Hell House by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online

touched people? Moved objects? Been weighed?"
    "These are facts in evidence of a phenomenon, Miss Tanner, not proof of ghosts."
    Florence smiled wearily. "I don't know how to answer that," she said.
    Barrett returned her smile, gesturing with his hands as though to say: We don't agree, so why not let it go at that?
    "You don't accept survival, then," Florence persisted.
    "It's a charming notion," Barrett said. "I have no objection to it, so long as I am not expected to give credence to the concept of communicating with the so-called survivors."
    Florence regarded him sadly. "You can say that, having heard the sobs of joy at seances?"
    "I've heard similar sobs in mental institutions."
    " Mental institutions? "
    Barrett sighed. "No offense intended. But the evidence is clear that belief in communication with the dead has led more people to madness than to peace of mind."
    " That isn't true ," said Florence. "If it were, all attempts at spirit communication would have ended long ago. They haven't, though; they've lasted through the centuries." She looked intently at Barrett, as though trying to understand his point of view.
    "You call it a charming notion, Doctor. Surely it's more than that. What about the religions that accept the idea of life after death? Didn't Saint Paul say: 'If the dead rise not from the grave, then is our religion vain'?"
    Barrett didn't respond.
    "But you don't agree," she said.
    "I don't agree."
    "Have you any alternative to offer, though?"
    " Yes ." Barrett returned her gaze with challenge. "An alternative far more interesting, albeit far more complex and demanding; namely, the subliminal self , that vast, concealed expanse of the human personality which, iceberglike, inheres beneath the so-called threshold of consciousness. That is where the fascination lies, Miss Tanner. Not in the speculative realms 13

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    of afterlife, but here, today; the challenge of ourselves . The undiscovered mysteries of the human spectrum, the infrared capacities of our bodies, the ultraviolet capacities of our minds. This is the alternative I offer: the extended faculties of the human system not as yet established . The faculties by which, I am convinced, all psychic phenomena are produced."
    Florence remained silent for a few moments before she smiled. "We'll see," she said.
    Barrett nodded once. "Indeed we shall."
    Edith looked around the dining hall. "When was this house built?" she asked.
    Barrett looked at Fischer. "Do you know?"
    "Nineteen-nineteen," Fischer answered.
    "From several things you said today, I have the impression that you know quite a bit about Belasco," Barrett said. "Would you care to tell us what you know? It might not be amiss to"—he repressed a smile—know our adversary."
    Amused? thought Fischer. You won't be when Belasco and the others get to work. "What do you want to know?" he asked.
    "Whatever you can tell us," Barrett said. "A general account of his life might be helpful."
    Fischer poured himself another cupful of coffee, then set the pot back on the table, wrapped his hands around the cup, and began to speak.
    "He was born in 1879, the illegitimate son of Myron Sandler, an American munitions maker, and Noelle Belasco, an English actress."
    "Why did he take his mother's name?" Barrett asked.
    "Sandler was married," Fischer said. He paused, went on. "His childhood is a blank except for isolated incidents. At five he hanged a cat to see if it would revive for the second of its nine lives. When it didn't, he became infuriated and chopped the cat to pieces, flinging the parts from his bedroom window. After that, his mother called him Evil Emeric."
    "He was raised in England, I presume," Barrett interjected.
    Fischer nodded. "The next verified incident was a sexual assault on his younger sister," he said.
    Barrett frowned. "Is it all to be like this?"
    "He didn't live an exemplary life, Doctor," Fischer said, a caustic edge to his voice.
    Barrett hesitated. "Very well." he said. He looked at