things were there. You would have felt them just as I did if you weren't obstructing—"
"I'm not obstructing anything," he cut her off. "I'm just not sticking my head on the block a second time. When I came here in 1940, I was just like you— no, worse, much worse. I really thought I was something. God's gift to psychical research."
"You were the most powerful physical medium this country has ever known, Ben."
13
"Still am, Florence. Just a little bit more careful now, that's all. I suggest the same approach for you. You're walking around this house like an open nerve. When you really do hit something, it'll tear your insides out. This place isn't called Hell House for nothing, you know. It intends to kill every one of us, so you'd damn well better learn to protect yourself until you're ready. Or you'll just be one more victim on the list."
They looked at each other in silence for a long time. Finally she touched his hand. "'But he who buried his talent— '" she began
"Oh, shit." Turning on his heel, he stalked away from her.
6:42 P.M.
The dining hall was sixty feet in length, and as high as it was wide—twenty-seven feet in both directions. There were two entrances to it—one an archway from the great hall, the other a swinging door leading to the kitchen.
Its ceiling was divided into a series of elaborately carved panels, its floor polished travertine. Its walls were paneled to a height of twelve feet, stone-blocked above. In the center of the west wall was a giant fireplace, its Gothic mantel reaching to the ceiling. Spaced at intervals above the length of the forty-foot table in the center of the hall hung four immense sanctuary lamps, wired for electricity. Thirty chairs stood around the table, all of them constructed of antique walnut with wine-red velvet upholstery.
The four were sitting at one end of the table, Barrett at its head. The unseen couple from Caribou Falls had left the supper at six-fifteen.
"If no one objects, I'd like to try a sitting tonight," Florence said.
Barrett's hand froze momentarily before continuing to spoon himself a second portion of broccoli. "I have no objection," he said.
Florence glanced at Edith, who shook her head. She looked at Fischer. "Fine," he said, reaching for the coffeepot.
Florence nodded. "After supper, then." Her plate was empty; she'd been drinking only water since they'd sat down.
"Would you care to sit in the morning, Mr. Fischer?" Barrett asked.
Fischer shook his head. "Not yet."
Barrett nodded. There; it's done, he thought. He'd asked and been refused. Since his part in the project required the services of a physical medium, Deutsch couldn't object to his sending for one of his own people. Excellent , he thought. He'd get it settled in the morning.
"Well," he said, "I must say that the house has scarcely lived up to its reputation so far."
Fischer looked up from the scraps of food on his plate. "It hasn't taken our measure yet," he said. His lips flexed briefly in a humorless smile.
"I think we'd be mistaken to consider the house as the haunting force," Florence said. "Quite evidently, the trouble is created by surviving personalities—whoever they may be. The only one we can be sure of is Belasco."
"You contacted him today, did you?" Barrett asked. His tone was mild, but Florence sensed the goading in it. "No," she said.
"But Mr. Fischer did when he was here in 1940. And Belasco's presence has been documented."
"Reported," Barrett said.
Florence hesitated. Finally she said, "I think it might be well for us to lay our cards on the table, Doctor Barrett. I take it you are still convinced that no such things as ghosts exist."
"If, by that, you mean surviving personalities," said Barrett, "you are quite correct."
"Despite the fact that they've been observed throughout the ages?" Florence asked. "Have been seen by more than one person at a time? Been seen by animals? Been photographed? Have imparted information that was later verified? Have