We spent a few months dining, on a semi-regular basis, at the Inn, and marveling at our new and ever different experiences. Each time we left, however, we had to be firmer regarding the prospect of telling our new friends that, though we liked them very much, they were not allowed to follow us home. This got us to thinking very seriously. Whenever we left, there was a wistfulness emanating from certain members, bordering on sadness. The next time Michael and I went out to eat there, I asked (quietly) to the general room, "Why are you still hanging around this house?"
Much to my dismay, this question was seen as the worst kind of rudeness by our esteemed "hostess", the dominant female spirit. I had breached social protocol in the profoundest sort of fashion. In short, she began to look down her nose at me, and there was a sudden sense of me not being liked anymore by her. This went on for several visits.
In direct contrast to this, however, the man, whose name we still did not know, became increasingly more dominant, in our presences. He would spend entire meals standing behind my chair, or in between Michael and I, filling me with a friendly, and very warm feeling that was quite yummy. At times we would see tiny glowing red orbs floating lazily over the table, amidst the salt and pepper and water glasses.
We even heard his voice clairaudienty, as it floated to us, hovering over the table. It was very faint, and accented with proper-sounding cadences, as one would imagine a middle-class person of the early mid-19th century speaking. The sound quality was tinny, like a 1920's wireless radio. We couldn't understand a word he said, but he sounded friendly, and like he was asking us how we were. It was frustrating that we couldn't understand. And through all this, the children were still hard into showing off, all around us.
Then, another change occurred, over the next months, or so: The adult male spirit began actively demonstrating to us how depressed he was by creating cold spots that seemed to exist soley around our table. Sometimes cold breezes would waft by that were not coming from windows or vents. When Michael and I would acknowledge the coldness to each other, and that it was indeed a means to get attention, the coldness would cease....abruptly.
Finally, one night, we were witnessing more than the usual share of activity around us. Then, suddenly Michael heard the distinct sound of a man sighing in a very melancholy fashion. (Of course it must be understood that we were NOT hearing these things from nearby tables).
"Did you hear that?" Michael asked me rather urgently. I hadn't. Then he assumed a look of concentration, and held his finger up to me in the "wait-a-minute" signal. I was suddenly all agog.
"What's happening?" I asked after he seemed to finish with his listening.
"I asked what the matter was," Michael told me. "I asked him if he was unhappy."
"AND.....?" I insisted. Michael shook his head sadly.
"He said he was only staying for the sake of the children, and he is VERY unhappy," Michael said. My eyes widened.
"I KNEW it!" I exclaimed, feeling a brief satisfaction that my initial perceptions of why at least HE was hanging around, were validated. Well, if this wasn't a call for help, then nothing was.
We both felt very sad, tears rushing to my eyes, rather unexpectedly. Finally, I told the man how sorry we were.
At the end of the meal we felt, once again, the usual sense of "please don't go!" but this time it took on a whole new dimension of misery. We felt so badly that we offered to help. We told them that we loved them, we would come back, and that everything would be okay. With those words, we took our leave, temporarily.
