Chapter 3 – Madame Elvira Bidell - The Psychic Of The Century

We’re getting closer to the day of separation. I’m not sure i’m ready to tell it.

It took some time to put my thoughts down for you all, I’ve been having nightmares the past few days that have stopped me composing my thoughts. But I made a vow to someone I’d tell this in its entirety and I aim to keep it.

Some of you have talked about how you remember the channel name and JJ Watson back in 09, most of you didn’t click it and I’m so grateful for that. A few of you even privately contacted me to inform me you’d seen the channel appear, asking what you should do.

The response remains the same for every single one of you;

Don’t click it. no matter how tempting it may seem or how familiar it FEELS in that moment, it’s a ruse.

If you recall seeing the channel “Beneath The Static” between 2008 and 2010, please contact me or leave your experiences below.

I know we can get to the bottom of this together.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8 (FINAL)

If I told you it was more difficult to get everyone together as the weeks droned on, I’d be lying. We began to feel a sense of unity over the struggles that, to date, Preston & Mathias had experienced. We knew all of us had darkness, to an extent, but not the full story for any in particular until it came out on the TV. We grew to accept each of us would eventually have our secrets laid bare and I think collectively, we just dealt with it in our own way.

But this meeting exposed our vulnerabilities in a way that regressed us to scared children, not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood.

We were sitting in my room again, this time Fay chose and the musical stylings of Parkway Drive filled our room to the deafening chug of guitars and guttural vocals. She said it helped her “get in the headspace” and after her last drawing in the midst of Forbidden Acquisition, I shudder to think what she’ll do now.

The drawing before was a grotesque version of Mitsy, the now deceased contestant with a penchant for baby-eating, jaw opened wide and devouring a screaming baby whole as Callista rushed forward, hands bloodied and filled with fury. In the background, JJ Watson stared at them and held a sign with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face: “All you can eat buffet”.

“That one was… a little dark, Fay.” I remarked, getting ready and not daring to interrupt her current drawing flow, but prompted by the same look of concentration and pain riddled across her face as her deft hands moved across the paper.

“I didn’t say they’d be pretty. I just… I draw what I see and feel in the moment. Whatever happens, happens. It’s… it’s uhh…” Her voice faded and her head lowered as she kept on drawing furiously, the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper like nails dragging on the floorboards.

“Fay… buddy? You good?” I called out, finding my favourite flannel and some product to boost my hair. When I turned around, she hadn’t replied. I walked up and saw her sketch pad, her hands never ceasing in their incessant scribbling.

It was JJ. His frame contorted, bent over backwards with his hands wrapped around his knees and bone sticking through the pants. His head jutting through his legs and hollow eyes wide with malice as the smile began and ended at each of his temples. Teeth on the verge of being pulled out, some roots showing as blood trickled down. His speech bubble simply read “YOUR TURN.” Over and over.

“What the fuck… Fay? FAY?” I shook her until she fell out of her trance, mouth agape and eyes deadened. She snapped back immediately and looked at me quizzically. “Hm? What?” She blinked, confused.

“Is it your turn?”

I took a step back and shook my head. She was obviously stressed, and it wasn’t worth pushing the issue right now. We were running behind and I knew everyone was turning up soon.

Looking back, I have the utmost regret that I didn’t ask her more.

It might have saved us from the day of separation.

The tone was becoming more muted as time went on, Preston was still shaken and far removed from his usually jovial self, but he was clearly trying to make a concerted effort to get back there. Mathias, though disturbed from what had gone on, felt determined to push on since at this point in time, nothing of consequence had hit the family save for Callista’s on-screen curse.

In his own words, he said, “If I don’t try to find out how they know, I’ll never fucking forgive myself.”

But when I pressed him in the hallway to tell me how he found the show, that it’s not something he could just hide from everyone, his eyes darted around and he said in hushed tones “not now, but soon, I promise. It’s not the right time.”

Millie arrived with the two, a little bit dazed and seemingly trying to prepare herself for another encounter with JJ. Something about the way he looked set her on edge and I’d been meaning to ask her what, but finding the right time amidst everyone else’s personal concerns was proving difficult. I’d hoped to ask her as I greeted her, but an exhausted looking Warren barrelled his way in, not even bothering to high-five me or quip a remark before going straight to the basement.

