The Ravenwood Seance

 

A small crowd shuffles into a dimly lit room. The hostess motions to the large table in the center.  A black card sits upon the table in front of each chair with a visitors name  printed in gold print. There are a total of ten chairs, eight for guests and two for the hosts. Once seated the small crowd begins to explore the dim room with their eyes. “Art Deco” one whispers. “Yes, and it’s very well done.” Murmur’s another. “Did you hear what’s playing on the Victrola? It’s that old we will meet again song from the Shining movie.” “Yes it is, Good Touch”.

 The chairs are now full minus one. The host’s. The guests have all met him. In fact they had drinks in the garden not more than ten minutes ago with him. He had even had them take a group photo and gotten their cell numbers and promised to send them all a copy. Soon a side door opens and the room goes hush as the host finally enters.

  I would like to welcome you all here tonight. And hopefully the spirits will be plentiful and kind. I feel that I need to warn you that this might not be the type of séance that you have experienced in the past or are expecting. Tonight we will not be asking old Aunt Martha where the lost silverware is or Grandfather Lois where he hid the will. Tonight we will contact the other side to hopefully solve a very real and old mystery. I would say to think of it as a murder mystery dinner theater but with a real and hopefully supernatural outcome.

  I grew up in the Illinois River town of Morris. The I&M canal runs along the river for a good part of the rivers length.  A few miles outside of town on the canal still stands an old large rock bridge. It seemed out of place there. It leads to nothing other than a small woods and the river. As kids we were a little bit afraid of that bridge. We were told it was the bridge to the forgotten village of Ravenwood. The rumor was that a witch once lived there and had killed everyone and that the ravens that now perched on the bridge at dusk were a warning to stay away. In all reality the small village probably met the same fate as many other little river settlements had met when the state dammed up the river. It was just washed away and over time just forgotten. Or at least that’s what I thought back then.

  The host looks around the room at the baffled crowd who were trying to figure out what this has to do with a séance. If I were to hand one of you a pair a dice and you were to roll them would the outcome be luck or destiny? And how does one tell the difference?

The reason I ask is because some years later I learned of the story of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle being tricked in England by a fake Medium that went by the name of Molly Wynter. At the time it was quite the scandal that the writer of the great detective Sherlock Holmes was tricked so easily by an unknown woman. I have always been interested in stories of the occult and its history but for some reason this one held my attention tighter than most. I began to research her. It soon became like an obsession.  I found that she worked as a medium in New York before moving to London. Once there she began to work with Percy Tibbles also known as P.T. Selbit a well-known stage Magician.  She was even known for a while as the Masked Medium. But then things seemed to go south for her. She lost her one and only child and soon after her husband.  She even spent a short time in a mental institution where she became sure she was being stalked by a demon and would destroy any photos of herself. For her to be in a room all the mirrors had to be facing the wall. They say she never really got better. She ended up returning to that states and would fade into obscurity except for one newspaper article. And this is why I asked if you believe in destiny.  Because the one article I found was from my home town paper and was about a séance gone wrong in the village of Ravenwood. What are the odds? According to the article some of the villagers had become convinced that an evil spirit had invaded their community and the séance was a last ditch effort to stop it and that the following day all of those present had gone missing including Molly. Only a few short weeks later the river valley was flooded and soon Molly, the séance, and the village of Ravenwood became nothing  more than folklore. 

  If you are at all familiar with séances and contacting the other side then you know that having in your possession a personal item of the deceasing is very helpful but often imposable.   And once again I will ask you about destiny. If I were to tell you that not long ago I was contacted about some antique occult items found forgotten in a local barn would that be simply luck?  Or was it destined to be found by us? To be used tonight to connect to the other side? Because upon investigation it did indeed belong to Molly and it was taken from her house after her disappearance. Does anyone have luck that strong?

The Host the moves to an old crate on the floor and places it on the table in front of him. He pulls out an old large envelope and places it in the center of the table. . “We will save this for last”. Next he pulls out an old book by Sir Arthur Doyle on Spiritualism. He walks over to one of the male guests and fingers threw it showing that Molly had written on every page. “ Do me a favor” the host asks. “Tell me when to stop” He does and the host slides in a piece of paper just as he does. “Open the book and write down the page and any word Molly has written. Keep the book and show no one!: The guest does as told.

Next the host returns to the crate and pulls out what looks like an Ouija board but it is not. It’s a board with a large number of words written on it. The host hands it to a guest. “Mediums used to have tests. This is one such test. If you look at the board you will see a large number of words. And here is a deck of cards with many letters on each card. I want you to pick one of those words and then spell it out with the cards and when done cover them with this black cloth. Only you should know the word. Tell no one.”

