The Spiritualist

Our tale of woe and awe began on the tail end of the winter solstice, December twenty-second. The Manitou Springs landscape, from small town roads that seemed like sidewalks more than streets, to the mountains and small houses tucked into them like a child in a mother's arm blanketed in white snow. So pristine that even at the zenith of darkness, there was light. Inside one such house, Mary Miller, matriarch of the Miller family, began to stir.

Two days before even this, however, the children of Mary, four in total, had come from their various places and returned home for Christmas. Hal Miller, the oldest, thirty-two, Susie Miller, the second oldest, twenty-nine, James Miller, the thirst oldest, twenty-six, and Tommy Miller, the youngest, twenty. Due to a certain development that had transpired two years prior, Hal often spent most of his time with his parents.

Regardless, Mary stirred from her slumber, lifting up her pine green sleep mask and turning her face towards the left, where Harold lay snoring. Thirst, and the need to urinate, pulled her from the abyss, and she made her way silently out the bed and into the second floor hall. When at the end, she was met with two choices: the bathroom door to the left, and the kitchen to the bottom, of which awaited refreshing water (though she would most likely choose juice). Mary opted for the bathroom first, afterwards making her way down. And when she went into the living room, which lay casted in  shadow and obsidian, a slice of light and faint glow began to greet her, causing much dread in her heart.

Then a cry, a shriek, a yell so terrible it rang throughout the house and indeed even outside in those silent and white streets. Harold was the first one down, James second, Hal following soon after, then Susie, Fred (Susie's fiancé) and Tommy almost arriving in sync.

"What's wrong", Harold inquired with rushed breath, placing a hand on Mary's shoulder who stood before the fridge.

"What's wrong?", Mary replied, turning to face the gathering. Mary gestured with both hands towards the fridge, words tripping over each other in her mouth before a coherent sentence escaped.

"What's wrong is somebody left the fridge open! The turkey, t-the eggnog, the casserole...it's all ruined!"

"C'mon", Fred said, walking towards the fridge. "It can't be that bad-", he began to say, before the foul odor cut him off, and he pulled back like a vampire with his forearm to his nose.

"Who did this?", Mary exclaimed.

Glances were exchanged amongst the gathering, eyes eventually landing on Hal more often not.

"It was probably Hal", James uttered.

Hal released a fervent groan.

"Of fucking course you'd say that."

"What", James replied with a bewildered shrug. "I'm not even trying to cast blame, it's just given your...unique circumstances it's probably the most likely option."

Hal's chest expanded, a moment later a bellow following.

"I didn't fucking forget to close the fucking fridge door."

"There he goes", Susie whispered.

"I heard that", Hal shouted.

"Not the only thing you heard too I bet", Tommy responded, the response so quick it was as if it was waiting on the precipice his tongue.

"Okay, okay", Harold said, putting up his hands in plea. "Enough of all of this. We don't  know who left the fridge open-"

Harold turned to Mary.

"And perhaps some of us may have overreacted-"

Mary's face twisted and a scoff departed her knotted lips.

"-but what's done is done. We'll salvage what we can, and try our best in the morning make up for what we can't."

Harold turned back to Mary.

"Go to bed, I'll clean this up."

Mary began to say something, but sighed, rubbing Harold's shoulder before proceeding back for the stairs, casting glances at the group as she passed.

***

Susie and Fred lay in bed in the black, both having their eyes open as they stared mute at the ceiling.

"Tommy does smoke a lot", Susie suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Fred turned to face her.

"You think it was Tommy? Not Hal?"

Susie sighed.

"I don't know, could be Hal. I'm just saying, Tommy smokes a lot."

Fred opened his mouth, then closed it. A minute later, he reopened it, a carefully crafted sentence departing.

"You said Mary did stop giving Hal his medicine several months ago, for a short time."

Susie closed her eyes and released a sigh.

"Yes, but..after things quickly deteriorated, she put him back on. And to my knowledge, she hasn't reversed that decision."

Tommy turned his gaze back for the ceiling.

"Right, and Tommy does smoke a lot."

***

In Tommy's room, Tommy lay on top of his bed, laptop on his stomach and phone beside him as he leaned up to inhale from his bong.

"-right, right, that's what I'm saying", Tommy said into the phone as he released a stream of muffled coughs. "Mom's delusional, he could shoot a baby point blank in front of her and she won't believe it."

"Jesus", James said, likewise lying in his bed in his room, the only light the phone which he held to his face under the covers. "I don't think you needed to get that...visual."

"I'm just trying to get my point across. Watch, now I'll have to pay the price and go shopping with her again tomorrow and help her cook to fix his mistake. I swear I'm like the family mop."

James went silent under his cover, eyes in contemplation.

"You think mom took him off the meds?"

"Don't know. I don't think so, but I wouldn't be surprised if she did."

Tommy relit the bowl, inhaling again.

"You're smoking a lot more", James said.

Tommy shrugged.

"Helps put me at ease."

Tommy released another succession of violent though hushed coughs.

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if Fred may have done it, dudes a klutz."

