Julia by Peter Straub

had seemed so similar at the doorway, separated. Miss Pinner bore a certain resemblance to Mr. Piggot, at that moment engaged in describing to Lily and Mr. Arkwright how he caught fish in Hyde Park by fixing bread to his fishhooks: both of them had long narrow faces and small bright-blue eyes like chips of sky. Miss Tooth looked rather dusty and faded, with her small, deeply-lined face the image of a retired governess. Miss Pinner could have been an ex-headmistress noted for her disciplinary acumen. Julia took all the coats to the hall closet and returned with sherry for the two women. Miss Tooth glanced at Miss Pinner before accepting hers and, receiving a nod, took the glass in her small, trembling hand.
    Mark gave Julia a despairing look and rose from the couch to join Lily, listening to Mr. Piggot describe his illicit fishing experiences. For these old people the spiritualist gatherings were social occasions; Mr. Arkwright kept punctuating Mr. Piggot’s adventures with loud bursts of soldierly laughter.His rush of talk hadn’t denoted any special sympathy for Julia, but demonstrated instead pleasure at his release from loneliness. Julia’s house was filled with people whose company she could not enjoy; even Mark was sullen. Miss Pinner and Miss Tooth were now examining Julia’s furniture. They were in an ecstasy of approval, everything being “so nice.” Julia wished she could leave and lock the door behind her; but she took a sip of her sherry and sat beside Mrs. Fludd on the couch.
    “I shouldn’t stay here,” said Mrs. Fludd.
    “No? Mrs. Fludd, I’d be so grateful if you could. Lily has been looking forward so much.…”
    “You needn’t be false to me, Mrs. Lofting, you’d be happy if the lot of us went home. But you don’t take my meaning. I shouldn’t stay here if I were you. Shouldn’t stay in this house.”
    Julia looked at the woman’s red puggish face in surprise; she was further surprised to notice that Mrs. Fludd’s eyes were shrewd and perceptive, not at all vague. It was as though she had seen that Mrs. Fludd was actually a man, wearing that absurd clothing; the shock was as great as that. She had been seeing Mrs. Fludd as a “character,” someone not to be taken seriously, and this quick glance of recognition made her blush for her assumptions. If the others of Lily’s gang were lonely eccentrics, Mrs. Fludd’s cool, startling gaze revealed a person composed of flintier materials than the gibberish about transcendences and interpenetrations had suggested.
    “Something’s funny in this house,” she said.
    “You think I should leave?” said Julia, transfixed.
    “Do you see anything? Hear any noises? Has anything unexplained occurred?” Even her diction had altered.
    “I don’t know,” Julia confessed. “Sometimes I think I hear things—”
    “Yes.” Mrs. Fludd nodded sharply.
    Remembering something Mark had said, Julia asked, “What are poltergeists, exactly? I feel sort of foolish, asking you, but is it possible that there might be one here?”
    “Never any harm in a poltergeist,” replied Mrs. Fludd. “They move things, sometimes break a mirror or a vase—mischievous creatures. You’d be in danger only if you were very receptive, like your pretty friend across the room. Or if you were dominated by some strong destructive emotion. Hate. Envy. Then, if the spirit wished revenge, it might influence you. That’s rare, but it does happen, if the spirit is particularly malefic. Or if some coincidence links you to it. In Wapping, a thief dead for fifty years set fire to a house containing a burglar’s family. Killed them all.”
    “But how do you know?” asked Julia.
    “I felt it. I knew.”
    Such monolithic assurance always influenced Julia. In any case, it permitted no argument. “You feel something here?” she asked.
    Mrs. Fludd nodded. “Something. Can’t pin it down yet. But I don’t like this house, Mrs. Lofting. Who lived here before you?”
    “A couple