He looked like he’d barely slept.

“You think he’s actually going to make it through this?” I asked, looking at the space he’d left in the basement doorway.

“Do you think WE will? Tristan, I don’t know how long I can do this. It’s going to get to me eventually and…” Millie trailed off, her index fingers scratching at her thumbs as she welled up. “I’m not ready for what may come out when it’s my turn.”

I froze. I’d never been good with anyone getting emotional save for Fay and I just instinctively wrapped my arms around her. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Our collective fears and concerns ebbed away as I felt her warmth against me, the ground beneath me slipping away and a multitude of emotions coalescing into one overwhelming sensation of comfort.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Millie. But no matter what happens, our truths can’t break us.” I said softly, letting the moment linger before she looked up at me, those eyes filled with terror, anxiety and something I hadn’t expected to see; shame.

“Can you guarantee that when MY truth is up there? When Fays is? Or even your own? There are so many things we don’t talk about as a group, so many half truths, rumours sprouted from vile moments. Hell, we don’t even talk about the live-wire kid anymore!” She pushed away slightly, red in the face and wiping tears from her eyes before breathing in. “Let’s just get this over with for fuck’s sake.” she briskly walked away, my own hands shaking, unsure what to say or even think. But one thing she said was categorically true;

We don’t talk about the live-wire kid anymore, but we never forgot about him.

With everyone seated and less fanfare than usual, we fired up the TV and were once again greeted by that familiar logo. I don’t even think we waited until the late hours now, we just assumed it would be on when we gathered. Can’t quite explain why, but our hunch paid off nevertheless.

“Welcome back to Beneath The Static! Up next: Madame Elvira Bidell – The Psychic Of The Century!”

0:00m – The screen cuts to black as several small blue flames light from torches positioned adjacent to one another, the small archway becoming clearer as the torches progressively come to life. An enormous marble table filled with trinkets, oddities and a crystal ball is positioned in the centre of a small stage, a thick purple cloth draped over it, obscuring the legs of a dishevelled woman sat facing the camera. Her head bowed and her hands are moving over a crystal ball, coming into focus of the camera as the ambient music swells and a small, crude logo forms in the crystal ball: Madame Elvira Bidell – The Psychic Of The Century!

Preston: Didn’t they used to have stuff like this on cable TV? I swear my nana was a huge fan of this.

Tristan: Yeah, I remember one’s like John something or other. The guy would use cold reading to guess facts and info about the audiences. Swear those people were actors.

Fay: That’s the biggest douche in the universe one right? The one that South Park did.

Tristan: Right! Yeah! Man, that guy was ass. But I’ve seen low-budget folks like this before, usually they take calls.

Millie: I wonder if she can guess who in the audiences are serial killers, does it make her complacent to not tell anyone? Preston: Huh…never thought about that.

Mathias: Psychic TV shows are pretty common, even now. They’re under the same umbrella as super christian TV or live pastoral services.

Fay: Distasteful?

Warren: Bullshit.

Warren sagged in his seat. He looked even thinner than usual and his mohawk was barely spiked. Dude looked a mess, but we didn’t want to bring too much attention as per his request. So, we exchanged a nervous glance and pressed on, thankful he was trying to add some commentary for the blog.

00:01 – Madame Bidell raises her head, milky blind eyes greet us as a chapped lips clad in overbearing purple lipstick parts to reveal far too bright teeth.

“I am the great Madame Bidell! I see all and hear all, thanks to my connection to the spiritual plane of what is, what is not, what should be and what must NEVER be…Tonight, I will offer the believers at home a chance to have their predictions read live on air. Please keep your phones handy, you may receive a call from the beyond!”

She waves her hands again as the camera stays on her upper body and the ball, some thick black smoke forming within as the sound of a dial tone and a call being made are piped in through the speakers, the soft ambience never ceasing.

Tristan: Did… did she say “live”?

Mathias: That’s not… that’s not possible. Every single one of these broadcasts so far has been taped or pre-recorded, right?

