Journey into My Imagination
He stood over her and his hands came down over her mouth and throat. She could feel his touch pinning her to the pillow, but she was sure he was not real. She could not scream, she struggled to open her mouth, but no sounds came. Her limbs were heavy, immobile.
“Is it Susannah?” Buffy questioned. The wedge much to their surprise moved to rapidly to no. “Who is here then?” And in a haphazard manner the planchette zigged and zagged across the board, briefly resting on the letters S-T-E-P-H-E-N. “Stephen were you the husband of Susannah in life?” Their plastic guide moved slowly across the board - yes.
William entered, presumptuous and pompous, taking long arrogant strides into the room. He covered the distance between them in no time at all. “You look lovely my dear.” He said taking a long look at Susannah and running his tongue over his lips. He reminded her of a slithering snake, slimy and cold. “
In amongst the dust particles on the hardwood floors were little tin soldiers in perfect lines and the lines spelled out the words… “Release us.”
“Well honey, it’s none of my business but if that guy wants to marry you then he should be trying to sweep you off your feet not avoiding you.”
There’s some bad blood associated with that house. And when you come from a family of old Irish women you don’t brook superstition.
“For what making me feel like a fool? Letting me stand there and tell you that I knew Mr. Murray…er…you…. intimately when you were clearly aware that I did not. You think that I could forget that so easily? You lied to me.”
