march 1970, second semester, sophomore year, Age 20

séance
 

My Magical Mystery Tour had begun as a search for answers following a close call with a nervous breakdown.  Thank goodness the warmth of the people at the Baltimore Quaker Meeting helped me pull me out of my dangerous downward spiral.  However, my trip to the Homewood Friends Meeting had taken me to all sorts of unexpected places.  Not only did the Quaker Meeting help me get back on my feet, another door seemed to open every time I visited.  Over a two-month period, March-April, these adventures profoundly changed the direction of my life. 

My third door was the lecture held at the Quaker Meeting conducted by Bob Hieronimus.  Cayce, Yogananda, and the Yogi from India had asserted the existence of a Hidden World.  However, it was Bob Hieronimus who brought it all to life.  He aroused my curiosity with his tales of the Hidden World.  There was something about the way he spoke that suggested he knew a lot more about this so-called Hidden World than he was letting on. 

My fourth door opened in late March one week after the Hieronimus lecture.  I was sitting in Quaker Meeting on a Sunday morning when I realized I actually felt cheerful for the first time in ages.  I was happy because reading about Yogananda and Edgar Cayce had given me renewed hope.  Maybe this world wasn't so terrible after all.  Maybe there was more to life than just sitting around and feeling sorry for myself all the time.  At this point that my Magical Mystery Tour had become the most important thing in my life, even more important than women if you can believe that.  For the time being anyway.

During the Sunday service, I looked around the room at all the people deep in meditation with their eyes closed.  I was grateful to these people.  I felt safe here.  Quaker Meeting was my sanctuary, my place to escape my gloomy campus for a while.  In their own way, the members of the Quaker Meeting had done the same thing for me as Mrs. Ballantyne two years ago.  Their kindness had helped me overcome an intense depression born of loneliness.  In the period of just one month, I had made a remarkable recovery from my bout with mental illness and I credited the Quaker Meeting.  When the Meeting ended today, as usual several nice people came over to greet me.  It was reassuring to be reminded there really were happy people in this world.  

I was disappointed not to see Richard today.  Just then an older lady named Constance came over to chat.  I had seen Constance at last week's Hieronimus lecture.  Now she was curious to know what I thought about the mystic.  I replied that I had been unable to put Hieronimus out of my thoughts.  She laughed and said she felt the same way.  Then I told Constance about my whirlwind reading project to investigate those unusual ideas he had presented.  Constance smiled with amusement.

"Rick, if I didn't know better, I would say you have found a new path.  I have a suggestion.  If you are curious about the Occult and the Hidden World, why not attend a séance?"

A seance?  My immediate reaction was to frown, but then I decided it was in my best interest to stay open-minded.  I have always believed it is the highest form of ignorance to reflexively reject something I know nothing about.  Although I was very uncomfortable with her suggestion, I was also curious.  So I asked Constance to explain what took place and how to attend.  After offering some background information, Constance gave me the address to a nearby row house on Greenmount Avenue.  She said that every Tuesday evening a medium named Dorothy conducted a séance.  Dorothy was a friend of hers and there was nothing to be afraid of.

I wasn't so sure about this séance idea, but I had made a silent vow to follow whatever rabbit hole came my way within reason.  If the Beatles were willing to drop LSD and visit India to explore the unknown, then what stopped me from exploring the unknown as well?  I wasn't interested in mind-altering drugs, but I was cautiously open to other possibilities.  So far I had read Autobiography of a Yogi, read about Edgar Cayce, met an actual yogi, and had attended the Hieronimus lecture.  Why stop now?  So I decided to take Constance up on her suggestion.  On a Tuesday evening two days later, I walked from campus to the address given me.  After knocking on the door, I was guided to a small room upstairs.  I introduced myself to Dorothy, an older lady who was the medium.  After I said that Constance had sent me, Dorothy relaxed and welcomed me.  Dorothy said she would conduct a meeting at which people could attempt to make contact with the dead by way of her unique psychic abilities.

I recalled a séance scene from some movie.  In the movie, they kept the lights on, they had a table where everyone gathered, and they touched hands.  However, for tonight's séance, we did none of that.  10 of us sat in chairs forming a circle with the center left open.  Someone turned out the lights and the room went pitch black.  A small candle on the floor over by the doorway served as the only light in the room.  It was very dark in there.  I could just vaguely see the outline of the person next to me.

Once the lights were out, various dead people began to speak through the medium.  Dorothy gave voice to everyone from Aunt Nellie to Abe Lincoln to Saint Paul to Chief Running Bear.  I was impressed by the range of voices emanating from the medium, but found myself feeling more skeptical than convinced.

No spirit ever spoke to me, so I just sat there.  I assumed since everyone I was close to was still alive, there weren't any dead people who were interested in me.  So I sat back and listened to other people try to make contact.  Some of the phantom visitors were celebrities.  For example, I was a little surprised when Abraham Lincoln showed up.  The thought that the ghost of Abe Lincoln was still hanging around after all these years was a little tough to swallow.  Weren't ghosts supposed to move on? 

I also thought it was odd that the dead people who were being channeled had no relationship to the guests in the darkened room.  I thought séances were used to contact loved ones who had passed on.  It was weird at first, but now this stuff was really hokey.  What had I been so afraid of?  The strange voices in the total darkness were a bit spooky, but otherwise the séance was pretty tame.  I suppressed a yawn.  What was there to be afraid of?  This stuff was boring. 

At that moment, some man screamed in the dark.  "I am Leon and I come from the Devil!!  I have stolen each of your souls and they belong to me for eternity!"

I was startled and so was the woman next to me.  She began screaming in fear and I lost it for a moment there myself.  Oh no, my soul is gone!  The extreme darkness served to heighten the terror.  After scaring us to death, Leon made a swift departure down the stairs.  I was in so much shock I had no idea what to do.  Was it possible for someone to steal my soul?  I wasn't sure, but I was so shaken I did not know what to think.  Just then someone hit the light switch.  Now that we could see again, the relief on everyone's face was obvious.  Dorothy reassured us that our souls were safe and apologized for the behavior of that madman.  I wasn't sure what to believe.  I went home feeling pretty shaken.  With a nervous chuckle, I recalled complaining to myself how boring the séance had been one moment before Leon screamed in the night.  Remind me not to complain the next time I get bored. 

