9:14 A.M.

"It's big," Edith said.

Barrett grunted as he jimmied the end of a plank from the side of a plank from the side of the crate stamped FRONT. His movements were excited, overquick. The crowbar slipped.

"Don't overdo it, now."

He nodded, prying at the other end of the plank. She hadn't seen him so worked up in years. "Can I help you?"

Barrett shook his head.

Edith watched uneasily as he leaned forward in his chair and pried the boards loose, cracking several of them, pulling off jagged pieces with his left hand, and tossing them onto the floor. "They packed it well enough," he muttered. She couldn't tell if he was pleased or annoyed by the fact.

The crate was eight by ten feet in width and length, and taller than Barrett by a foot. What was in it? Edith wondered. His machine, yes; but what was his machine, and how was it supposed to end the haunting of a house?

"Damn!"

She twitched as Barrett cursed and dropped the crowbar with a hiss of pain to clutch at his bandaged thumb.

"Lionel, please don't overdo it."

"All right," he said impatiently. He picked up the crowbar and returned to the crate.

"Why don't you ask Fischer to help you?"

"Do it myself," he muttered.

Edith flinched as he drove the crowbar in between two planks and started jimmying out one of them. "Lionel, take it easy,"

she said. "You look as though you mean to tear that crate apart with your teeth."

Barrett stopped and looked at her, his chest rising and falling heavily, a dew of perspiration on his forehead. He made a sound which might have been amusement. "It's just that this is - well, the culmination of all my years in parapsychology," he said. "You can understand why I'm excited."

"And you can understand why I'm concerned."

He nodded. "I'll restrain myself," he promised. "I guess I can spare a few more minutes after twenty years."

Edith leaned back in her chair, relieved. Maybe if she kept him talking while he worked, he wouldn't get too overwrought.

"Lionel?"

"Yes?"

"Should we report that body to the police?"

"We will," he said, "when the week is up."

Edith nodded, wondering what to talk about next.

"Was Fischer really a powerful psychic?" she asked, wondering why the question came to mind.

"At one time, it was generally conceded that he ranked with Home and Palladino."

"What did he do?"

"Oh" - Barrett pried away another plank end from the front of the crate and set the board aside, revealing a line of glass-fronted dials - "the usual: levitation, direct voice, biological phenomena, imprints, percussion, materialization -  that sort of thing. At one sitting, a table that weighed almost five hundred pounds was raised to the ceiling in full light, him with it, and the combined strength of six men couldn't pull it down.

"Later, when the lights were out in the testing room - full controls in operation - a group of seven perfectly formed faces floated around the room. One of the testers - Doctor Wells, the famous Harvard chemist  - had his face blown into by one of them, and another tried to kiss him. I believe he was rather a cynic about the entire subject until that night."

"What else?" Edith prompted as he fell silent again.

"Oh, a . . . dark shadow in the shape of a man walked around the testing room with a tread that shook the walls. Green phosphorescent lights, like outsize butterflies, fluttered around the table and nested in the sitters' hair. A mandolin floated near the ceiling, playing 'My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean.' Professor Mulvaney of the Pittsburgh Parapsychological Association held a perfectly formed materialized hand for more than ten minutes, describing it as possessing bones, skin, hair, nails, and warmth. It dissolved in his grip in less than a second.

"Finally, a mass of teleplasm flooded from Fischer's mouth and formed the figure of a Chinese mandarin, seven feet tall, complete to the finest detail. It spoke to the group for twenty minutes before being retracted into Fischer's body." Barrett set aside another plank. "Fischer was all of thirteen at the time."

"He was genuine, then."

"Oh, yes, completely." Barrett started working on the final plank. "Unfortunately, that was long ago. It's like a muscle, you see. Fail to use it, and it atrophies." He set aside the final plank and stood with his cane. " Now," he said.

Edith rose and walked over to him. He was peeling off a large envelope that was taped to the front of the machine. As he opened it and slid out his blueprints, Edith looked at the control panel with its array of switches, dials, and knobs. "What did this cost to build?" she asked.

"I'd say in excess of seventy thousand dollars."

" My God." Edith ran her gaze over the dials. "EMR," she murmured, reading the metal plate fastened below the largest dial.

The numbers on it ranged from zero to 120,000.

"What is EMR, Lionel?"

"I'll explain it later, dear," he said distractedly. "I'll tell all of you exactly what the Reversor is designed to do."

