The corpse lay half decayed in the dirt of the crypt.  The eyes were opened in an upward gaze and the mouth had fallen open as if singing a blasphemous hymn.  A rat scurried across its blackened, bloated belly and I wondered if it would tell Madame Lasalle what she wanted to know.

Madame Duchamp took a small dagger and proceeded to drag the blade across her left hand, letting the blood rise to the surface and drip into the corpse’s mouth.

“The life-force of the blood will cause the corpse to rise,” she instructed.

She then instructed Madame Lasalle and myself to step inside the circle.  When we were all in the circle, she opened the Grand Grimoire and forcefully read, “Hear me, o spirits of the underworld, accept this offering of wine, incense and my own blood and bring forth the spirit of Henri Lasalle.”

Suddenly the crypt felt colder and I heard a low moan.  “I command you to rise!” said Madame Duchamp, staring at the corpse.  “Rise and look upon the living who summoned you!” she commanded.

Slowly the corpse began to stir.  To my surprise, it sat up, took a deep breath and then rising to its feet said in a raspy voice, “Why have you summoned me back into this decaying shell?”

“Your sister wishes to ask something of you,” replied Madame Duchamp.  Madame Lasalle turned pale and looked paralyzed with fear.

“Ask your question,” muttered the corpse.

“Henri, is that really you?” she nervously asked.

“Do you not recognize your own brother after he has been lying dead for nine days?” the corpse taunted.

“Henri, I miss you so much but I need to know where you have hidden your money.  We still need to pay for your interment,” Madame Lasalle said with a quivering voice.

The corpse let out a low, raspy laugh and said, “So, you miss your dear brother?  The only thing you miss is your brother’s wealth.”

“Henri, how can you say that?” Madame Lasalle asked with tears streaming down her face.

“I know that you and that man you plan to marry were devising a plot to get your hands on my money, so I hid it.  Look anywhere you please, but you will never find it,” stated the corpse.

“Henri, you are my brother, I love you and I would never plot against you,” cried Madame Lasalle.

“Love?” said the corpse mockingly. “Did you love me enough to poison me?”

I looked at Madame Duchamp in shock and she motioned to me to stay quiet.

“How could you know that?” Madame Lasalle gasped.

“The dead know many things, dear sister, and I know you will never find my money,” replied the corpse.

Madame Lasalle’s tears quickly turned to rage as she shouted, “You bastard!  You are as miserable in death as you were in life.  I pray you never find peace.  And as for your money, I will tear your house apart stone by stone until I find it!”

With that, the corpse snarled and lunged toward Madame Lasalle but as soon as it had reached the circle a surge of energy hurled it backwards and slammed it against the wall of the crypt.  “I demand that you release my spirit!” it cried.

“Very well,” said Madame Duchamp, “go then, and I give you my solemn promise never to summon you again.”

The corpse gasped its last breath and crumpled lifeless to the floor.  I stood still in the circle, amazed by what I had just witnessed.  Madame Duchamp really had raised the dead!  She touched my shoulder and said, “You can come out of the circle now, it is safe.”