Since something out of the ordinary had definitely taken place, my curiosity demanded I inspect further.  And with that thought, I went back the following week.  Fortunately this time Leon was nowhere to be seen.  I was not sure if I still had my soul or not, but I didn't feel any different.  I decided not to worry about it.  Things went smoothly on my second visit, so I returned for my third visit in early April.  No one ever spoke to me and each time I left feeling curious, but not convinced.  I noticed how each voice had different speech patterns and distinctly different personalities.  If Dorothy was faking this, she was pretty good.  Despite my skepticism, I found the experience interesting.  Considering how terrified I was at the thought of death, perhaps I could find some sort of reassurance here. 

Besides, wasn't it gratifying to have such an exciting new social outlet?  Gee, I was meeting Lincoln, Napoleon, St. Paul and Cleopatra on a regular basis.  And don't forget Mary the Spinster, a woman who lamented never finding the love of her life.  What a shame Mary was dead.  After all, I was available. 

I was unsure what conclusions to draw from attending these séances.  After three visits, I still had no idea what was going on.  To begin with, the voices always seemed to come from the direction of Dorothy.  The voices were so radically different, they seemed authentic.  However, I suppose the dark could have concealed some sort of trickery.  As for being suspicious, what was there to be suspicious of?  No one was charging any money, no one was asking any favors.  I could not detect the slightest hidden agenda.  As for Dorothy, she was a rather plump, rather plain, modest woman 50 years of age.  She was so harmless I did not get the least suspicious vibe about her.  To begin with, I did not believe this unassuming woman had the ability to fake all those voices.  Nor did I think there was a hidden ventriloquist.  I mean, why bother?  Why go to all that trouble?  Since Dorothy didn't charge any money or draw any particular attention to herself, I felt this woman was sincere.  What did she stand to gain to by fooling us?  She served us tea prior to the séance and thanked us for coming when it was over.  To be honest, I really didn't know what to make of it all.  If this was the Hidden World, ho hum. 

April 1970, second semester, sophomore year, Age 20

Vicky
 

On the first Sunday morning in April, I made a new friend at the Quaker Meeting.  Following the service, a young lady came up and introduced herself.  We were the two youngest people in the room, so I was glad to talk to her.  Her name was Vicky and she was Irish in every way.  Vicky was a head shorter and a bit on the chubby side, but she had a striking appearance.  Pale skin, all-black outfit, jet black hair cut short, riveting blue eyes.    The movie Beetlejuice was many years in the future, but Vicky was the spitting image of Winona Ryder's Lydia.  Vicky was very attractive, but there was also a definite edge to her.  Vicky was younger than me, but she was such a character I could care less about the age difference.  I pegged her for a high school senior, two years behind me.  Close enough.

Impertinent and bold, Vicky came on very strong.  She had a rather intense personality.  Vicky liked to tease in a sarcastic way and I would tease back.  She had a way of challenging me that I found intriguing.  I enjoyed matching wits with her.  Talking to Vicky was fun.  Giving free rein to my own sarcasm, I could be myself.  I was very drawn to her.

Seeing me eye her with interest, Vicky impishly spoke up.  "So, Rick, what do you think about dating Irish girls half your age?  Are you a cradle robber by nature?"

Taken aback, I replied, "Uh, you're cute, but you seem a bit too young and pure for me."

"Oh, how right you are!  I am very pure.  I take my purity seriously.  Do you want to hear a Limerick about virtue?"

Grinning, I said sure.

"There was a young lady named Wilde
who kept herself quite undefiled by thinking of Jesus, contagious diseases
and having an unwanted small child."

I cracked up.  "That was great, Vicky!  Do you have another one?"

"There was a young lady named Zest
who pondered coming undressed.
'I'll give you a peek of my generous chest,
just hand me some cash and I'll show you the rest.'"

Smiling, I retorted, "What happened to your purity?"

With a wink, Vicky replied, "I have a split personality.  I'm good during the day and bad during the night." 

I shook my head in admiration.  I had never met a girl quite so sassy before.  Vicky was quite a departure from the poised women of Goucher who would never dream of letting their hair down.  As we bantered, it was nice to know I still had the ability to speak to girls.  So how was my love life these days?  Do you really need to ask?  The answer would be non-existent.  Here in the latter half of my Sophomore year, I had not had a date since November of my Freshman year.  Sixteen months is a long time.  Maybe Vicky was the answer to my loneliness. 

Vicky was unlike any girl I had ever met.  It was like we were on an identical wavelength.   Open to the possibility of finally landing a girlfriend, I was very happy to meet this pretty young lady.  We parted with a warm 'see you next week!' 

The following Sunday, I was pleased to see Vicky wave at me from across the room.  After the Quaker hour of silence, Vicky and I resumed our conversation.  Vicky had obviously been waiting for this moment because she pounced on me like a ravenous black cat.  Noticing she wore all-black again, she was a panther on the prowl.  With those striking blue eyes burning a hole in me, this time I felt on guard.  Vicky was so aggressive that my instincts suggested I step back and put on the brakes. 

Based on last week's conversation, I could tell Vicky was interested in me.  However, this time her intensity was so much stronger.  She didn't just like me, I was certain she had a serious crush.  This was new.  To my knowledge, no girl ever had a crush on me before.  However, I knew the feeling.  With a wince, I recalled my powerful crush on Emily in my Freshman year.  My affection for Train Station Emily had been so strong I was beginning to think that was what caused her to back off.  I guess I had moved too fast.  Now that the shoe was on the other foot, I could see why Emily's feelings might have cooled.  With a deep sigh, it was a shame I did not understand this dynamic back then.  My Blind Spots with women were such a curse. 

