Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

‘And who else?’ Madame Zoya waited. ‘Who else, Gor? Can you hear me? Are you unwell?’

His black eyes slowly raised to hers, and he drew a breath. ‘No one else,’ he said quickly. ‘The Armenian side of my family – if indeed it still exists – I have no contact with.’

‘You are very alone.’

‘Alone? Why, I have a whole town for company, Madame! Indeed, it feels like the whole town is tapping at my door and phoning me at night! Alone would be good, believe me!’ Gor glared around the table at the faces staring back. Sveta pursed her lips fiercely. He dropped his eyes to his fingers once more.

‘Very well. We will begin,’ proclaimed Zoya, after a short pause. ‘I can feel a presence, and we don’t want to keep them waiting. Hands on the table, everyone, and cross fingers with your neighbour. No, don’t hold hands, you girl!’ She pointed a gnarled finger at Nastya from the library, ‘Not necessary! Just put your hands on the table, and empty your minds! It can’t be hard! Empty your minds, and let us welcome them in!’

The candles flickered as Zoya’s head flopped forward to her chest and the turban wobbled. The nine around the table touched hands and crossed fingers as Zoya began a low moan, her head swaying from side to side, eyelids twitching. Sveta’s hands felt wet. Polly, to her left, seemed to be pressing her fingers into the table with super-human strength, while Vlad, on her right, was all twitches. She could feel pins and needles beginning in her little fingers as the moaning floated upwards, gradually filling the room.

Gor linked fingers with the orange-haired woman and Vlad, and looked straight ahead, feeling utterly foolish. He’d spent the last few days assuming he would think of an excuse not to attend tonight, but then, when it had come down to it, he was surprised to admit he had almost wanted to come. The events of the last few weeks had left a stain on him, and he had felt perturbed – no, more than perturbed, exhausted – by it all. He needed the reassurance of knowing it was all nonsense, to prove to himself that the laws of physics and nature were in control, and nothing supernatural could exist. His comfort would be in sniggering, inwardly, at the séance, finding it totally empty and inept, and going on his way, safe in the knowledge that he was sane, if nothing else. He graced the sitters around him with a slightly condescending, paternal smile, and closed his eyes as the incantation undulated like phlegmy waves on a care-worn, polyester sea.

‘Is anybody there?’ moaned Zoya softly. ‘Good spirits, come forth… Guide us.’

Silence followed, deep and dark.

‘Good spirit, come forth, guide us, we beseech you! Beloved spirit, commune with us, and move among us. Help us in our misery! Will you help us?’ They waited, eyes shining, willing something to happen.

Gor shifted in his chair and tried to look at his watch without lifting his hand from the table top. It was impossible: the light was too dim, and his wrist too stiff. This was insufferable. He decided to start planning the morrow’s jobs at the dacha , in order to keep calm while being forced to sit. The double-digging of the main potato patch should probably be put off no longer, back-breaking as it would be. He had better take a substantial packed lunch with him if—

A jolt cracked through the table, followed by a sharp knock, right in front of Gor. The candles flickered and his head snapped up, eyes probing the shadows to make out who was moving.

‘Ah! We are joined! Oh spirit, we thank you! Are you willing to help us?’ said Zoya, triumph underlying her voice.

There was a pause, a twitch, and again the table jolted.

‘Ah, I think that’s a yes, don’t you?’ she smirked. An uneasy murmur went around the table and frightened eyes met in the candle-light.

‘Keep calm everyone, keep calm!’ muttered Sveta, cheeks wobbling as Polly squeezed her fingers into the veneer. ‘Young woman—’ she began, but was cut off by Zoya.

‘Our friend, Gor – he’s the bony, old one, by the tallboy – has been suffering strange occurrences, spirit. Manifestations born of the animal kingdom – unwelcome appearances of headless creatures, winged creatures, and the like. What does this mean, oh spirit? Is he in danger?’ Zoya’s voice rose, ‘Tell us, is he in danger?’

Silence shrouded the table as they waited, and waited, and waited for a response. Gor’s nose began to itch.

A dreadful knock thudded out, rattling the candlesticks and the windowpanes.

‘Yes!’ hissed Zoya, her eyes watery slits in her face as she stared at the candles, nodding. ‘You are in danger! We must find out more.’

Gor’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.

‘Oh spirits! What is the threat to our friend Gor? Can you give us more?’

The candles flickered and began to fizz and pop, as if some sort of gas was being exhaled into the air around them. Grey ghosts of smoke rose in curls and collected as a fog above the sitters’ heads. As the candles guttered, a host of shadows twisted across the ceiling, wrestling with the bookshelves and startling the rows of stuffed birds. The room seemed much fuller than before. Sveta gazed about her in awe, brought to life by the chill of exhilaration and fear. The spirits crowded into the room, the air moving with them.

Gor wrinkled his nose and sniffed, his face hard as teak.

‘Ooh, the spirits want to enter me, they want to show me something. I must let them in,’ Zoya croaked, and pulled her hands from the table towards her face. She closed her eyes and began to shake, tremors running from the folds of her enormous turban through to her fingers and down her spine, shaking the chair where she sat. She mouthed sounds that never should be heard, and made striking, round movements with her hands as if swimming, gasping for air every so often and then going back under the imagined, shiny surface. Finally, she dived lower, reaching the depths and bowing her head before, vertebra by vertebra, she raised it again as if it were a periscope, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the candle-light. She whimpered.

‘Ah! The smell – wood smoke! It’s coming to me! Through the trees…’ Her head twisted as she spoke, the neck bones crunching like twigs under foot. ‘Such awful heat!’ Her hands clawed at her bosom.

‘Fire!’ Sveta heard a whisper to her left. Her head flicked around to make out who was speaking, but in the next moment the table bucked under their hands and a knock cracked out, right in front of Gor. His stony face broke into a grimace and he went to pull away, but Vlad tugged his hands back sharply. ‘Don’t break the circle!’ he hissed. ‘We must hear more, no matter how scary!’

‘Ahhh! Now I see it – fire!’ Zoya rose to her feet, eyes wide and mouth stretched into a sickening, mirthless grin. Valya flopped back in her chair, mouth open, and began to whimper, while Masha and Alla crossed themselves with swift movements.

‘I can see it – terrible fire!’ Madame brought her hands to her face. ‘Smoke and flames, burning everything up! Burning you!’ She flung her purple-veined arms in Gor’s direction and shook like a tree in a storm. The air whistled in her puny lungs and was expelled in a shriek, ‘Heed your warning!’

The glassy eyes rolled and she collapsed back into her chair, teeth bared and chest quivering.

‘Fire!’ yelled Valya, grabbing Gor’s hand and leaping to her feet as the table rocked ferociously, its legs coming off the floor. ‘Fire!’ The other sitters quickly lost control, pushing back their chairs to escape the terrible wooden creature as it bucked and twisted in the centre of the room. ‘Fire! Fire!’ The shouts were coming from every corner as the candles toppled with a volley of bangs, hot wax spraying bloody arcs across the walls. It seemed to Gor they actually believed there was a fire. It was panic, pure and simple, but still, the scream that rang out as the room plunged into darkness prickled his skin. There followed thuds as heaving, panicking bodies collided across Zoya’s astral plane. The table crashed to the floor.