Diary Entry June 9, 1926
What a long, strange, and, frankly, terrifying evening.
Now that it’s over, the events of tonight have led me to think my initial trepidation upon arriving in New Avalon was more than justified.
I still plan on staying here for the foreseeable future—and honestly have no other place to go—but if tonight is any indication, I’ll need to be more vigilant going forward.
I suppose I should start with what happened immediately after dinner.
I spent a few post-meal minutes conversing with Jonquil and Mrs. Minafer beneath the giant oak.
When I returned to my cottage, I found Mrs. Semple inside.
Even worse, she had this very journal and my suitcase open on the bed and was sorting through both.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
My presence clearly startled her, but Mrs. Semple recovered quickly and said, “I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I seem to have lost a pewter hairbrush and came here to look for it.”
“I didn’t steal anything!” I said, worried that she thought me a thief.
“I never thought you did. I merely assumed you’d borrowed it.”
“Well, it’s not here,” I said.
In all honesty, the only reason Mrs. Semple’s presence bothered me is because it further confirmed what I’ve suspected ever since arriving here. She is indeed watching me.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, shutting both the journal and the suitcase. “I have an idea! Let’s go to the house and have a session.”
I knew what she was talking about. She was suggesting a séance. My first on New Avalon. I’d been wondering when she would allow us to try to test our Gifts.
“It’s time, don’t you think?” she said. “Let’s finally talk to those spirits you’ve been hearing.”
We left my cottage under a starless sky, the rumble of thunder in the distance signaling an approaching storm.
As we walked, Katrina stepped onto the porch of her cottage, clearly jealous that Mrs. Semple had picked me for the first séance.
That would have pleased me if I hadn’t been so nervous.
I had never tried to contact the dead before—and the idea of doing so filled me with trepidation.
I realized it would be a comfort to have the others there as well.
So when I saw Mrs. Minafer and Jonquil also watching us pass, I asked, “Can the others join us?”
Mrs. Semple looked around, uncertain, before saying, “Yes. I think that’s a splendid idea.”
The first drops of rain started to fall as we all went to the main house, where Mrs. Semple led us to the parlor.
It was dark inside, lit only by candles placed on the sideboard.
There was a table in the center of the room, on top of which were wooden tiles marked with letters of the alphabet, arranged clockwise from A to Z.
Interspersed among them, at the three and nine o’clock positions, were two tiles on which a single word had been written.
YES on one piece.
NO on the other.
We took our seats, and Mrs. Semple placed a drinking glass upside down in the center of the table. “Let us begin,” she said.
She instructed us to place two fingers on the bottom of the glass. If there was someone willing to communicate with us, it would spell out words by moving the glass around the letters.
“I’m not sure this is proper,” Mrs. Minafer said. “If the good Lord wanted us to commune with the dead, He would have allowed us to do it without dabbling in the occult.”
“There’s nothing evil about it,” Katrina argued. “It’s just like using a telephone.”
Unlike Mrs. Minafer, I was concerned about more practical matters.
While I assumed the letters and the glass on the table were a way to facilitate communication, I wasn’t sure if any spirits would arrive.
I do nothing to summon the ones that speak to me.
They just arrive, unprompted. When I brought this to the attention of Mrs. Semple, she said, “I’d like to try it this way for now.
Let us not set expectations. Just invite people in and see who answers the call. ”
I did as I was told, closing my eyes and clearing my mind as Mrs. Semple said, “Is there someone here who’d like to speak with us?”
There was no response. All was silent, save for the soft patter of rain on the windows ringing half the room. I looked to the glass on the table, which moved not one bit.
“Are we doing it wrong?” I said.
“Let’s try again,” Mrs. Semple said with a gentle nod of encouragement. “Things like this rarely happen immediately. It takes patience and perseverance.”
We made another attempt, again inviting any spirits interested in making their presence known. Although the glass remained completely still, something stirred in the darkness around us. It felt like someone had just entered the room, bringing with them a sharp chill.
Outside, the rain on the window increased as inside the parlor the cold movement continued to swirl around me. The flames of the candles on the sideboard began to wobble, as if buffeted by a strong breeze. I took it to be a sign that we were not alone.
“I think someone is here,” I whispered, suddenly fearful. This didn’t feel like my previous experience with the Gift.