"The Reversor," she said.

He nodded, looking at the top blueprint. Pulling the pencil flashlight from his pocket, he shone its thin beam through a grille-like opening on the side of the machine. He frowned and, limping to the table, set down the blueprints, and picked up a screwdriver. Returning to the machine, he began to unfasten a plate.

Edith moved to the fireplace and held her hands toward the flames. She'd stood right here, she thought after a moment. She could remember nothing before being slapped from sleep, to find herself naked in front of Fischer. She shuddered, trying not to think about it.

She was moving back toward Lionel when Fischer suddenly came dashing in. Edith started as he called out, "Doctor!"

Barrett whirled.

"It's Miss Tanner!"

Edith froze. My God, what's happened now? she thought.

"She's been hurt again."

Barrett nodded once and, limping to the table, grabbed his black bag. "Where?" he asked.

"In her room."

The three moved hurriedly across the great hall, Barrett setting the pace as best he could. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"She's scratched - torn - bitten."

"How did it happen?"

"I don't know; the cat, I think."

"The cat? "

"I was bringing her some food. When she didn't answer my knock, I opened the door. The second I did, the cat shot out and disappeared."

"And Miss Tanner?"

"She was in the bathroom," Fischer said. "At first she wouldn't come out. When she did - " He stopped, grimacing.

She was lying on her bed when they came in; she opened her eyes and turned her head as they crossed the room. Edith made a sound of shock. The medium's skin was as pale as wax, deep, blood-encrusted indentations on her head, puffy scratches on her face and neck.

Barrett put his bag by her bed and sat down beside her. "Have you disinfected these?" he asked, looking at the bites on her head.

She shook her head. Barrett opened his bag and removed a small brown bottle and a box of Q-Tips. He glanced at the rips in Florence's sweater. "Your body, too?"

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

"You'd better take the sweater off."

"I've washed myself."

"That's not enough. There could be infection."

Florence glanced at Fischer. Without a word, he turned and walked to the other bed, sitting down on it, his back to them.

Florence started to remove her sweater. "Would you help her, Edith?" Barrett asked.

Edith moved to the side of the bed, wincing as she saw the pattern of the jagged slashes across Florence's chest and stomach, the bites and lacerations on her arms. She reached behind the medium to unhook her bra, stepping back as Florence slipped it off. The medium's breasts were covered with scratches as well.

Barrett unscrewed the cap of the bottle. "This is going to hurt," he said. "Would you like a codeine?"

Florence shook her head. Barrett dipped a Q-Tip into the bottle and began to swab out one of the puncture wounds in her forehead. Florence hissed and closed her eyes, tears pressing out beneath the lids. Edith couldn't watch. She turned away and looked at Fischer. He was staring at the wall.

Several minutes passed, the only sound Florence's hissing and an occasional murmur of apology from Barrett. When he was done, he drew a blanket across her chest. "Thank you," she said. Edith turned back.

"The cat attacked me," Florence said. "It was possessed by Daniel Belasco."

Edith looked at her husband. His expression was unreadable.

The medium tried to smile. "I know, you think - "

"It doesn't really matter what I think, Miss Tanner," Barrett cut her off. "What matters is your being mauled."

"I'll be all right."

"I wonder if that's so, Miss Tanner. I wonder if it might not be advisable for you to leave rather than Mr. Fischer."

Edith was aware of Fischer twisting around to look at them.

"No, Doctor." Florence shook her head. "I don't think it would be advisable at all."

Barrett looked at the medium for several moments before he spoke again. "Mr. Deutsch needn't know," he said.

Florence looked confused.

"I mean" - he hesitated - "you've more than contributed your share to the project."

"And you'll see to it that I get paid off, is that it?"

"I'm only trying to help. Miss Tanner."

Florence started to reply, then held back. She averted her eyes before she looked at Barrett again. "All right," she said, "I'll accept that. But I'm not going to leave."

Barrett nodded. "Very well. It's up to you, of course." He paused, then added, "But I would feel derelict in my responsibility toward you if I didn't urge, no, warn you to leave this house while you can." He paused again. "Furthermore, if I think your life is in danger, I may see to it that you go."

Florence looked appalled.

"I don't intend to stand by knowingly and allow you to become yet one more victim of Hell House," Barrett told her. He snapped his bag shut, picked it up. "My dear?" he said. Struggling to his feet, he turned for the door.

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