Right now Vicky's aggressiveness was very uncomfortable.  I wanted to put my hands up and tell her to slow down.  Why was this girl pushing so hard?  As my sense of caution kicked in, I decided to check out a disturbing hunch.  I asked her age, but Vicky dodged the subject.  However, when I insisted, Vicky admitted she was 15.  I could barely contain my disappointment.  Good grief.  I was 20.  Five years might not matter so much if we were in our 20s or 30s, but five years at this stage was a lot to overcome.  Immediately I felt a switch click off inside.  I had no business pursuing this girl.  The combination of Vicky's extreme eagerness and the huge age difference forced me to view Vicky through a much different lens.  Vicky was certainly attractive and I enjoyed talking to her, but even in my love-starved state I had serious reservations about adding more wood to this particular fire. 

I think Vicky sensed my growing reluctance because she made a bold move.  To my surprise, she asked me out.  Vicky asked if we could have dinner sometime.  My brain screamed no way; this is not a good idea.  Despite my desperate need for companionship, I sensed something was wrong here.  Vicky was too hungry, too needy, too aggressive.  With all sorts of walls going up, I wanted to put distance between us, not come closer.  I thanked Vicky for the invitation, but this was a really busy week at school, term paper due and exams to study for.  Maybe another time, let's talk about it next week, etc.  I brushed her off as gently as I could.

Vicky was hurt.  She immediately entered pout mode.  Her shoulders drooped and her face reflected her disappointment.  With an air of resignation, she said okay and walked away.  When I saw how upset Vicky was, my heart went out to her.  Recalling how my own vulnerability had led to so much pain with Emily, I wanted to soften the blow.  Trying to let Vicky down easy, I asked her to hold on for a moment.  I told her I wasn't dating anyone, don't be upset, don't take it personally, I just felt like I was a bit too old.

Although it was true I wasn't dating anyone, this was something I probably should have kept to myself.  Vicky gave me a longing look that suggested this was not the end of it, then abruptly walked away.  I think in Vicky's mind my soothing remark left the door open.  I skipped Quaker Meeting next week hoping Vicky's ardor would diminish somewhat.  Then came the strange Saturday morning incident with the basketball eye injury.  Still feeling rattled over the accident and the weird astrological coincidence, I was in real need of returning to Quaker Meeting the next day.  It did not take long to notice Vicky staring at me from across the room.  When I saw her big smile and gooey eyes, uh oh, I knew I was in trouble. 

Sure enough, once Quaker Meeting concluded, Vicky came on just as hot and heavy as before.  She immediately walked over and wanted to know all about the big patch above my right eye.  The moment I finished telling her the story of my injury, she said, "I want to hear more about this!  Plus I'm a great nurse, lots of TLC.  Hey, let's go to dinner!" 

When I hesitated, Vicky quipped, "What's your excuse this time?"

I immediately winced.  At this exact moment, I was indeed racking my brain for some lame reason to say no.  Her line about searching for an excuse caught me so off guard that I blushed. 

"Gotcha, didn't I?" 

Yes, she did.  If I didn't know better, Vicky had just read my mind.  Since I had no decent excuse, I decided to accept.  It didn't have to lead to anything and, besides, she was right, I could certainly use the company. 

"Okay, Vicky, you win.  Let's go get some pizza some night this week."

That is when Vicky threw me a wicked curve. 

"No, I have a better idea.  Let's have dinner at my house!  I've already asked my mother and she's okay with it."

What??  Good grief.  Never... and I mean NEVER... in my wildest imagination did I think 'dinner' meant dinner at her house.  I assumed we would meet at some pizza spot in her neighborhood and I would buy her a beer so Vicky could pretend she was a big girl.  Then I remembered I wasn't old enough to buy a beer either.  Hmm.  Obviously my dating skills were out of date.  Or extinct.

With Vicky standing there burning a hole in my defense system with those laser beam eyes, what was I supposed to say?  I groaned.  What have I gotten myself into?  I did not want to do this. 

I vaguely knew Vicky's mother from Quaker Meeting.  I had not yet been introduced to the gaunt, sad-faced woman, but I had noticed her hovering in the distance whenever Vicky spoke to me.  In fact, I noticed her peering at us from afar as we spoke.  How could I not notice?  Like Vicky, her mother dressed in black.  This tall, ultra-thin woman was a dead ringer for Morticia on the Addams Family.  With her pale face, long black hair and dark eyes, Vicky's mother gave me the creeps. 

I never learned the lady's first or last name, so let's call her Mrs. Addams.  It was unsettling to see this morbid lady stare at us intently.  Since Vicky had asked permission beforehand, obviously Mrs. Addams knew what her precocious daughter was up to.  What have I gotten myself into?  I had not bargained on this weird lady.  I dreaded the thought of spending an evening with this foreboding woman.  Since her mother seemed overprotective, I expected Mrs. Addams would subject me to close scrutiny. 

I gave it some thought.  Unfortunately, it would be very awkward to decline now.  For some reason, my presence meant a lot to this girl.  I had already said yes, so I decided I wasn't going to back out.  But that didn't mean I was looking forward to it.  I got Vicky's phone number and agreed to come over on Tuesday night.  But I wasn't happy about it.  Dinner at Vicky's house was the last thing I wanted to do.  What have I gotten myself into?

As I walked back to campus, I strongly regretted my decision.  This poor girl was wearing her heart on her sleeve.  There was something about Vicky's aching vulnerability that suggested there must be something wrong.  For that reason I did not dare cancel the date. Although I no longer felt remotely romantic towards Vicky, I did feel protective.  Vicky had activated some sort of 'big brother' instinct in me.  Since I knew Vicky was counting on seeing me, I did not have the heart to let her down.  How could I forget how much Emily had hurt me by canceling our date shortly before the train station incident?  So I came up with a ploy to cut the evening short.  Right before I left my apartment to pick her up, I called ahead to tell Vicky I would have to leave early since I planned to attend a séance that night.

