We were at Poppy's house huddled round the fire sipping coffee and eating dessert.
It was a commonplace scene on one level but on another, it wasn't.
Ordinary people think life is happenstance, accidental, but it isn't―the one thing I've learned especially about scrying old houses is that there are no coincidences.
Gail and I were convinced Poppy's house was haunted and we were a bit on edge wondering if the resident wraith might take advantage of he power outage to appear.
If there be ghosts, they want to speak, and like most of us, they're dramatic and perhaps a bit fetishistic, needing just the right mood, the right atmosphere―maybe a storm or stair that squeaks, before they'll speak.
And Poppy's ghost was no different.
"Are you there, Laird?" Greg intoned in a sepulchral voice. Poppy gave a sudden start and truth be told, I was jolted too because it was so unexpected.
"For God's sake, Greg," Gail admonished, "you scared poor Poppy half to death."
"Er, sorry," Greg mumbled guiltily, "Sorry if I scared you, Poppy."
"It's okay," Poppy said, feigning bravery, but her lips were chattering.
"Here, put this on." Greg said, draping his jacket over her shoulders. He was sitting on the rug beside her and she leaned in closer to his warmth.
"That's very gentlemanly of you, Greg," Gail encouraged, smiling covertly in my direction. She was happy Greg was drawn to Poppy and would naturally offer her protection.
We all fell silent for a moment mesmerized by flames dancing on a burning spar.
It was cozy sitting picnic style on the rug and was I leaning back against the couch thinking how an elemental like a lightning storm could reduce us to mere essentials―shelter, food and warmth.
Maslov would be proud.
There was another great crash, this time outside, and Greg sprang to the window and gazed out.
"Oh, great! That huge oak by the road has come down right across the driveway. Looks like we're probably stranded for the night."
"It could be worse," I said. "It could have come down on the roof, or on our cars parked on the drive."
Volunteering to stay and cheer Poppy was one thing―being stranded and feeling trapped, quite another.
"C'mon, cheer up everyone," Gail chirped, "It'll be fun. Treat it as an adventure."
Poppy got caught up Gail's mood, "That's right―it'll be like camping out. Stay here overnight and in the morning you boys can use the chain saw in the garage to remove the tree from the driveway so you can all get out."
"Sounds like a plan," I laughed.
Poppy and Gail decided to uncork some wine and put out a tray of cheese and crackers.
The lightning wavered like blue moonlight in the windows, but we were all warm and dry and safe and that was all that mattered.
The room became less intimidating―less like Plato's Cave and more a cozy den. There were no menacing or portentous shadows on walls. and no one was holding our heads at certain angles.
This wasn't a cavern or cosmic cairn where everything was rigged, but it was an opportunity to get at the truth.
Light a fire and everyone’s a story teller, I mused, and then realized the storm had produced just the right mood and atmosphere conducive to encouraging Poppy to open up about her real feelings.
Maybe the powers that be had intervened, fortuitously, orchestrating things so we could finally get some answers.
I wanted to get answers to what was troubling Poppy and if it really were a haunting, to lay her ghost to rest.