"Fred? Really?", James replied, lifting up his cover for new air before resealing it.

"Yeah, guy makes a nice buck but there's no wrinkles on his brain. Completely smooth, like an oiled butt cheek. We were watching friends a couple days ago and he told me how postmodern sitcoms are the best."

"...could friends be considered postmodern", James replied, serious.

"No, I don't think so."

"I..", James shook his head. "This is besides the point, I'm just not sure if Fred-"

"Listen bro", Tommy interjected. "Fred, or Hal, we're gonna have our work cut out or us tomorrow and it's going on two thirty, I gotta get some shuteye."

James sighed, looking at the time.

"You're right, I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well."

Tommy inhaled once more from the bong.

"I will."

***

Come morning, icicles which clung to the precipices of rooftops beginning to fall like tears to runny pavement, The Miller household found itself in a simmer that approached boiling point.

"What are you working on?", Tommy asked, leaning over Harold's desk chair, where Harold sat typing away on his laptop.

Despite Tommy's more frat-bro proclivities, he shared a kindred spirit with his father in their love of the arts, particularly writing and literature. Harold would frequently share developing plays with him.

"Eh, kind of an old passion project. Been fiddling with it since my late twenties, believe it or not."

"Damn", Tommy said, leaning in closer. "What's it about?"

A chuckle puffed out of Harold's ugly Christmas sweater covered chest.

"An aging king whose kingdom is tearing apart at the seams. He, and some other members of the royal court, device a scheme where a god will descend for all the land to see and command their bickering and strife to cease."

"Hm...like an old school project blue beam", Tommy replied.

Harold chuckled, turning his head back to Tommy.

"Funny, but I hope you don't actually believe in that stuff."

"I don't", Tommy said, leaning back, and grabbing his jug of water he just got from the kitchen moments before (assuredly for the bong). "But Fred probably does."

"Of course that idiot does", Harold replied with a laugh.

"No, don't!", Hal bellowed from the kitchen.

Harold sighed, turning to Tommy.

"Go check out what's happening, if it's something serious come get me."

Tommy nodded before departing Harold's office.

"Roger that."

***

"I didn't mean it like that, and you know it", James said, standing a little away from the sink, a glass of whisky in hand.

"Bullshit", Hal said. "Hal, make sure you close the freezer door." 

"Can I have a sip of that?", Tommy inquired of James, entering the kitchen. James began to hand it over before stopping himself.

"What? No."

Tommy grinned.

"What's all the hubbub in here, can barely focus on my game."

"James told Hal not to forget to close the freezer door", Susie replied, sitting at the counter as she scrolled through recipes to help Mary recook.

"It was the way in which it was delivered", Hal replied.

Susie shrugged.

"Fair. It was a little snarky."

"Well, whatever, just make sure whoever shuts the door", Tommy replied, casting one last observatory glance over the room, and also trying to stick his finger into the batter that Mary was vigorously mixing, getting his hand swatted.

As Tommy began his retreat from the kitchen, Susie stoped him with a statement, or rather a question.

"You sure have been hitting the kush pretty hard lately", Susie said.

Tommy stopped, looking down at his jug of water then back at Susie.

"This is for my hydration."

Tommy continued for back up the staircase, and the sanctuary of his bedroom, before slowing down and ever so slightly saying to Susie

"Plus, some of us have it worse than others."

Susie opened her mouth for a split second, before closing it. She turned back her head, but Tommy had already departed.

And in the office, Harold stood, back to the interior left beige wall, and listened.

***

Intermission

The stone hall of the old lord's castle was large, both in size and scope, and in majesty and splendor. Herculean, circular windows, comprised of spring green glass lined the walls, about three windows on each side. Sunlight spilled in like floodwater, the hall cast in a uncanny, almost holy light. Pillars which stood tall and strong also lined the hall, arms outstretched to the mural ceiling which hung far above. On it, etched and drawn religion and things far older which have since become myth and folktale.

Outside the large and circular windows, in the browning yellow and maroon autumn forest that lie outside, a small wren landed on a withered and crooked tree branch, seeming to look at the old lord a moment. As the old lord returned the gaze, he found a strange sorrow and dread grow like a tight and violent fist within his bosom. As if sensing his discomfort and unease, the Wren cracked a lopsided grin and departed for ashen skies.

After his departure, the old king's attention was forced to return like gravity or some cosmic law to the wailing and loathsome crying of the many and of the writhing masses which filled the hall like black smoke.

"Subjects! My people! My true crown!", the old lord shouted, though frail and long fallen to entropy's eternal pull, drowned out the cries and pleas, a bellowing boom filling the hall. "I have devised a way, a plan so cunning that nay not even the gods can hope undo it. Come tonight, Simon the sorcerer, from the land of Samaria, shall descend upon the kingdom and deliver us from this great and terrible dread!"

***

Around deep evening, the day's proceedings having gone not too well, the bickering descending to new lows after Susie threw a glass at Tommy after he claimed that Fred was of low intelligence, the Miller family had unfortunately done what ancient and sage wisdom had warned against and let the sun go down on their wrath. Around the hour of the owl, the moon crescent and half hidden behind clouds, an old and groaning sedan arrived in front of the Miller house.