I thought this seance idea was the perfect move to limit my time with Vicky's scary mother.  Guess again.   Never in my wildest dreams did it occur to me Vicky might want to come along.  But that is exactly what happened.  Vicky immediately asked if she could join me. 

Taken aback, I replied, "Uh, you should ask your mother."  So Vicky put down the phone.  While I waited, I shook my head in consternation.  I had not anticipated this.  But I wasn't worried.  No ordinary mother in her right mind would ever allow her teenage daughter to accompany a total stranger like me to a séance.   Guess again.  Vicky reported her mother said okay.  I was stunned.  This is unbelievable.  How could my clever idea have backfired so miserably?

As I feared, Vicky's home was an aging, run-down row house.  It was three stories tall and extremely narrow.  Side by side twelve units to a block, these dwellings were common in Baltimore.  Street after street was home to another set of ugly row houses.  I hated row houses.  I had never seen a more depressing style of architecture.  Having spent the first half of my miserable Sophomore year sleeping on the couch of a beat-up row house just like this one, I shuddered at the thought of entering another one.  But what choice did I have?  This night was off to a terrible start. 

Vicky threw open the door and greeted me enthusiastically with a big hug.  "Guess what, Rick, I have a surprise for you!"

Now what?  As we climbed the long staircase, Vicky was full of enthusiasm. 

"I have something to tell you, Rick.  Someone once told me I am a natural psychic.  I can't wait to see what a séance is like."

I blanched.  Oh my God, what is going on here?  I said nothing, but to myself I wondered if this was a nightmare.  Time to wait up, Rick!  No such luck.  Right now I felt like Brer Rabbit and the tar baby.  Whatever move I made, it sucked me deeper into something I never wanted to do in the first place.   Since I could see no polite way out of this dilemma, my last hope was her over-protective mother would change her mind and forbid the idea.  After all, an impressionable 15-year old girl had no business being alone with an unknown college boy heading into a risky situation like a séance. 

As we climbed the steep stairs, Vicky's mother appeared at the top of the steps.  I froze.  There she was, the imposing, gaunt-faced Mistress Morticia looming above.  In the darkness of the second level, Mrs. Addams had a macabre look.  As usual, this tall, slender woman was wearing all black.  Nor could I detect any hint of a smile.  With her hollow eyes and prominent cheekbones jutting out, I could not help but notice the woman was downright emaciated.  The word 'skeletal' crossed my mind.  Vicky's mother scared the wits out of me.  I felt like I was coming to a funeral, not a dinner.

Wondering again what I had gotten myself into, I climbed the stairs as slowly as possible, sort of the same way I might walk to my execution.  The second level of the home was unusual.  It had no walls.  The living room, dining room and kitchen were in the same large room.  The area was decorated in dark grays and browns.  Without a single bright color in sight, this was a truly depressing area.  Recalling my problems with my mother's House of Horror during my Senior year of high school, Vicky's home was even worse.  I wasn't sure how to decorate a haunted house, but add a few cobwebs and this place was off to a good start.  As I feared, Vicky lived alone with her mother.  I had assumed she was an only child, but I had no idea it was this bad.  Feeling trapped with all sorts of dread gnawing at me, I began to understand why Vicky needed a friend so badly.  I also understood why I felt so threatened.  Vicky's situation with her mother reminded me far too much of my own difficult circumstances growing up.   I had spent four years in high school hoping, begging, praying for the day when I could escape my mother.  Seeing that Vicky was in the same spot, all those memories of feeling trapped came surging back.  The thought of living in this dreary home with this cold, sad woman as her sole companion was appalling.

As we sat down for dinner, I had absolutely no appetite.  To be polite, I picked at my food.  Our conversation began with her mother asking Vicky how school had gone that day.  Did she have her homework done?  How are things going in that difficult math class?  Considering that Vicky was desperately trying to act five years older, this line of questioning didn't help much.  Seeing how embarrassed Vicky was at being treated like a kid, I could not help but wonder if Vicky's mother was doing this deliberately.  Was this her way of demonstrating her daughter was much too young for me?  If so, I got the message.  Keep your hands to yourself, buddy.

Trying to invoke some levity into the situation, I commented that I had trouble finding the correct house because the row houses all looked alike.  "Fortunately, Vicky told me to look for the black door.  That did the trick.  So I have a question.  Each front door on your block is painted a different color.  Is there a reason for that?"

The table became very quiet as Mrs. Addams stared long and hard at me.  Finally she spoke up.  "Sooner or later every woman learns to paint her door a different color for the nights her husband comes home drunk."

What kind of answer was that?  Was this woman joking?   I looked for any hint of humor on her face, but there was none.  And with that, it was time for the interrogation to begin.  Sure enough, I had to answer a battery of questions.  The lady was very blunt in some of the things she asked me.  Where were we going?  Would her daughter be safe?  What took place at these events?  What time would she be home?  Rather than be offended, I understood.  The mother was being protective; she didn't want her young daughter alone with some college boy she didn't trust.  It didn't take much of an imagination to see how vulnerable her daughter was.  One snap of my fingers and this lonely girl would be in my lap.  Even with my limited experience, I could see Vicky was easy pickings. 

Mrs. Addams was clearly unhappy about something.  Assuming I was the problem, I tried to think of a polite way to reassure the woman that her daughter was safe with me without insulting Vicky at the same time.  How was I supposed to communicate there was not a hint of lust in my body?  Right now I felt incredibly sorry for this lonely girl.  Perhaps Mrs. Addams sensed I was a decent person.  She reluctantly nodded permission to her daughter to go through with this.  Vicky was ecstatic, but not me.  I felt an overwhelming depression take over.  I knew exactly what Vicky was going through.  Considering her mother was gloom personified, this poor girl must be going out of her mind.  And to think she was facing two more years till high school ended. 

