Last séance

Gathering strength and swelling, the ectoplasm rose above the table, its ethereal body brushing against the parlor ceiling. Beneath it lay the woman from whose mouth it had flowed amid shuddering and convulsions, her eyes vacant and thick drops of sweat upon her face. The substance hated the medium. She was nothing more than a hateful jailer who forced it into long periods of confinement within her body, allowing it into the world only so its glow could impress the credulous souls who left their coins on the counter. The trance never lasted long, and then the spiritualist, gathering her strength, would allow her consciousness to assert itself, forcing the substance to draw its fluids back with the natural result that it returned to its cloister. Locked away there, it possessed neither shape, color, nor temperature; outside, by contrast, it was free; it felt alive, capable of assuming physical form, and of taking possession of any body. The dim light made it easy to display its size, and the air allowed it to suspend itself comfortably, even as meaningless words were uttered by the medium. The specter began circling, terrifying the attendees even further; however, its purpose was not to frighten, but to encircle the seer’s head and suffocate her with its fluids. The woman choked and coughed hoarsely, her hands searching in vain to stop the macabre dance of the substance until, with a breathless cry, she fell face down upon the table. Confusion reigned in the room, and the believers raised their voices in an attempt to help the medium, upon whose rigid countenance death was already written upon her face; one of them rushed to draw back the curtains, and beams of light burst into the parlor. The ectoplasm withered under the force of the sunbeams, its luminescence losing color as the glare pierced through it; and so, in its anguish, it sought refuge within the spiritualist’s body, only to encounter an unusual coldness, while its fluids were left at the mercy of the elements.