The four of them peered down at the slowly swirling form upon the table top. At first it was indistinct, mere shadow and outline, but gradually an image began to take shape. Jenny realized that she was still chanting. She had long since put down the notebook; the strange words were now coming from her mouth of their own volition.
Suddenly the words stopped, and she found herself staring in silence. The image, fully formed now, was of a woman in profile. The woman was almost young, and it was clear that she had once been beautiful — that she might still be beautiful, but for the expression on her face. It was an expression of pure cold hate, and utter distain.
As she gradually came to understand what she was seeing, Jenny could feel the hairs begin to rise on the back of her neck. “No,” she said, in a small quiet voice, slowly shaking her head. “No, it’s not right.”
She looked up at Josh, and he looked back at her in confusion. “This is not right!” Jenny repeated, her voice rising. “Grandma was not like this, not at all. It’s all horribly wrong.”
Without saying a word Josh came around the table, passing Mr. Symarian and Sid without looking at either of them. He put his arms around her. Jenny seemed to go limp in his embrace, letting herself be held. She buried her face in his shoulder, and began to cry.