Episode 24: Subject 77

Season 1: The World Unseen

Excerpts from the psychical research notebooks of Dr Henry Lock, Consultant Neurologist, St Bartholomew's Hospital, London.

Thursday, 22nd March1883.

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The subject is a woman of twenty-eight years, ruddy and healthy in appearance, with thick brown hair and an intelligent demeanour. She earns a living through fortune telling and mediumship. She practices the first activity at fairs and seaside resorts around the country. The second activity is carried out at the request of wealthy clients in private houses. The subject claims to have ‘been of service’ to many well-known figures, but refused to divulge their names.

Immediately after the subject entered the consulting room, she complained that the proposed payment was ‘stingy’ and that she would only take part in the experiments if the sum was increased. After some fairly heated negotiations, an amount satisfactory to both parties was agreed […]

To begin with, it was not clear how seriously the subject wanted us to take her. She carried out much of the conversation with a sly smile on her face or with several winks or nods that seemed to say, ‘This is all a good jape, isn’t it?’

I asked the subject to tell my fortune, as she would with a paying customer at a fairground, with Dr Crabtree observing and taking notes. The subject stated that ordinarily she would use a crystal ball, but that this was only a prop. In her own words, ‘It’s what the punters expect of a fortune teller’. The subject stated that in her ordinary practice she would also pretend to read the customer’s hand, but that this too was mere stagecraft.

‘I read minds, not hands,’ she said.

She asked that Crabtree remained quiet and that the curtains be drawn. As for me, I was permitted to ask questions but not to comment on the proceedings or interject while she was speaking. She particularly asked me not to confirm or deny the truth of anything she said while she was ‘communing’, as she put it.

With Crabtree and I silent, and the room in semi-darkness, the subject closed her eyes, visibly relaxed her body, and sat back in the armchair we had provided. After about three minutes, the subject said, in a softer voice than she had displayed before, ‘You are tired of London, Dr Lock. And your wife is tireder. The crowds, the filth, the noise, the fog — too much, all too much.’

This was true: my wife and I had been discussing leaving the city for somewhere more salubrious, somewhere better for the children we hoped to have. As requested by the subject, I said nothing in response.

‘Overseas, I think. Overseas is where you will end up.’

There was something about the emphasis she put on the word ‘end’ that made me uncomfortable.

‘Yes, overseas — the continent, or Ireland, or perhaps America.’

This geographical range seemed to cover so many possibilities that I felt she was fishing here […]

‘The one that was with you before,’ she suddenly said, after almost five minutes of silence. ‘Before him.’ She pointed at Crabtree, though her eyes were still closed. ‘Begins with R…Rice, Race…no, Reece…yes, Reece.’ She laughed, a short, humourless laugh. ‘Be careful of him, be careful of Reece.’

‘Reece,?’ I said. ‘Why on earth should I be careful of him? I know we parted on bad terms, but —

‘I said, be careful of him, that’s all.’ […]

[…] very conscious that much so-called fortune telling is too vague to be susceptible to proper verification, concerns matters too far into the future to be experimentally useful, or is based on information that the customer has, consciously or unconsciously, betrayed to the fortune teller.

With this in mind, I asked the subject if she could tell me anything out of the ordinary that would be happening to me in the next four weeks. She replied, I would lose my umbrella. Whether this is out of the ordinary is debatable, but certainly I am usually careful of such things and I resolved to be especially careful […]

Finally, I asked the subject if she could tell me anything about how my brother was getting on. (He passed out of Sandhurst this year and has been deployed, with the King's Shropshire Light Infantry, to Malta.)

She seemed surprised by this, but didn’t refuse. ‘Your brother? Oh, I don’t know. But let me see. What is his name?’

‘Arthur.’

‘Arthur…let me see.’

After several minutes of silence, she said, ‘Hot, there, he thinks. Hotter than he’s ever known. But he’s happy…no, excited. This is what he wanted. The army. Service and Empire. Yes, it’s hot alright. He wants to know, am I brave? Will my nerve hold under fire? He doubts himself. He must prove that he’s brave […]

‘And the daughters will meet. Through him. He will make it possible. Yes, the daughters will meet.’ She laughed with what seemed like genuine happiness. ‘He will bring them together.’

‘Whose daughters are these? Are they Arthur’s daughters? He’s going to have children? Is that what you mean?’

‘No, not his. But he will to protect them. He will try…’

The subject shuddered and emerged immediately from her semi-trance state […]

PS As it turned out, I did lose my umbrella. Or rather, I left it at Scott’s on Piccadilly Circus. It was mislaid, rather than lost. I had taken great care not to do such a thing ever since the subject had forecast it. It remains an open question whether the subject did indeed predict the future or whether she simply planted the suggestion in my mind […]