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six.'
Hobbs moved forward to the edge of his seat, excitement in his eyes. 'What
messages? What did they tell you? Who were these people?'
'Two said they were Satanists, two said they were messengers of God - and the
fifth claimed to be God Himself. Which one are you? Don't tell me you're the
Devil?'
Hobbs sat back in the armchair, a look of disappointment on his face, yet
heedless of Keller's scathing words. He looked reflective for a few moments,
then said quietly, 'No, Mr Keller. I'm none of those things. I told you - I'm
a spiritualist.
Please be patient for five minutes, then if you still want me to, I'll leave.'
Keller wearily slumped on to the sofa, first retrieving his bottle of whisky
and a glass. Without offering anything to Hobbs, he poured himself a stiff
measure. 'Go on,' he said. 'Five minutes.'
'Do you know what spiritualism is?" Hobbs asked him.
'It's talking to ghosts, isn't it?'
'Bluntly put, and not quite accurate. It's a sensitiveness, being able to
register vibrations, radiations, or frequencies that our normal senses cannot
capture. A
medium is an intermediary - as I said before, a sort of human radio or
television
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set, able to tune in to another world that is invisible and inaudible to the
rest of mankind; but, like the radio or television set, every medium is
limited in their range of reception. However, by development of their powers,
they can increase their capacity for reception, whereas machines cannot. I
found that my own development was becoming too& ' he looked away from
Keller,'& well, let's just say, overdeveloped. Dangerously so.' He ran a hand
down his cheek, towards his chin. 'Do you think I might have a drink?'
Keller almost grinned. A spiritualist with a drink problem? The thought made
him feel strangely more tolerant towards the little man, so he said: 'What
would you like?'
'Same as you, please.'
Keller noticed Hobbs's eyes on the Scotch as he poured. My God, he thought, he
really does have a drink problem. He handed him the glass and was only mildly
surprised when half of it immediately disappeared down the little man's
throat.
'Anything with it?' he asked mildly.
Hobbs smiled apologetically at him again. 'Sorry. No, it's fine.'
Well, at least it makes him more human, the co-pilot thought as he returned to
the sofa. 'Can we get to the point now?'
'Of course.' Hobbs took a more moderate sip at his drink, then leaned forward
in his seat again. 'As I mentioned, over the past few years I've consciously
tried to halt any progress in my own development of these special powers, but
I cannot prevent the spirits from contacting me if their will is strong
enough. I have refused to be the bearer of messages, though, and I believed
they had begun to accept this.'
Keller caught himself mentally. Hell, I'm beginning to believe this. He
realised it was because the little man spoke so matter-of-factly, without any
hint of apology or embarrassment.
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"However, two weeks ago, a new voice - or I should say, voices - began to
communicate with me. They were confused, angry, and I think in great torment.
There were whispers, frightened whispers, hushed voices which sounded as
though, they were in a vast, dark hall, wanting to know where they were, what
had happened to them. Oh, they sounded so lonely, so afraid.'
Keller felt the tension building inside him again. The atmosphere between the
two men had become electric. Hobbs took another, this time longer, sip from
his glass, and Keller noticed his hand was trembling slightly.
'Gradually,' he continued, 'stronger voices began to assert themselves. Their
world, you see Mr Keller, is not so different from ours; in any element, the
stronger personalities will always take command. But these voices were not
good; they sounded -vindictive. It was the feeling I got from them: hate and
deep shock.'
Keller deliberately tried to break the atmosphere, the mesmerising link, which
the medium had created between them. He stood up and walked over to the
window, taking his drink with him.
'Look, er, Mr Hobbs& ' he began, but the medium cut him short.
'Listen, please. I know what you're going to say: you don't believe in life
after death, or even if you do, you find this too far-fetched. I accept that,
and when I've finished, I promise I'll leave and not bother you again if
that's your wish. But I
must tell you this, for my own peace of mind, because they won't leave me
alone until I do. You see, after an accident of this nature, the spirits
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sometimes do not realise what has happened to them; they are in a state of
emotional shock. They do not know they are dead! They become what you might
call ghosts, and continue to haunt this life, trying to make contact with
someone on this earth to let them know they are still alive. Or they may be
tied by situations or emotions; they may feel they have to achieve something
here, something they've neglected in their lives.
Or they may feel they have a reason for revenge.'
Keller swung round sharply. Those last words had hit a nerve, touched
something deep inside him; they had made him afraid.
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'Sometimes, true sensitives can help them, can pacify these tortured souls,
help them to pass on peacefully into the next world. We can do this by
promising to clear up whatever is troubling them in this world, whatever is
keeping them earth-
bound. Unfortunately, on this occasion, they're still too confused for me to
communicate properly.'
'You obviously imagine they're the souls of the dead passengers from the air
crash,' Keller said, his voice hard and unbelieving.
'I know they are! So many terrified souls at the same time, gathered in the
same place. And there's something else, Mr Keller.'
The co-pilot felt himself stiffen. He almost knew what was coming.
The voices - the whispers. They're calling for you.'
There was another long silence between the two men. Keller wanted to scoff at
the medium's words, to shrug him off as just another crank, but for some
reason he couldn't. It wasn't only the man's obvious sincerity; it had
something to do with his own close brush with death. The experience had
somehow left him more receptive.
Nevertheless, the more down-to-earth side of his nature fought against it.
That's ridiculous,' he said.
'I assure you it's not,' Hobbs replied. The voices were totally confused at
first, crying out for help, calling for loved ones. I saw faces - so many
wretched faces -
their images kept fading then coming through again, pleading, piteous. Then,
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