Graham Masterton - The Manitou

"So what do you suggest?" I asked him.

"Simply this, Mr. Erskine. If you're interested in trying to save Karen Tandy from whatever it is that's making her ill, go out and find a real clairvoyant who can tell us just what this goddam ship thing is all about."

I thought for a while, and then I nodded. After all, I had nothing to lose. At least, I didn't think I had anything to lose. And who knows, I might end up with some real occult knowledge.

"Okay," I said, swallowing the last of my whiskey. "I'm on my way." Back at my flat, I went straight into the kitchen and made myself four slices of cheese on toast. I hadn't eaten a thing all day, and I was feeling sick. I opened a can of Schlitz, and carried my meal into the living room. I couldn't help sniffing around the place, just to see whether the evil spirit that had possessed Mrs. Herz was still lurking in her shadows, but there was no evidence that anyone had been there. Mind you, I don't suppose that spirits leave footprints.

Munching my toast, I telephoned my friend Amelia Crusoe. Amelia ran a small knick-knackery store in the Village, and I knew she was well into spiritualism and all that kind of stuff. She was a tall dark lady with long brown hair and soulful eyes, and she lived with a bearded guy called MacArthur, who made a living selling customized social security plates.

It was MacArthur who answered the phone. "Who is this?" he said grumpily.

"Harry Erskine. I need to talk to Amelia. It's pretty urgent"

"The Incredible Erskine!" said MacArthur. "How's business in the up-and-up field of ripping off old ladies?"

"Pretty good," I told him. "How's the Engravaplate industry?"

"Not so bad," he replied. "It's not what you'd call a fulfilling career but it brings home the bacon. Hold on, Amelia's right here."

Amelia sounded her usual soft, husky self.

"Harry? This is a surprise."

"It's business, I'm afraid, Amelia. I was wondering if you could help me."

"Business? Since when have you been into business ?"

"Cut the sarcasm, Amelia, this is really important. I have a client who is very ill, I mean really, urgently ill. She's been having these terrible nightmares. I've talked to the doctors and they think it might be something to do with spiritualism."

She whistled. "The doctors ? I didn't know doctors believed in spirits."

"I don't think they do," I told her. "It's just that they're totally baffled, and they're willing to try anything to save her. Listen, Amelia, I need to get in touch with someone who really knows his stuff. I need a clairvoyant who's really together, and good. Do you know who could do that?"

"Harry, that's a pretty tall order. I mean, there are hundreds of clairvoyants, but most of them are about as good as you are. And, no offense meant, that means they're lousy."

"No offense taken. I know my limitations."

Amelia ummed and ahhed for a moment, and went through her address book, but after five minutes of searching she still hadn't come up with a name In the end, she gave up.

"I just can't help you, Harry. Some of these guys are okay when it comes to fortune-telling, or putting you in touch with your long-lost Uncle Henry, but I wouldn't trust any of them with anything serious."

I bit my thumbnail. "How about you?" I asked.

"Me? I'm not an expert. I know I'm a little bit psychic, but I'm not into all the greater arcana and that stuff."

"Amelia," I told her, "you'll have to do. At least you're genuinely psychic, which is a damn sight more than I am. All you have to do is track down this signal or nightmare or whatever it is. Just give me a clue to where it could come from. I can do the rest by ordinary detective work."

Amelia sighed. "Harry, I'm busy. I'm going out to a dinner party this evening, and tomorrow I promised to take Janet's kids to the park, and on Monday I have to open the store, and I just don't have a single moment."

"Amelia," I said, "a girl's life is at stake. That girl is up there in the Sisters of Jerusalem Hospital right at this very moment, and she's dying. Unless we can find out what her nightmares are all about, then she's just not going to last out."

"Harry, I can't make myself responsible for every girl who's dying. This is a big city. Girls are always dying."

I wrung the phone in my fist, as if I could squeeze Amelia into helping me. "Amelia, please. Just tonight. Just for a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking."

She put her hand over the phone and talked to MacArthur. They burbled and murmured for a while, and then she came back on.

"Okay, Harry, I'll come. Where do you want me to be?"

I checked my watch. "Come round to my place first. Then I think we'll have to go on to the girl's apartment. It seems to be there that the dream started. Her aunt gets them as well, only not so bad. Amelia, I know this is a drag, but thank you."

"I'll see you later," she said, and put down the phone.

The next thing I did was dial Mrs. Karmann, Karen Tandy's aunt She was obviously sitting by the phone, waiting for news of Karen, because she answered almost immediately.

"Mrs. Karmann? This is Harry Erskine."

"Mr. Erskine? I'm sorry, I thought it was the hospital."

"Listen, Mrs. Karmann, I went to visit Karen today. She's still pretty weak, but the doctors think her chances might be improved if they knew a little bit more about her."

"I don't understand."

"Well, you remember I called you yesterday about your dream. The one about the beach. Karen came and saw me and told me that she'd been having a dream just like yours. The doctors think it's possible that there might be something in the dream — some due or other — that could help them to cure Karen's condition."

"I still don't see what you're getting at, Mr. Erskine. Why didn't Dr. Hughes call me himself?"

"He didn't call you because he couldn't," I explained. "He's a medical specialist, and if any of his superiors found that he was messing around with spiritualism, they'd probably sack him on the spot. But he wants to try everything and anything to help Karen get well again. And that's why we need to know more about that dream you've both been having."

Mrs. Karmann sounded confused and anxious. "But how can you do that? How can a dream give anyone a tumor? "

"Mrs. Karmann, there are plenty of proven connections between people's minds and their state of health. I'm not saying that Karen's tumor is psychosomatic, but it's possible that her mental attitude toward it is making it more difficult for the doctors to cure her. They aren't operate until they understand what it is, and why it affects her so badly."

"Well, Mr. Erskine," she said quietly, "what do you want to do?"

"I've already contacted a friend of mine who's something of a medium," I told her. "What I'd like to do is hold a seance in your apartment, so that my friend can see if there are any vibrations around."

"Vibrations? What kind of vibrations?"

"Anything, Mrs. Karmann. Anything at all. We don't know what to expect until we find it."

Mrs. Karmann chewed this over for a few moments. Then she said: "Well, Mr. Erskine, I'm not at all sure. It somehow doesn't seem right to be doing something like that while Karen's so sick. I don't know what her parents would say if they found out"

"Mrs. Karmann," I said. "If Karen's parents knew you were trying everything within your power to help their daughter, then I don't see how they could possibly object. Please, Mrs. Karmann. It's that important."

"Well, all right, then, Mr. Erskine. What time do you want to come round?"

"Give us an hour. Thank you, Mrs. Karmann, you're terrific."

Mrs. Karmann sniffed. "I know that already, Mr. Erskine. I just hope you know what you're doing." She wasn't the only one.