***

After the doorbell rang thrice, most of the bleary and stumbling Miller family had made their way downstairs.

"Dude", Tommy said, wiping his eyes. "It's basically three am, who the hell is that?"

"Montgomery Arthur Goddard", Harold said, descending the steps. "Otherwise known as the Manitou magician."

Harold opened the door, opposite of the street filled with snow and haunted twilight stood a tall and narrow pale man with obsidian hair and many rings wrapped around his frail, white fingers. Montgomery removed his hat, taking a slight bow.

"The mage of Manitou, at your service."

***

The Manitou Springs enclave, a home rule municipality within the larger Colorado Springs, had a certain inclination towards the strange. A tourist hotspot and popular hub of local state artists, it had garnered a reputation of mystic exploration through the protection of suburban conformity. Through this barrier, its psychonauts were allowed to flourish, the most notable of which was Montgomery "Mont" Arthur Goddard. The son of a local councilman, Arthur Montgomery Goddard, Mont found himself attending CU Boulder with the aims of majoring in creative writing, hoping to join his uncle in L.A. as a screenwriter. After an introduction to back to back parties, the joys of rum and coke, and the ecstatic power of drugs, Mont would instead find himself at his friend Pete's house, smoking from a bong as each day's hours were devoured. During this time, he would begin attending drum circles, sound saunas and woodland chants with Pete. On October thirty-first, twenty-twelve, Mont would be babysitting the little brother of Emily, a girl he had met at a tea brewing ceremony. Emily had one more sibling, an old brother named Ari. Ari, brash and brave before he left for the war, had come back deaf and mute. 

When coming from the restroom, passing Ari's room, cords to and from gaunt arms like wires, he came in for a reason he still doesn't know, perhaps sadness, perhaps boredom. Mont would sit down beside Ari, and outstretch his hand to his forehead. A moment later, Ari's eyes would reopen, for the first time in years. Emily's little brother would happen by moments later, a phone call from him to Emily, then from Emily to her parents. The town would know by early next afternoon. Monty would claim his innocence to the miraculous nature of the event, but as these things often go, saviors are often chosen despite personal wishes.

***

The Miller family, and Mont, sat around the dinning room table, the only light the soft gold illumination that was cast from the several candles which burned.

"This is ridiculous", James said.

"A thing is only ridiculous if you view it as such", Mont replied, eyes closed as he hovered his palm over a candle.

"Well, this is ridiculous", James said, Harold putting up his hand and James going silent.

"In a moment, a truth telling spirit shall appear, and reveal to us great and profound insights", Mont said, putting out his candle by pinching the flame.

Mary sighed.

"Harry, what are you doing? What is this? You're not a religious man. Hell, I'm the most religious in the family and I haven't been to church since Tommy was eleven."

"I don't believe in man made organizations", Harold said with his eyes closed, his palm hovering over his candle. "But I believe that when you weigh what we know, to the mysteries, the mysteries far outweigh the former."

"Dad's lost it", Susie said. "If we're honest, this has been a long time coming."

This provoked a smirk to form along Harold's lip, through he tried his best to remain stoic.

"Da-", Tommy began, before the candles erupted into pillars of flame.

"Jesus!", James exclaimed, jerking back his chair and standing up, the family illuminated in orange.

"Not quite", said a ghostly tune. "Though like the son of God, I am here to help."

"H-Harold, what is this?", Mary asked, or more so yelled, like James also standing up.

Harold put his hands out reassuredly. 

"Relax, Mont knows what he's doing. Trust me, please."

Mary looked at Harold, then turned for James, the two staring at each other a moment before both resumed their seats.

Mont nodded.

"Spirit, we gladly accept your help. Please, what have you to tell us?"

"...this family...has been torn apart. By distance. By ill communication. By pettiness. By meanness. And sadly, all from within."

Susie looked at Fred, who looked at her with wide eyes and an agape mouth.

"Tommy did not leave the fridge door open. Neither did Susie, or James, or Fred-"

Tommy shot James a look, mouthing "doubt it".

"-or Tommy, or Harold, or Mary. The truth is...it came ajar of its own accord, because it is old, and this family is financially prude to the point of absurdity. Through the night, and indeed dark and cold early morrow, it naturally came adrift. This is the truth I speak now to you."

The flames crescendoed until they died down to an ember. Mont stood up.

"My work here is done. I wish you all the best, and happy holidays."

"I'll see you out", Harold replied, standing up and walking for the door.

Tommy looked around the table.

"...what the fuck just happened?"

***

The snowfall was a gentle whisper, falling like a sprinkle to already white streets and sidewalks. Mont stood outside, his top hat collecting snow as he stared at Harold who stood opposite of him.

"Well...I suppose this concludes our little contract. I'll be off now. Best of luck with the family, and with the new book."

"Thanks", Harold said, outstretching his hand.

Mont shook it, then proceeded for the silent street. He turned around.

"...you really expect them to believe this?"

Harold considered a moment.

"Like with all good stories, for a little while, yes."