Hell House Read Online Free PDF

what Miss Tanner thinks. I should have mentioned that before we left."
    "Mentioned what?"
    "That you'll need to inure yourself to what she'll be saying in the next week. She's a Spiritualist, as you know. Survival of and communication with the so-called disincarnate is the foundation of her belief; an erroneous foundation, as I intend to prove. In the meantime, though"—he smiled—"be prepared to hear her views expressed. I can't very well ask that she remain mute."
    To her right, their heads against the wall, were a pair of beds with elaborately carved headboards, between them a huge chest of drawers. Above the chest, suspended from the ceiling, was a large Italian silver lamp.
    Directly across from her, by the paneled window shutters, was a Spanish table with a matching chair. On top of the table was a Chinese lamp and a French-style telephone. Florence crossed the room and pickd up the receiver. It was dead. Did I expect it to be working? she thought, amused. At any rate, it had doubtless been used only for calls made within the house.
    She turned and looked around the room. There was something in it. What, though? A personality? A residue of emotion?
    Florence closed her eyes and waited. Something in the air; no doubt of it. She felt it shift and throb, advancing on her, then retreating like some unseen, timorous beast.
    After several minutes she opened her eyes. It will come, she thought. She crossed to the bathroom, squinting slightly as its white tile walls glittered with reflected candlelight. Setting the holder on the sink, she turned the hot-water faucet. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a gurgling rattle, a gout of darkly rusted water splattered into the basin. Florence waited until the water cleared before she held her hand beneath it. She hissed at its coldness. I hope the water heater isn't broken too, she thought. Bending over, she started patting water onto her face.
    I should have gone into the chapel, she thought. I shouldn't have backed off from the very first challenge. She winced, remembering the violent nausea she'd felt as she was about to enter. An awful place, she thought. She'd have to work her way up to it, that was all. If she forced it now, she might lose consciousness. I'll get in there soon enough, she promised herself.
    God will grant the power when it's time.
    His room was smaller than the other two. There was only one bed with a canopy top. Fischer sat at the foot of it, staring at the intricate pattern on the rug. He could feel the house around him like some vast, invisible being. It knows I'm here, he thought; Belasco knows, they all know that I'm here: their single failure. They were watching him, waiting to see what he'd do.
    He wasn't going to do anything prematurely, that was certain. He wasn't going to do a thing until he got the feel of the place.
    2:21 P.M.
    Fischer came into the great hall carrying his flashlight. He had changed into a black turtleneck sweater, black corduroy trousers, and a pair of scuffed white tennis shoes. His steps were soundless as he moved toward the huge round table where Barrett, seated, and Edith, standing, were opening wooden boxes and unloading equipment. In the fireplace, a fire was burning.
    Edith started as Fischer emerged from the shadows. "Need help?" he asked.
    "No, it's going fine," said Barrett, smiling. "Thank you for the offer, though."
    Fischer sat in one of the chairs. His eyes remained on Barrett as the tall, bearded man removed an instrument from protective excelsior, wiped it carefully with a cloth, and set it on the table. Fussy about his equipment, Fischer thought. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, watching the gamboling deformity of Edith's shadow on the wall as she picked up another wooden box and carried it to the table.
    "Still teach physics?" he asked.
    "Limitedly, because of health." Barrett hesitated, then continued. "I had polio when I was twelve; my right leg is partially paralyzed."
    Fischer