“If that is so, we welcome you,” Mrs. Semple told the spirit who might or might not have been there. “Please make your presence known.”
I stared at the glass, astonished to see that it had started to move.
Because each of us was touching it, one could assume that we ourselves were moving it.
Yet my touch on the glass was very light.
It seemed the same way with Mrs. Semple and the others.
Even if one of us was pushing the glass, I saw no way in which all of us could have silently agreed to move it in a single direction—to the tile marked YES.
“Good evening, friend,” Mrs. Semple said to the spirit.
The overturned glass moved again, this time skipping around to several of the lettered tiles arranged on the table. Somehow we all managed to keep our fingers against the glass’s bottom, even though Jonquil made it clear she didn’t believe any of it.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “You’re all moving it.”
“We’re not,” Katrina replied, giving her a sharp look. “If you don’t want to be here, then by all means leave.”
I kept my gaze on the glass, which moved so quickly that I could scarcely keep up with what the spirit was trying to spell. I caught an H, then an E, followed by an L. The glass slid away from it before looping back around again, signaling a second L.
“‘Hello’?” Mrs. Semple said. “Are you attempting to greet us?”
The glass moved across the table, to the tile marked NO.
That brought a concerned look to Mrs. Semple’s face, who spoke again, this time with pronounced caution. “Perhaps we should start with your name. Please identify yourself.”
The glass started to move again, sliding around the table to the A, the Z, the R, and the A again. When it stopped, Mrs. Semple spoke the name the spirit had given us.
“‘Azra’? Is that what you’d like us to call you?”
The glass returned to the YES tile and stayed there.
Azra.
There was nothing frightening about the name itself.
Yet hearing it caused me to rattle with fear.
Even though Katrina said she had made it all up, I pictured the dark figure she’d mockingly claimed to have seen outside my cottage door.
Could that have been Azra? The very idea made me want to get up from the table and leave.
I stayed only because that would have been rude and likely disappointed Mrs. Semple.
I simply couldn’t do that. Not after she had shown such kindness by bringing me here.
If we were here to test my Gift, then I just had to endure it.
“Greetings, Azra,” Mrs. Semple said. “You are among friends here and may speak freely. Is there something you wish to tell us?”
By then, the storm had fully reached the island, with lightning flashing in bright, ragged shards and thunder beating like drums in the roiling clouds.
Even though I knew it was merely an act of nature, I couldn’t help but think the storm and Azra’s presence were related.
The thought of those two forces arriving in tandem filled me with dread.
I watched the glass as it began to move again, hoping it would go to the NO tile and that the séance would be over.
Whoever this Azra was, I’d already decided I didn’t want to hear anything else from them.
Unfortunately, the glass slid back to the YES tile, indicating they had more to say.
“I don’t like this,” I said. “I want to stop, please.”
“But we’ve only just begun,” Mrs. Semple said.
“I don’t care.”
Across the table, Katrina let out an annoyed sigh. “Stop being such a fraidy-cat, Daisy.”
She could have called me every mean word in the dictionary, and I wouldn’t have cared. Ignoring her, I turned to Mrs. Semple and said, “Please let’s stop. We can have another session tomorrow night and hopefully make contact with someone else.”
“Like your father?” Katrina said.
“Yes. Him or one of your loved ones. Just not Azra.”
“My child, we can’t select who speaks to us,” Mrs. Semple told me with a sad shake of her head. “All we can do is listen to those who come forward. As for you, Azra, please continue. Tell us what you would like to say.”
The glass stayed where it was, motionless.
“I think our new friend has gotten shy,” Mrs. Semple said. Looking at me, she added, “Perhaps you should try asking a question.”
“Me?” I said, surprised. I’d made it quite clear I had no desire to talk to Azra. If anyone should ask a question, it was Katrina. Yet Mrs. Semple nodded my way and said, “Go on. Ask anything you’d like.”
One question immediately came to mind, so I uttered it out loud for Azra to hear.
“Azra, are you a spirit?”
Instantly, the glass slid to the NO tile in a single, unbroken motion.
“No?” Katrina asked, not even attempting to hide her disappointment. “What does that mean?”
“That they’re not dead,” Jonquil said.
“Or,” Mrs. Minafer added ominously, “that they were never alive to begin with.”