The Psychical Researchers Tale - The Sceptical Poltergeist | Page 3

of a patch of dark mist, with an irregular
and changing outline, that obscured to a certain extent the furnishings
of the room immediately behind it. I must confess, however, that my
observations at this point were not so accurate as they should have been,
owing to the sudden realisation of my stupidity in not having brought a

camera and flashlight apparatus. The Slipper-tons had prepared me for
poltergeists, and I was, at that moment, distinctly annoyed at being
confronted with what I presumed to be an entirely different class of
phenomenon. Indeed, I was so annoyed that I was half inclined to blow
out the candle and go to sleep. I wish, now, that I had....
The Psychical Researcher paused and sighed deeply. Then producing a
large note-book from his pocket, he continued, despondently:
I have got it all down here, and when I come to material that
necessitates verbal accuracy, I should prefer to read my notes aloud
rather than give an indefinite summary. In the first place, however, I
must give you some idea of the form that gradually materialised; of the
form, that is, as I originally saw it.
It took the shape, I may say, of a smallish man, grotesquely pot-bellied,
with very thin legs and arms. The eyes were disproportionately large
and quite circular, with an expression that was at once both impish and
pathetic. The ears were immense, and set at right angles to the head; the
rest of the features indefinite. He was dressed rather in the fashion of a
medieval page.
(The professor was heard to murmur, "The typical goblin," at this point,
but made no further interruption.)
He sat with his feet crossed on the rail at the foot of the bed and
appeared able to balance himself without difficulty. He had been sitting
there for perhaps a couple of minutes, while I made various entries in
my note-book before I tried the experiment of addressing him.
"Have you a message?" I asked. "If you cannot answer directly, knock
once for 'No,' and three times for 'Yes,' and afterwards we can try the
alphabet."
To my great surprise, however, he was able to use the direct voice. His
tone was a trifle wheezy and thin at first, but afterwards gained power
and clearness.

"I can hear you fairly well," he said. "Now do try to keep calm. It isn't
often that one gets such a chance as this."
I will now read my notes.
Myself. "I am perfectly calm. Go on."
Spirit. "Will you try to answer my questions?"
The Researcher looked up from his note-book with a frown of
impatience after reading these two entries, and said:
But perhaps I had better summarise our earlier conversation for you.
There was, I may say, a somewhat long and distinctly complicated
misunderstanding between myself and the spirit before the real interest
of the message begins; a misunderstanding due to my complete
misapprehension of our respective parts. You see, it is unhappily
true--however much we may deplore the fact and try to guard against
it--that even in psychical research we form habits of thought and
method, but particularly of thought. And I had got into the habit of
regarding communications from spirits as referring to what we assume
to be the future life. Well, this communication didn't. The spirit with
whom I was talking had not, in short, ever been incarnated. He was
what the Spiritualists and Theosophists, and so on, call an "Elemental."
And to him, I represented the future state. I was, so to speak, the
communicating spirit and he the psychical researcher. He was, I
inferred, very far advanced on his own plane and expecting very shortly
to "pass over," as he put it. Also, I gathered that he was in his own
world by way of being an intellectual; keenly interested in the
future--that is, in our present state; and that the Slipperton phenomena
were entirely due to the experiments he had been carrying out ("on
strictly scientific lines," he assured me) to try and ascertain the
conditions of life on this plane.
Perhaps I can, now, illustrate his attitude by a few quotations from our
conversation. For example:
Spirit. "Are you happy where you are?"

Myself. "Moderately. At times. Some of us are."
Spirit. "Are you yourself happy?"
Myself. "I may say so. Yes."
Spirit. "What do you do? Try and give me some idea of life on your
plane."
Myself. "It varies so immensely with the individual and the set in
which one lives. But we--oh! we have a great variety of what we call
'interests' and occupations, and most of us, of course, have to work for
our livings."
Spirit. "I don't understand that. What are your livings, and how do you
work for them?"
Myself. "We can't