It did not seem possible, but the more I learned, I concluded I had met a younger version of myself.  This poor girl was following a path almost identical to my own miserable childhood.  What a strange coincidence.  No wonder Vicky was so drawn to me.  She must have known on some level that we were the same.  Immediately my mind went on Supernatural alert.  Something very much out of the ordinary was happening here.  Vicky had latched onto me just like I had once latched on to Mrs. Ballantyne without really knowing why.  How was it possible that I had always 'known' that Mrs. Ballantyne and I were connected?  How did that dynamic work?  How was it possible for Vicky to sense I was a slightly older version of herself?  Vicky said she was psychic.  Maybe that explained it.

I studied the taciturn Mrs. Addams carefully.  I had always thought my mother was the most depressing woman in the world.  How wrong I was.  At least my mother could laugh once in a while and go dancing.  Not this strange, melancholy lady.  Living in this mausoleum, no wonder Vicky was such a basket case.   My gut suggested Vicky was counting the seconds until she was old enough to leave her prison.  Fighting off an involuntary shudder, the misery emanating from this woman reminded me far too much of how trapped I felt living with my mother.  Filled with panic, I was unable to sit still one moment longer.  I arose and thanked Vicky's mother for dinner and her hospitality.  I lied about the starting time of the séance just so we could leave early.  I asked Vicky if she was ready. 

Poor Vicky.  Vicky got up so fast she tripped getting out of her chair.  I had to suppress an ironic smile.  Weren't we a pair?  This was not a date in my mind, but it was definitely a date in Vicky's mind.  Mrs. Addams didn't make it easy.  She followed us down the stairs all the way to where my car was parked.  Beckoning Vicky to roll the car window down, she went over curfew rules and reminded her daughter that this was a school night.  Then she stared directly at me to make sure I was listening.  The woman could not possibly have humiliated Vicky any more than she did with her stern lecture. 

I watched Vicky's facial expressions.  She sat there stone-faced and took her mother's little-girl treatment in stride.  I was impressed with Vicky's self-control.  She was so much more obedient than I ever was.  I would never have let my mother talk to me like that.  I concluded that Vicky was light years more mature than me at a similar age.

Once we were on the road, Vicky said her mother was dying of cancer.  The countdown was getting close.  It was just a matter of time.  One month.  Maybe two months.  She began to cry her head off.  Through gut-wrenching sobs, Vicky managed to blurt out they were conducting some sort of agonizing death watch together.  

I felt sick.  Why didn't I guess that?  Now I understood why they both wore black.  All the dread I had felt in that house suddenly made sense.  The Grim Reaper had no doubt been sitting at the dinner table to remind Mrs. Addams that he would be coming soon.  That explained the woman's utter cheerlessness.  I could not imagine how much Vicky suffered living in that dreary atmosphere as her mother's only companion.  The guilt over her mother's impending doom must have been unbearable.  What a brave girl.  I felt so sorry for her.

I also felt utterly ashamed of myself.  I had spent my entire life cloaked in self-pity, but my situation was nothing compared to hers.  I could not believe I had actually met a girl whose childhood fate was worse than my own.  In Vicky's case, far worse.  Again I wondered how the Universe worked.  Did the Universe send me this girl as a way to tell me to quit complaining all the time?  If so, they had chosen well.  My heart went out to Vicky.  If anyone ever needed a friend, she did.  No wonder she had been so aggressive.  Vicky needed a friend in the worst possible way.  She needed someone, anyone, to talk to and give her a respite from her mother's bleak fate. 

Although I understood Vicky's predicament, unfortunately I had no idea what to say to console the girl.  I was very upset with myself.  It hurts to admit this, but I did not know how to take care of her.  I had spent so much of my childhood alone that I could not recall ever offering comfort to another person.  Heck, I was always the most miserable person I knew.  What did I know about cheering another person up? 

I was really angry at myself.  Now that I had finally met someone with a tougher life than my own, I didn't have the slightest idea what to say.  We had time to kill before the seance, so I just drove around aimlessly and listened.  I guess that was good enough because Vicky eventually stopped crying.  Brushing her remaining tears away, Vicky smiled at me. 

"Thanks for listening.  I really needed to tell you.  It hurts so bad to see my mother wither away like that.  She cries and tells me how scared she is to die.  I try to be grown up for her, but I get so scared sometimes.  It is very difficult being brave.  I'm just a kid, what am I supposed to do?"

"What will happen to you when she is gone?"

"Oh my gosh, I don't know!  That is my biggest fear and I am so scared to think about it.  When she got the diagnosis my mother contacted her long lost brother up in Canada about taking me, but he hasn't made his mind up yet.  I am terrified because I've never met the man.  What if he's as creepy as my mother is?  Besides, even if he takes me in, I don't know how he will treat me.  With my luck, I'll probably get molested.  But if he doesn't agree to take me, there is no one else.  I have no idea what is going to happen to me when my mother is gone.  I could very easily be in an orphanage at this time next year."

Vicky paused for a moment, then brightened.  "Hey, I have an idea.  Why don't you marry me?  I would be a great wife and I would do anything you told me to do.  Underneath my black shrouds I have a great body."

Swerving out of my lane, I almost had an accident.  Fearful of my shaking hands, I stopped the car and took a hard look at Vicky.  She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Gotcha, didn't I?" 

Crimson with embarrassment, I said, "Has anyone ever told you what a brat you are?"

Vicky grinned at me.  "All the time."

Vicky's seance
 

As I pulled up to the row house on Greenmount Avenue, we still had time left.  Vicky and I sat in the car and talked a while longer.  Now that Vicky's mood had improved, she amused herself by teasing me.  "Rick, if you're not going to marry me, how about you adopt me?"

It was tongue in cheek, but I knew damn well she was half-serious.  This was already the weirdest night of my life and I had a bad feeling it was about to get worse.  Something was going on here.  I thought I had the upper hand due to my age, but this unusual girl was having her way with me.  Who's in charge here?  Vicky was delighted to see how rattled I was over her relentless suggestion that I take her off her mother's hands.  She thought it was funny, but I didn't.  Something terrible had happened.  Can you guess?  My 'big brother' instincts had been replaced by a much different instinct.  I don't know how she did it, but Vicky had managed to turn me on.  Now I was forced to fight a major battle with my conscience.  Her obvious availability had caused my defenses to go haywire.  Knowing how lonely I was, one more sassy remark might just light the forest fire.  Fortunately Vicky decided to change the subject.  She was interested in the séance, so she asked me to describe it.  I was grateful because my impure thoughts were allowed to dissipate.  I told her about Leon who had stolen my soul and mentioned my new best friends Napoleon, Lincoln and Cleopatra.  When I told her Mary the Spinster had a crush on me, Vicky rolled her eyes.

