The road to the Stan sisters' house was nice and revigorating. I haven't left my house since Emma's visits. Even in the late hours of the evening, the village was still animated with the hubbub of the people having long walks on the promenade to enjoy the coolness of the air. A little boy, hanging on his mother's skirt, looked at me, then pulled out his tongue. I passed him by, smiling. I loved the naughtiness of children, their carefree spirit, their moody nature. For some reason, children always seemed to see me with different eyes. I didn't miss grown-ups attention anyway.

The Stan sisters' house was yellow. And ruined. As if made of old paper on which time left dingy stains to mark its passing.

 In the light of the sunset, I could see the herbs, plants, and flowers growing in clusters in a messy harmony. I knew the sisters could've taken better care of their garden. But they probably wanted to allow the time to pass over it just like it passed over them. Somehow, the garden gave more credibility to their occupation. It was written on the mailbox, anyway: Martha & Bertha Stan, healers and spiritualists. 

I climbed the cankered stairs and knocked with the skull-shape knocker. The door, once painted in green, opened by itself with a long creak. I hesitated before entering. I walked the narrow hallway at the entrance to reach to another one, this time larger. 

A flickering stander lamp welcomed me. A smaller one, placed on a down at heel table was throwing a faint light, just enough from stopping me from stumbling on the old carpets. On each side, the walls were covered with photos. The Stan twins were present in each one of them. In some, they were accompanied by stiffed gentlemen, with monocles and bushy beards with their wives in long, fluffy dresses watching with frightened eyes somewhere in front of them. In others, I discovered blurry silhouettes sitting in the corners. Some had odd shapes like white ribbons. But others had shapes. I could even notice their facial features. Ectoplasms. Under the pictures, the walls were cracked under just as troubling shapes. The cracks looked like empty branches of trees born from the ectoplasmas in the photos. Mould scent and stail air, blended with the smell of candles made me dizzy. 

The long hallway was leading to a room poorly lit. I could see the beam of light through the open door. I enterd the room, my whole body shivering. I discovered the twins sitting at a round spiritist table, one next to the other as if in a seance. A gas lamp which was making a suffocating black smoke was settled on the wall in front of them. 

The sisters said nothing when I came in. They didn't even look at me, although I was certain they have noticed me. They looked older than the last time I saw them. Their hair was tangled and deep wrinkles were crossing their faces, deeper than I remembered. Or maybe it was only the pale light that made them look older and more frightened than the usual.

 I observed the room. It wasn't very large. The round table was the main piece of furniture. The wallpapers were now shriveled and it looked like it once had a floral pattern, now a fainted memory just as the spectrums in the photos I have just seen. Now, the flowers of the wallpaper looked dead under the beams of light of the lamp. 

But what drew my attention was the big hole in the wall in front of which the sisters were seated. I once read that that was the entrance or exit of the spirits. The thought gave me the shivers. 

The room had a round shape. Round chests were covering two of the walls. I could observe the objects placed randomly on each chest -- recipients with questionable content, totems, tools that the sisters were using for their seances. An old clock placed on one of the chests was ticking and that was the only sound in the room. But the ticking was rythmless and somehow disturbing. 

There was only one other chair at the table. I took a seat and the chair creaked. That's when the sisters finally noticed me. They both turned their heads towards me which gave me chills down my spine. Their blind eyes felt like piercing through my soul. I kept away from their eyes as if afraid to fall under Medusa's deadly sight. I placed my hands on my knees in fear to touch the painted letters on the table. As if the letters that the spirits were talking through would have stayed printed on my skin forever.

"Why are you here?" one of the sisters asked in a husky voice.

 I cleared my throught and tried to compose myself.

"I need your help," I eventually said. "I find myself in a complicated situation which is new and unusual to me. And you are the only ones who could help me." 

Their blind eyes kept on studying me without blinking. 

"I know someone who needs to be guided to the other world," I added. "Someone who died and doesn't know she's dead. A lost soul, caught in this world, who needs to find the rest. And she doesn't deserve to be tormented this way."

"A tied spirit..." said the other twin.

"A tied spirirt?" I mumbled.

"Yes," the first twin replied. I believed she was Martha since she was always mentioned first by the local people and even by the mail box. 

"A spirirt tied to a place. Or to a person..."

"-- or to a feeling," Bertha completed her sister's sayings.

"-- who cannot leave this world because it has un unfinished business," said Martha.

 "-- like revenge, desire..."

"-- or regret."

I was trying to catch every word they were saying. Still, it was hard for me to comprehend the situation Emma was in. 

"How can I help her find the peace?" I asked.

"Are you ready for that?" Bertha asked.

I shook my head. I wasn't ready. I couldn't lose her again. But I had to.

"That depends only on the soul. It has to understand its own nature and step on the other side. Someone must tell its journey into this world ended," said Martha.

"-- if that spirit considers it can move on to a new journey," Bertha continued.

 "But sometimes, the spirit is stopped because of its fear of the unknown--"

"-- or because it has things left to do or say."

I was begining to understand, "But what if a spirit refuses to see the other world? How can it be convinced to walk towards it?"

"That is not the work of the mortals," Martha explained. 

"There are guides who can lead the spirit to the afterlife. They can take the shape of a being of light..."

"-- or of a loved one --" Bertha added.

"-- to be easier for the departed to find their way," Martha concluded. 

Then, they both turned their faces away from me as if I wasn't even there. I understood it was time to leave.

I didn't remember my way back. Thoughts and feelings were coming over me like an avalanche.  I could see now. I had the asnwers for Emma's... sitaution. I felt my heart breaking into thousands of pieces, each piece loving her more. I had to prepare Emma for her big journey.