The host returns again to the crate.  This time taking a photo that has been torn apart and wrapped with a rubber band. He hands it to another guest. “Please reassemble this so we can see what it’s of. “ She does and it’s an old photo of the people at the séance. He then stacks the pieces and uses a rubber band to bind them then hands it back to the guest. “You hold on to this”

He returns to the crate this time taking a pair of slates that he shows to a guest. Then shows both sides of each “nothing written?” he asks and the guest agrees.  The slates are placed in front of him.

The Host takes his last trip to the crate and removes a bell on a small brass stand and places it in the middle of the table near the envelope making sure to not touch that.

 “Let’s hold hands” The Host begins the séance. “Molly let us know if you are here” Everyone waits quietly for a ringing but none is heard. “Molly Wynter, we are hoping you can help us. Are you here?” a second passes and then the bell rings. The visitors stir.  Suddenly the sound of chalk is heard on the slates. “Keep holding hands!” the Host warns. All eyes are on the slates. Finally the scratching stops. “OK look to see if it says something” the Host instructs the guest.  The guest lifts the top slate and the words HE WHO IS BUT NEVER WAS is written on the slate. Another guest gasps. It’s the one with the book. The host asks if it means anything to him. “You said.. umm” the guest reply’s. “Was it what was written in the book and if so show us?” Yes. . The guest thumbs through the book to the page where it was written.. “It’s gone! The page is gone. I even wrote down the page number. That page has been torn out!”  Suddenly without warning the bell rings violently over and over but then stops abruptly.

The host makes a suggestion.” Lets try this” looking at the guest with the ripped photo. “Lay the pieces out on the table to reassemble the photo and then hover your hand over each person to see if the bell has a reaction” The guest starts to lay out the piece on the table them screams. “He wasn’t here before!” I would remember!”  The guest points to the image of a dark ominous looking man in the torn photo. “That was not there!”

The host calms the guest “Ok maybe we should wind this all down. We have one last thing to do and that is to open the envelope. Who wants the honor? The last guest that had no props takes the sealed envelope and rips it open and looks inside. There are two small letters and an old torn page of a book. The page is handed to the guest with the book it’s the missing page and the rip matches perfectly. HE WHO IS BUT NEVER WAS is written on the page. The host tells the guest with the envelope to read one and give the other to the hosts wife seeing that she has not gotten to do much to this point.

The first letter is read aloud by the host wife and it has the name of the guest with the spirit board and the word she has chosen. But how? The guest asks. The envelope was there before I picked the word?

The second letter is then read.

Last night I had the strangest dream. I was in a sea of darkness and began to hear my name called. I felt as though I was being pulled by the voices. Not my body, in fact I didn’t have a body. It was my soul being pulled.  Suddenly I was floating in a mist but it seemed to be clearing. Below me was a group of people I do not know. Ghosts maybe? They had some of my things. Some of the tools I use to contact the other side but they looked very old and worn. One of the people I do not know asked me to ring my bell and I tried but (and I know this sounds silly) I had no hands. It took me a second but if I thought very very hard the bell would ring. How funny is that? Slowly as the mist lifted it was like I could hear their thoughts. One had my book. He was thinking of page 176. Over and over 176, 176. Another was thinking of a word. Oh she was using my spirit board. Then I noticed something else was here. In the corner of the room. Red piercing eyes watching from the darkness. He who is but never was. A demon that followed me from London, Destroyed my life, my love. He is here! I rang the bell so hard to warn them. He can’t be remembered!

Suddenly I was awake and back in my bed. I was shivering from fear. He who is but never was will never stop until he is forgotten. Tomorrow is the last séance. If he cannot destroyed then we will destroy ourselves to stop him. If forgotten by all he can’t hurt anyone any more. But now with this dream. One more vivid than any I have ever known I am worried. I have ripped the page from my book. If the page is not there then it will never be thought of.  And if my dream was not just a dream but more then I write this letter as a warning. Don’t try to save us or you shall *** yourselves. He who is but never was must never be remembered and his likeness never be known.

Molly Wyther Oct 29th 1931

 

A few moments after the letter is read all the guests cells start to ring. It’s a text with the group photo. Only now there is an extra guest in the photo. A dark tall man standing behind them.. With red eyes. The Victrola seems to increase in volume. “ we will  meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…

Thought on the story idea??

That's awesome!

Thank you!!

Love it!! Very well done!

Thank you, I would like to do something like it as a dinner theater this fall.

You should!! Get on it!!