"That doesn't surprise me, Rick.  With your personality, I imagine a lot of dead women would find you interesting."

I was taken aback.  "You will say anything to get a rise out of me, won't you?"

Vicky grinned and replied, "Of course.  However, in your case, it is so easy."

Asking myself again how it was possible to be dominated by a 15-year old girl, Vicky interrupted my thoughts with more banter.  "Hey, maybe I can meet some of your friends from the other side.  After all, I am a natural psychic."

I rolled my eyes.  This girl was having way too much fun provoking me.  "Well, in that case maybe you and Mary the Spinster can have a nice talk.  She's one of my séance girlfriends, so try not to be jealous.  Mary really likes me."

Actually this stuff about Mary was nonsense on my part.  Not once in my three previous visits had anyone from the so-called Spirit World addressed me.  I was very nervous and just trying to make conversation. 

Vickie replied, "No, that's not what I had in mind.  Maybe I can find someone to keep an eye on my mother once she's dead."

Too astounded to answer, I just stared at Vicky in disbelief.  Feeling spooked, I had a bad feeling about this.  This girl had some sort of witchy woman control over me that belied her age.  To break the mood, I suggested we go in. 

We entered the building and were ushered upstairs.  Moments after taking our seats, they lit the small candle in the doorway, then turned out the lights.  Once it was pitch black, Dorothy was open for business.  As usual, the personality of good old Aunt Nellie spoke first.  Chief Running Bear spoke about the Great White Spirit.  He was followed by more of the usual riffraff, Uncle Bob and so on.  Napoleon stopped by.  This was so ridiculous that I felt embarrassed that I had brought Vickie along.  I could not imagine the teasing I would get when we got back in the car.  After 20 minutes or so I wanted to go.  Tonight I had no patience for this nonsense.  I was just about to suggest we leave when to my surprise, a new voice spoke out in the dark. 

Someone said, "Excuse me, but..."  

The voice stopped abruptly.  I was on alert because the voice sounded like someone different than Dorothy.   It was pitch black in there, but I could tell this voice did not come from the medium.  Plus the voice had come from a different direction.  This was definitely a new voice.  Who could it be?  Suddenly I knew!  That was Vicky's voice!  Oh my God...  I was instantly riveted. 

After a brief pause, Vicky resumed speaking. 

"I'm sorry to break in, but does anyone in the room know someone named Terry?"

I froze.  No way!!!  No fucking way!!!   Surely not in one million billion years!!  This cannot be happening!

I stopped breathing as I waited for someone to answer.  No one answered.  With an enormous sense of dread, I hesitantly spoke. 

"Um, I know someone named Terry."

Vicky continued.  "There's something strange about Terry.  I think he's a dog."

I turned white.  Please tell me this is not happening.  But I answered nonetheless. 

"Yes, you're right.  That must be my Terry.  Terry was my dog back in Houston."

A series of thoughts raced through my mind.  Four months earlier I had gotten a letter from my mother saying Terry had died.  He was 12 when he passed away.  I had never said a word to anyone.  Why should I?  I didn't have any friends in Baltimore who would care.  No one in Baltimore had the slightest idea that my beloved border collie had died a thousand miles away and that included Vicky.  So how did Vicky know about Terry?  Terry had not come up in the dinner conversation.  In fact, Terry had not even been in my thoughts for some time now.  I am ashamed to admit this, but my pressing day-to-day college problems had forced Terry's memory to the distant recesses. 

Vicky's next words broke my heart.   "Terry says he misses you terribly.  He is very scared in his new home whatever that is." 

I was speechless.  Was she putting me on or was this for real?

Vickie paused for a second.  "Rick, Terry has a question for you." 

My heart was beating madly.  I was too afraid to answer, so Vicky continued.

"Terry wants to know why you left him."

A sharp dagger of pain shot through me.  An overwhelming wave of guilt surged to the surface and I broke down on the spot.  There in the darkness I began to sob like a baby.  Two years ago I had gone through this exact same thing with Terry the night I saw him for the last time before leaving for college.  The pain of parting had ripped me to pieces.  Now the pain of having my dog actually confront me about my abandonment made the pain far more intense.  I felt guilt hemorrhage in every corner of my psyche.  But I had to keep it together so I could communicate.  Despite the waterfall of tears running down my face, I spoke into the darkness. 

"Terry, I am so sorry!  I had to leave you to go to college.  Please forgive me, I beg you.  I love you, Terry.  Oh, my God, do I love you.    You are the best dog in the world and the best friend I ever had.  I love you so much, please don't ever forget that!"

And then I couldn't take it any more.  I couldn't speak.  Instead I just cried and cried and cried.  My guilt was unbearable.

While I wept, Vicky continued.  "Terry says he is so lonely without you.  But he feels better now that you have spoken to him.  He has begun to wag his tail.  Terry is right in front of you.  Can you see him?  Oh gosh, he is licking your hand!  Can you feel that?"

Without any clue what I was doing, I involuntarily stuck out my hand to pet my dog.  I felt nothing but cold air.  I groaned.  I didn't see a thing.  I tried to touch my dog, but I didn't feel a thing.  I wanted to see and touch the ghost of my dog in the worst possible way, but it was no use, there was nothing to see.  It was pitch black.  I saw nothing, I felt nothing, I heard nothing, I sensed nothing.  Deprived of any contact, it was difficult to believe the ghost of my dog was actually standing before me.  This was beyond bizarre. 

"I can't see him, Vicky!"

"I can't believe you don't see him, Rick.  How can you miss him?  He's right there in front of you!"

