"Mark won't defend himself, so I will," Kathy said. Mark's mother wondered where she had gotten this idea, but did not contradict it; and Kathy went on, "We planned it yesterday afternoon, Dad. He suspected what might happen. And he was right, wasn't he? If he hadn't been there…"
A shiver ran through her body, and Friedrichs' smile faded.
"What precisely did happen?" he asked.
"Well, it came back," Kathy said simply. "We were sitting in the dark, just talking, in whispers… And then it came. First the light. It was kind of a sickly glow, faint at first; then it got stronger. And things started to move around. You know what it was like, Dad? Like somebody very weak, trying to move after lying for a long time in bed. First it just blew the papers on the desk. Then it got stronger. The mirror lifted up off the wall and broke. A chair fell over. Mark helped me out the window-"
"Why didn't you go out the door?" Pat asked.
"It was between us and the door," Mark said.
He spoke through a mouthful of eggs, and his voice was muffled; but instead of sounding funny, the statement sent a chill up Pat's spine.
"I was outside the window," she said. "I saw it. At least, I saw the light, and felt… It was indescribably bad. All the same-"
"Come on, Mom," Mark exclaimed. "You're not going to insist that it was burglars, are you? Damn it, you were down below, but I was there. I never felt anything like that in my life. It was fascinating."
Josef choked on a mouthful of food. When he had recovered himself he looked at Mark and said thoughtfully, "I have a feeling, Mark, that you are going to be one of the greater trials I have encountered in a lifetime not entirely free of aggravation. All the same, I can't help admiring your attitude. Fascinating?"
"Well, you know," Mark mumbled around a sausage. "I never believed in that stuff before, not really. Ghost stories are fun, but in real life… When Kathy and I talked it over yesterday afternoon, I was ninety percent convinced, but it was intellectual conviction, you know what I mean? Not a real gut belief. Then the damned thing began-and it was like, well, like Saint Theresa describing her meeting with God. It can't be described, it has to be experienced; and when you do experience it, you have no doubts at all."
Pat had not been to church for years, but she had once been a good Presbyterian. She was about to protest Mark's comments, which smacked of one of the lesser heresies, when Josef said calmly, "That's not a bad analogy. Poorly expressed, of course-your generation is barely literate, Mark-but the comparison is valid."
"Josef!" Pat exclaimed.
"He's right, Pat. I experienced it. I'm sure you and all the good ladies of the neighborhood are aware of the fact that I am a lawyer. That doesn't mean I'm not a fool; but the legal profession does give one some regard for evidence." His hand went to the back of his head, where the lump was rising to spectacular proportions. "That's evidence, Pat. I wasn't drunk, or drugged, last night. I was dozing; after what had happened the previous night I was a little apprehensive about Kathy, and I meant to stay awake, but I was pretty tired. I didn't hear the trouble begin. One particularly loud crash woke me, and I went tearing toward her room. I was almost there when the vase-that Chinese vase that stood on a pedestal in the hall-rose up off its base and flew at me."
Pat stared, her eyes wide. Josef nodded.
"Yes, I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, admittedly; but I couldn't be mistaken. There was no one there. The vase didn't fall, it lifted up into the air before it came at me. I had just time enough to turn and shield my head with my right arm. My hand deflected it somewhat, I think, or I'd be in worse shape than I am. It was quite heavy."
"Poltergeist," Mark said.
"Well…" Again the glance Josef gave Mark was mingled with unwilling respect. "I suppose you're right. I hadn't thought of it in quite those terms."
"What is a poltergeist?" Pat asked, hoping it wasn't quite as unacceptable to common sense as an ordinary ghost.
Apparently she was the only one unfamiliar with the term. The others all spoke at once. As was to be expected, Mark's voice dominated.
"It's a mischievous spirit, or malicious ghost. It makes rapping noises and throws stones and things. The classic case-the one that marks the beginning of the Spiritualist movement-was that of the Fox sisters, in 1848-"
"Not a good example, Mark," Josef interrupted. "Margaret Fox confessed, forty years later, that she produced the rappings by cracking the joint of her big toe."
"But-" Mark began.
"Let me finish." Josef turned to Pat. "I became interested in the subject because I once had a case that in-volved a supposed poltergeist. A family had bought a house that proved to be virtually uninhabitable. The bedclothes were pulled off the beds while people were sleeping in them, the walls reverberated with knocking and rapping all night long, stones and rocks fell, apparently out of empty air. The family sued my client, claiming that he knew when he sold them the house that it was haunted. There was no denying that disturbances had occurred; several unimpeachable outside witnesses had observed them."
"You never told me about that case," Kathy said.
"It was ten years ago, Kathy; and God knows I never imagined we'd have any personal interest in haunted houses. At any rate, I did some research on poltergeists and learned a few facts that saved my client from an expensive settlement.
"In almost every reported case, as in that one, there was an adolescent child living in the disturbed house. Often psychic investigators were able to prove that the child had caused the disturbances by the same sort of trickery practiced by stage magicians. The hand is faster than the eye, in fact, and these kids were amazingly adept at twitching strings, pushing objects with their toes, and so on."
"Wait a minute," Mark said. "Not all the cases could be explained that way. I remember reading-"
"A book by some quack ghost hunter, probably. People of that ilk are either cynical professional writers, willing to report anything that will sell, or they are incredibly gullible. The investigators of the Society for Psychic Research aren't so naive. When a thorough, controlled investigation of a poltergeist was made, trickery was almost always found."
Mark's face was getting red. Pat knew he was controlling himself with an effort; he would have interrupted anyone but Kathy's father long since.
"Aren't you being inconsistent, Josef?" she asked. "You say you saw the vase move, but you maintain that all poltergeist cases are faked. Or are you accusing Kathy?"
"Certainly not! Besides, if Mark's evidence can be trusted, she was outside the house when the vase moved."
It was Mark's turn to choke with indignation.
"If that's what legal training does for you, I don't want it. You can't clear your own daughter of trying to brain you unless she's got an alibi? What kind of-"
"That's the only way we can approach this mess," Josef said angrily. "By being rigorously logical. If we make exceptions-"
"Well, dammit, I don't suspect the people I love of-"
"You young jackass, it isn't a question-"
Pat banged her hand down on the table. Plates rattled, and the debaters stopped shouting.
"That's enough," she said severely. "You're behaving like spoiled brats-both of you. Mark, is there any more coffee?"
Mark got up and went to the stove. Even the back of his neck was red.
"You are quite right," Josef said, his flush subsiding. "I apologize for shouting. All the same-"
Mark returned with the coffeepot and poured, rather sloppily. Being younger, he was not as well disciplined as Josef; his cheekbones still showed bright spots of temper, but when he spoke he was obviously trying to be conciliatory.