all heard five raps while Mrs. Redfield scrutinized Lizzie and me for some kind of movement. Finding nothing, she walked quickly around the room, looking in the corners and under the beds.
    â€œIf you are the spirit of a murdered person, demonstrate this by two raps,” my mother then commanded. By the time we had heard these two raps, Mrs. Redfield had finished her search of the room and her demeanor suddenly changed.
    â€œGirls, you look so terrified!” she exclaimed. I, for one,