I was unable to reply.  This was far too overwhelming.  All I could think was that this could not be happening.  There was no way this was happening.  Somehow through my misery and guilt, I summoned whatever strength I had left and spoke again. 

"Vicky, please tell Terry that I will always love him.  Tell Terry that even if I can't see him or talk to him, he can visit me any time he wants and that I will sense that he is near."

"Don't worry, you don't need me.  Terry can hear you himself.  He seems very happy that you have spoken to him."

I kept crying and the guilt refused to abate.  I could not bear the thought my dog had suffered so much due to my abandonment.  In that moment Dorothy, the medium, spoke up to regain control of her séance.  Vicky put her hand on my shoulder and whispered we should go.  I wholeheartedly agreed.  In the darkness, I apologized to everyone for the interruption.  Then we moved towards the dim candle next to the door and left.  I collapsed in my car, then buried my head against the steering wheel and sobbed violently.  Vicky sat silently beside me while I cried.  It took a quite a while before I could compose myself enough to drive.  Vicky suggested we go get some ice cream, but I was too shaken for that.

"I would rather just drive around in the dark.  Is that okay?"

Vicky nodded, so I started the car.  Driving in no particular direction, I tried to make sense of what had happened.  The dominant thought in my mind was to eliminate any chance this girl had played a trick on me.  Unless I could come up with some sort of explanation, this was a psychic event straight out of Edgar Cayce.  I took account.  I barely knew Vicky and Vicky barely knew me.  She certainly knew no details of my past.  I'm not even sure Vicky knew I was from Texas.  Racking my brains, I could not imagine how she would know my dog had died recently.  As I said, Terry had not been on my mind.  You can't read a book unless it's open, so how could Vicky read something in my mind that I wasn't even thinking about?  Recalling a Sherlock Holmes quote, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.  The only logical answer was that Terry's ghost had come to visit. 

Unbelievable.

FACING my FEAR

There was a long silence while I mulled it over.  I shook my head in confusion.  Vicky did not seem the type to be playing sick jokes.  She struck me as a decent person who was trying to befriend me.  We were both trying as hard as we could to cope with our difficult lives.  I would never play a horrible trick like this on another human being, so why would my friend do such a thing to me?  Furthermore, recalling Vicky's considerable tears earlier in the night, I did not think Vicky was in the mood to play nasty spoofs.  It wasn't easy to trust Vicky, but I concluded the girl had nothing to gain by playing games.

Furthermore, I could not imagine how Vicky could have tricked me even if she wanted to.  The only person in Baltimore who knew about Terry was me.  That was a fact.  Either Vicky had read my mind and made up a story or Terry's ghost had appeared.  It had to be one or the other.  There was not a third possibility.  Certain that Vicky would not go to the trouble of reading my mind and trying to trick me, my mind finally let go of its suspicion and drifted back to Terry.  Had I really spoken to the ghost of my dog?  I wished so much I could have seen something or felt something.  I was worried about my dog's experience in the afterlife.  I didn't know much about ghosts.  However, if tonight was real, maybe Terry could stop hanging around me and move on to the next level of existence. 

An overwhelming despair took over.  This evening had been far too traumatic.  Vicky's misery over her mother's impending death, her fear of going to an orphanage, my own sense of the frightening specter of death hanging over the woman, depressing memories of own mother, the ghost of my dog, and confusion over this young girl's psychic ability left me feeling very insecure.  Too much.  This was all too much.  Frightened by the Unknown, this all-out assault on my sense of reality had me shaking.  I was afraid of Vicky because she had access the unseen world of the dead, a world I feared.  Vicky didn't seem dangerous, but this girl had powers I could not comprehend.  For the first time in my life, I realized why people are afraid of things they don't understand.  Was Vicky some sort of witch?  I shuddered at the thought.  She definitely had power over me. 

This was all so ironic.  I sat around all the time wishing I had some way to see the Hidden World, but now that Vicky had pried open the door a bit, I was absolutely terrified.  What other shocking things Vicky might subject me to if I continued to hang around her?  Would Vicky be able to talk to her dead mother after she died?  This was way too weird; I was not ready for this.  Vicky's unseen world had me totally intimidated.  Right now I wanted to get as far away from Vicky as I could.  I could not bear to face any more thoughts of death right now.  Panic-stricken, I made a sudden U-turn that took us back in the direction of her home.  Let's get this night over with. 

Turning cold-hearted, I explained to Vicky that I wouldn't be at Quaker Meeting next Sunday.  I said I was starting a summer job in Virginia in a few weeks and needed to go down this coming weekend to look for an apartment.  This was a total fib; I wasn't going anywhere.  It crossed my mind that Vicky could use her powers to know I was lying, but I was willing to take a chance.  I couldn't bear to tell the truth that I wanted to get as far away from this troubled girl as I possibly could.  At the news I would be leaving, Vicky became very quiet.  I could see the tears streaming down her face.

Filled with shame, my conscience screamed at me.  If ever there was someone who needed a friend right now, it was Vicky.  Why was I being so insensitive?  I knew the answer, I was terrified of her.  Tonight's adventure into the world of One Step Beyond was far more than I had bargained for.  I winced as I saw the tears.  Vicky was not happy about my disappearing act.  Again I wondered if she could read my mind.  If so, then she would know what a coward I was.   Suddenly a powerful new feeling came over me. 

What the hell was wrong with me?  Running from my irrational fear was the wrong thing to do.  This young girl did not have a friend in the world, yet all I wanted to do was get away because Vicky was surrounded by Death.  This poor girl was just as scared as I was, maybe even more.  That made me the world's biggest jerk to leave her like this when she was frightened and vulnerable.  As a deep sense of shame flooded my consciousness, a painful revelation broke through.  All I ever did was pity myself because my father turned his back on me.  Wasn't that the same thing as me turning my back on Vicky?  Right now I was about to follow in my father's pathetic footsteps.  Is that what I wanted?  Or did I want to prove to myself I was a better person than my father?  This was my chance to write a different life script.  So I stopped the car in a quiet neighborhood and parked. 

