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Seventeen Throw out the lifeline, throw out the lifeline, Someone is sinking today. E. S. Ufford The cotton fields, the farmhouse, the rabbits and combine and Grandy, almost everything in the story of Karly Kane was drawn from Ted’s own childhood. He had been just like Karly, playing and running, even taming wild animals, and maybe these similarities were what moved him so deeply as he read over the story. What confused him, however, was the strange incident of the disappearing shade tree, the hidden voice, and the choir of children in blue coveralls. Ted searched his childhood memories, but none of these details came to mind. He was stumped to explain why such a story would have felt so com- pelling that he would have gotten up in the middle of the night to write it down. He showed the story to Marie and described how the whole thing occurred. If he couldn’t explain it, perhaps she would have some insight. Marie thought about it a long time and eventually decided that once again, in a totally new way, the spirits were changing Ted’s psychic task. “Maybe this is their way of showing you what they want you to do,” she offered. “You’ve done wonderful work with adults, but maybe now the spirits want you to write meta- physical stories for children. With stories like this, you could bring our philosophy down to the level of young minds and begin to make them aware of the vast, benevolent spiritual world that surrounds them.” That seemed reasonable to Ted, and he became excited at The Maze - Seventeen the prospect. If the spirits wanted to inspire him to write, he had no objections. But days passed without any more stories coming to his mind, and he began to wonder if Marie’s expla- nation was right. One story certainly wasn’t enough, and, besides, he didn’t really grasp the meaning of Karly Kane’s adventure. Was the scene of wonderful animals and the choir of children meant to be a vision of heaven? And why had his rabbit been taken away? It didn’t make much sense to him. Neither did his continuing curiosity and fear about the night his room had filled with fog. In spite of the faith he placed in the spirit world, memories of that experience always unnerved him, and they wouldn’t go away. Ted prayed often and sincerely to God for help and for answers, but without success. A few nights later, Ted was vaguely aware of getting out of bed again, but the whole thing was so fuzzy that he dis- missed it as part of a dream. The next morning he dressed and poured his first cup of coffee, and as he crossed the room he noticed a piece of paper in his typewriter. Surprised, he picked it up and read, growing more amazed with every word. A stack of typed pages lay on his desk, but Ted was cer- tain he had not put them there. And the story they contained was nothing he had ever thought about, much less written. This story had nothing to do with children. Instead, it recounted odd information about Margaret Mitchell, the renowned author of GONE WITH THE WIND. She had lived in Atlanta, as Ted well knew, but he had never had any unu- sual interest in her or in the book. So where, he wondered, had this material come from? Ted lived alone, and although he didn’t remember doing it, he finally realized that he must have been the one who typed the story. There was no other explanation. His dream of get- ting out of bed must have been real, but he had absolutely no memory of going to the desk or of typing anything. If the spirits had prompted this story, maybe he could find a clue in it to help him understand its purpose. He reread it, fascinated by the story it told and mystified that such a tale could have originated in his mind: Masquerade of Angels 161