William Gresham - Nightmare Alley

The Rev. Stanton Carlisle was about thirty-five. He was holding his black hat and the lamplight made his hair glisten golden -just like the sun, she thought. He made her think of Apollo.

Mrs. Peabody noticed in her first swift glance that he was dressed in street clericals with a black vest and a turn-about collar. He was the first spiritualist minister she had ever seen who wore clericals but he was so distinguished-looking that it didn’t seem a bit ostentatious; anybody would have taken him for an Episcopalian.

“Oh, Mr. Carlisle, I just knew it was you. I got a distinct impression the minute you rang the bell.”

“I am sure we shall establish an excellent vibrational harmony, Mrs. Peabody. May I present our medium, Mary Margaret Cahill.”

Inside, Mrs. Peabody introduced them to the others. She served tea and it was so English-just like having the vicar over, she thought. Miss Cahill was a sweet-looking girl, and after all some people can’t help being born on the wrong side of the tracks. She probably did the best she could with what she had to start with. Even if she did look a little cheap she was beautiful and had an odd, haggard expression about her mouth that touched Mrs. Peabody’s heart. Mediumship takes so much out of them-we owe them such a tremendous debt.

Mr. Carlisle was charming and there was something about his voice that stirred you, as if he were speaking just to you even when he addressed the others. He was so understanding.

Finally Mrs. Peabody stood up. “Shall I play something? I always say there’s nothing like having an old-fashioned family organ. They’re so sweet-toned and so much nicer than a piano.” She sat at the console and struck a gentle chord. She would have to get the pedal levers oiled; the left one squeaked a little. The first piece she turned to was “The Old Rugged Cross” and one by one the company picked it up, Mr. Simmons coming in with a really fine baritone.

The Rev. Carlisle cleared his throat. “Mrs. Peabody, I wonder if you recall that splendid old hymn, ‘On the Other Side of Jordan.’ It was a favorite of my sainted mother’s, and I should dearly love to hear it now.”

“Indeed I do. At least, it’s in the hymnal.”

Mr. Simmons volunteered to lead, standing by the organ, with the others humming:

On the other side of Jordan

In the sweet fields of Eden

Where the Tree of Life is blooming

There is rest for me .

There is rest for the weary ,

There is rest for the weary ,

On the other side of Jordan

There is rest for me .

Mrs. Peabody’s eyes were wet when the hymn was finished, and she knew that this was the psychological moment. She sat silently on the bench and then closed her eyes and let her fingers find the chords. Everyone sang it softly.

Shall we gather by the river ,

The beautiful, the beautiful river .

Yes, we shall gather by the river

That flows by the throne of God .

She played the “Amen” chords softly, drawing them out, and then turned to the Rev. Carlisle. His eyes were closed; he sat upright and austere with his hands resting on the knees of his black broadcloth trousers. When he spoke he kept his eyes closed.

“Our hostess has provided us with a fine cabinet. The niche between the organ and the wall will serve beautifully. And, I believe, there are hangings which can be lowered. Let us all compose ourselves with humble hearts, silently, and in the presence of God who hath hid these things from the wise and prudent and hast revealed them unto babes.

“I call upon the Spirit of Eternal Light, whom some call God the Father and some call the Holy Ghost; who, some believe, came among the earth-bound as our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ; who spoke to Gautama under the Bo tree and gave him enlightenment, whose praise was taught by the last of India’s great saints, Sri Ramakrishna. Marvel not at what we shall attempt, for the hour is coming in which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice and shall come forth. Many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, but some who did evil in their days upon the earth shall be reborn and remain among the earth-bound for yet another existence. No spirit who has ever returned speaks to us of hell fire but rather of rebirth and another chance. And when a man has done much evil he does not descend into a pit of eternal torment but wanders between the worlds, neither earth-bound nor liberated; for the Lord, being full of compassion, forgives their iniquity. He remembers that they were but flesh, a wind that passeth away and cometh not again until the prayers and faith of liberated and earth-bound alike cause their absorption into the Universal Soul of God, who is in all things and from which everything is made that was made. We ask that the Great Giver of Love enter our hearts and make us to become as little children, for without innocence we cannot admit those presences who draw near about us now, anxious to speak to us and make their nearness known. For it is written: ‘He bowed the heavens also, and came down: and darkness was under his feet. And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly: yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind.’ Amen.”

He opened his eyes and Mrs. Peabody thought she had never seen eyes as blue or with a glance so resembling an eagle’s. Spiritual power flowed out of him; you could just feel it.

The spiritualist continued, “Let Mrs. Simmons sit nearest to the cabinet on the far side. Mrs. Peabody on the other side, before the organ which she plays so beautifully. I shall sit here, next to her. Mr. Simmons next to his wife.”

An armchair was carried into the niche for Miss Cahill who sat tautly, her knees close together, her hands clenched. The Rev. Carlisle stepped into the niche.

“Are you sure you feel equal to it this evening, my dear?”

Miss Cahill smiled bravely up at him and nodded.

“Very well. You are among friends. No one here will break the circle. There are no skeptics to endanger your life by suddenly flooding you with light. No one will move from his chair when it is dangerous to the vibration lines. Any ectoplasmic emanations from your body will be carefully observed but not touched so you have nothing to fear. Are you perfectly comfortable?”

“Yes. Comfortable. Fine.”

“Very well. Do you want music?”

Miss Cahill shook her head. “No. I feel so-so sleepy.”

“Relax, my dear friend.”

She closed her eyes.

Mrs. Peabody tiptoed about and extinguished all the lamps except one. “Shall I close the cabinet curtains?”

Carlisle shook his head. “Let us first have her with us. Without anything between us. Let us form the circle.”

Silently they took their places. Minutes crept by; a chair creaked and outside a car passed. Behind the velvet drapes which shut off the street light it sounded out of key and impertinent. The Rev. Carlisle seemed in a trance himself.

Knock!

Everyone gasped and then smiled and nodded.

Knock!

Carlisle spoke. “Ramakrishna?”

Three sharp raps answered him.

“Our dear teacher-our loving guru who has never left us in spirit-we greet you in the love of God, which you imparted so divinely while you were earth-bound. Will you speak to us now through the lips of our dear medium, Mary Cahill?”

Miss Cahill stirred in her chair and her head drew back. Her lips opened and her voice came softly, as from a great distance:

“The body of man is a soul-city containing the palace of the heart which contains, in turn, the lotus of the soul. Within its blossom are heaven and earth contained, are fire and water, sun and moon, and lightning and stars.”