Vicky looked at me with concern on her face.  "Why did you stop, Rick?  This isn't my house."

"Yes, I know, Vicky.  Don't be afraid.  We need to talk.  I have something important to say, so I prefer to collect my thoughts without the need to drive at the same time."

Curious, Vicky stopped crying.  She was silent as I gathered myself.  I took a long, deep breath.  To my credit, I finally came to grips with the job I had to do.  And with that, I launched into my best 'Mrs. Ballantyne' impersonation. 

"Listen, Vicky, you don't know much about me, but I grew up with intense hardship.  Like you, I am an only child with a mother lost in her own world.  My father left me when I was 10 and my mother wasn't very good at caring for me.  I had to grow up way too fast for my own good.  I stumbled every day, but people helped me get back up.  Thanks to them I made it this far.  The way I see it, if I can escape the problems of my childhood, then so can you."

I paused for a moment to let that sink in, then resumed.

"You have to be brave for your mother and I recognize how hard this must seem.  But I promise you things will work out.  You have so much love in you and you have so much going for you.  You are way ahead of me at a similar age.  This is a terrible stretch that you are facing, but you will make it to the other side of this ordeal, I am certain of that.  I was in crisis once and certain my life would never get better.  But a woman named Maria Ballantyne appeared out of nowhere to tell me everything would be okay.  Now I am here to tell you the exact same thing.  Your life will get better, I am sure of it!  Unfortunately, right now you are being called upon to help your mother transition to the other side.  Due to your strange powers, you can see there is life after death.  Use that knowledge to comfort your mother.  Help her face this terror and let her know there is more to life than meets the eye."

I paused to let my words sink in, then resumed.  

"As for you, Vicky, after your mother passes, someone decent will take care of you, I am certain of it.  You are a special human being and I am positive a hidden guardian watches over you.  During my worst times, someone always stepped forward to take care of me, so I am certain the same thing will happen to you.  Right now you don't know the future, but you will be okay!  Do you hear me?  Don't worry so much.  Just hang in there and be strong for your mother."

With that, Vicky got out of the car.  I got out and followed her.  Neither of us spoke as we walked along.  I was proud of myself.  I had done a good job with this pep talk.  Vicky had listened to me with the same rapt concentration as I had once listened to Mrs. Ballantyne.  Finally Vicky stopped.  Through soft tears, Vicky nodded, then gave me a hug to let me know what I said had reassured her.  I had given Vicky exactly what she needed to hear... a strong dose of hope and encouragement.  We went back to the car and spoke for a long time as I drove her home.  I took my sweet time.  Like Mrs. Ballantyne had done with me, I was unwilling to leave until Vicky came to grips with her situation.  Sure enough, Vicky asked a dozen questions.  She wanted to know what I had gone through and how I had made it past my own obstacles.  I answered one question after another about my own struggles.  She was curious to know about my mother, so I offered my life story the same way Mrs. Ballantyne had once offered hers.  I told her how Mrs. Ballantyne's predictions about college had come true. 

Vicky was fascinated to learn she wasn't the only person to ever be trapped in a depressing home.  That was a real comfort for her.  She was also thrilled to discover how I had used my education to escape.  She was a smart girl.  If that had worked for me, then there was hope for her too!  I could see the tumblers of her mind at work.  I was no mind reader, but I knew what she was thinking. 

"Yes, if Rick can do it, then I can too!"

I was pleased.  I had successfully paid forward my debt to Mrs. Ballantyne.  Tonight had been my very own 'Susan and the Witch' moment.  I had taken a broken girl and glued her back together.  Maybe there was hope for me after all.  Now that Vicky seemed strong enough, it was time to take her home.  Soon we pulled up to the curb of her row house.  Worried sick that her mother might see her crying, Vicky hurriedly dried her eyes.  I smiled at the feeble effort.  The poor girl was so rattled she didn't realize her blouse was soaking wet and stained with makeup.  I wondered what her mother would think of me for making her daughter cry.  My guess is Vickie would have some explaining to do.

Watching Vicky try to compose herself, I thought of my own crying spell over Terry.  Vicky and I had shed some serious tears tonight.  Two frightened people trying to find their way through difficult lives.  No wonder Vicky was so drawn to me.  Somehow she must have known we had something in common.  That uncanny sixth sense of hers was surely the reason she had chosen me to come to her aid.  Or maybe not.  Maybe there was another explanation.  Throughout those Edgar Cayce books I had read, I found myself wishing I could help other people the way that Cayce had.  I had no idea how to accomplish my task, but I openly wished I could find a way to help others the way Mrs. Ballantyne had once helped me.  If so, tonight my wish had been granted.  I had given Vicky exactly the kind of hope that Mrs. Ballantyne had once given me.

Vicky did not want to get out of the car.  She felt safe with me.  Who could blame her?  I looked up and saw her sad-eyed mother watching down from the second floor window above.  Now that I knew the woman was facing a death sentence, I could not help but think how ghost-like she appeared.  It was like the poor woman already had one foot in the grave.  No doubt the Grim Reaper was standing next to her impatient to claim his next victim.  I shuddered in fear.  What is Death?  What happens to us when we die? 

With a shudder, Vicky slowly got out of the car.  She stopped at her front door and turned around.  Vicky gave me the strangest look.  I knew what that meant.  She didn't say, but inside she was begging me to stay if only just a little bit longer. 

A huge surge of guilt raced through me.  She was praying I would not abandon her to this situation, that I would give her comfort.  But this was a road Vicky had to travel alone.  I watched as Vicky reluctantly opened the door and disappeared.  This had been a rough night for both of us.  We were two lost souls who had connected for this one brief moment in time.

I did not envy Vicky.  Her lonely ordeal would not be easy.  As for me, I had never been this near to Death before and I was totally intimidated.  Feeling surrounded by death, this evening had scared the absolute wits out of me.  The words to the Doors song haunted me. 

"Riders on the Storm.  Into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown."