Page 36 of Beneath the Poet's House

Saoirse stares back and forth between Roberto and Mia, equal parts disbelieving and transfixed.

“Sersh,” Lucretia says, “is it okay if I tell them what we talked about at the coffee shop? I haven’t said anything yet, because I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to share it.”

“If she didn’t want you to share it, putting her on the spot isn’t the best way to get an honest response,” Roberto needles. Lucretia shoots him a dirty look, but Saoirse is already nodding, and the creases of worry disappear from Roberto’s forehead.

“Saoirse’s husband passed away nine months ago,” Lucretia says, “from a heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Roberto says. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too,” Mia says, so quietly Saoirse almost doesn’t hear her.

Saoirse nods once in acknowledgment, and Lucretia continues. “So, her husband passes away, and she moves into Sarah’s house. Sarah was married prior to meeting Edgar Allan Poe, too, to John Winslow Whitman. John died in 1833; he and Sarah never had children, though there were many of the couple’s friends in New England who said John wanted children.”

Saoirse grips the sides of her chair, denying the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her.

“The Stone Tape Theory posits that environmental elements are capable of storing traces of human thoughts or emotions, that spoken words leave permanent impressions in the air, though they become inaudible over time,” Lucretia says. “It’s also thought to be connected to the concept of ‘place memory.’ Think about it: you meet a celebrated author, Emmit Powell, while living in the house of the woman who attracted the attention of America’s greatest writer, poet, editor, and literary critic. Even Emmit’s initials are the same as Poe’s.” She shoots Saoirse a look. “You don’t happen to know his middle name, do you?”

Saoirse shakes her head impatiently.

“Anyway,” Lucretia capitulates, “the last major nineteenth-century idea associated with the Stone Tape Theory is psychometry, the belief that it’s possible to obtain knowledge about the history associated with an object through physical contact with it. Being in this houseis like a study in psychometry. You’re placing your very feet where Sarah Whitman walked while projecting the same frequency of energy she must have held within her. Widowed and alone, gifted and flirting with transcendentalism. I mean, gosh, the only thing you’re missing is Sarah’s tragically romantic and chronic heart condition.”

Saoirse’s body grows Arctic-cold, but Lucretia is bouncing up and down and looking at Mia. “I told you giving her a little nudge before the séance was the right idea,” she says. “It got her writing again! It helped tip the scales from psychometry into a full-blown residual haunting!”

Mia’s expression grows wary. “Lucretia, I don’t think—”

“What nudge?” Saoirse asks.

“Right, sorry,” Lucretia says quickly. “I shouldn’t—”

“When’s the food getting here?” Roberto says, standing up and looking toward the living room door.

“What nudge?” Saoirse says, loud enough to silence everyone else.

Mia sighs. She looks at Lucretia and raises an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve got to tell her now.”

Lucretia remains silent.

“Tell me what?” Saoirse demands.

It’s Lucretia’s turn to sigh. She turns to Saoirse, guilt wrinkling her face. “I sort of included LSD in the cupcakes I made for the séance last week,” she says meekly. “It was the equivalent of a microdose in each, so that’s why you came down so quickly. It’s also why you felt great just a few minutes later. It helps open the mind and expand the consciousness.”

Saoirse’s mouth hangs open. “You drugged us?” she asks disbelievingly.

“Oh, not me,” Roberto says in a tone that indicates he knows better. “I’m far too distrustful of Lucretia’s baking skills to eat anything she makes.”

Saoirse looks at Mia, who shrugs. “I don’t eat chocolate,” she says matter-of-factly.

Lucretia smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, but then you seemed so anxious to get the séance started, and I know how stressed you’ve been, and I’ve done a ton of research into microdosing, and I felt like it would help you get over your block, and it’s totally not dangerous if you take it—”

“Without a heart condition,” Saoirse says, bringing a hand to her chest.

Lucretia pauses, looking confused. “I’m sorry?”

“LSD is not dangerous if you take it without a heart condition,” Saoirse says again. The wordsGet out!are poised on her tongue, but somehow she swallows them. She wants to hear what Lucretia has to say.

Lucretia glances at Roberto, then at Mia, then back to Saoirse. “I don’t understand. Sarah Whitman’s condition was—”

“I’m not talking about Sarah Whitman.” Saoirse heaves a deep sigh and shakes her head. “I’m talking about me. Maybe there’s something to your residual haunting theory, after all, because I have cardiomyopathy. I’m on a host of medications. Water pills, potassium, Entresto, not tomention antidepressants.” She looks at Lucretia. “And in addition to the meds, I try to limit my caffeine, alcohol,and hallucinogenintake.”

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