Tristan: Well that’s what I thought, yeah. How is this happening?

Fay: Are we just gonna ignore the JJ Watson breaking the fourth wall bullshit? He LITERALLY spoke to us. TWICE.

Mathias: I still don’t understand how that all happens, but I don’t see JJ here, do you? This just seems to be an elderly woman thinking she’s a psychic.

Warren: She looks like a fucking wax woman, her skin is so goddamn leathery that I could put it on a car seat and NOBODY would notice. Shits creepy.

00:03 – The phone answers and someone picks up, a young woman with the sounds of children playing in the background. She sounds agitated, like she’d just been caught in the midst of a busy routine.

“Hello, my dear, this is Madame Bidell. I’m calling you to offer you a prediction!”

“What? Madame who? I haven’t got time for this right now, I’m not interested in what you’re selling.”

The crystal ball started to form an overview of a suburban park, a slender woman in her 30’s on the phone as several children played some 15 feet away, the parking lot relatively close by.

“Oh, I think you will be, when little Catherine’s life is at stake.” Madame Bidell’s eyes grew wide as she peered into the ball, the woman on the other end of the line staying silent. “Yes… yes, I see. You’re at the park right now…West 5th street, yes? You’re stressed because your husband has been on yet another business trip to the technology expo with his whore of a secretary and you’re ever so worried. Not because he’s cheating, mind you. But because you’re worried he’ll find out about your affair. Yours is legitimate, his is just suspected. You really should have done your due diligence.” Madame Bidell tuts and shakes her head.

The image took focus and honed in on the woman, her features becoming more distinguished and the rage on her face palpable.

“Who the fuck are you? Are… are you fucking stalking me?! I will call the cops!” The woman on the other end growing more distressed and calling her daughter in the distance to get in the car.

“Well now, I’m afraid that’s strike two for you, Lauren. If you do not show me respect and heed my words, the third strike will ring out and your childs fate will be sealed.” Her pleasant voice dropped into one of great seriousness as she uttered “You have been warned, choose your words wisely.”

The crystal ball changed once more, this time showing an expensive car pulling up and a well dressed man in his 30’s escorting a little girl from the playground into his arms as she yells “Daddy!” and hugs him.

“Oh, I’ll choose my words wisely, you creepy fuck, I don’t know who you are or what your game is. But my husband runs one of the biggest technology companies in the world and he WILL find you. YOU HEAR ME?! CATHERINE? WHERE ARE YOU?” She screamed, the panic and rage intermixing.

“I hear you, Lauren J. Grossman of South Philadelphia. I also know that your daughter is not responding to your cries because your husband has just taken her for a murder-suicide pact. See, when I announced your details on the air, certain parties got to work informing your husband and, since he was nearby, he decided to take her and ensure you’ll never use her as a bartering chip in a divorce.”

The crystal ball goes black. Lauren’s screaming is muffled with the phone as an altercation breaks out, her cries and begs to get her baby back are met by the sounds of screeching tires and guttural wails of pain. Madame Bidell simply shakes her head and sighs.

“Strike three, Lauren. I am never wrong in my predictions.”

A gong sounds out and Madame Bidell’s entire being drops as the lights dim, like she’d ran out of batteries. Lauren’s screaming left to fill the silence, empty threats of a mother experiencing abject loss.

After a minute, it cut to a commercial break.

Fay: Did she actually KNOW that shit? Or was this some kind of dramatisation?Tristan: I mean, everything so far could be either elaborate acting intermixed with actual truths or…

Millie: Or all of it is real and we’re privy to something we shouldn’t be. Guys, I don’t want to do this anymore.

Preston: We don’t have to, but I think we should.

Warren: Bull. Shit. we DO have to. I have not lost sleep every night for 2 FUCKING weeks to puss out now. And yes, I AM using that term. We are staying here until we know what the fuck this is all about. Got it?

Warren was stood up, fists balled and in spite of his small frame, dominating the room. An uncomfortable silence fell as Millie simply looked away, Preston and Fay squirming in their seats. It was Mathias who broke the silence.

Mathias: This guy is real.

Tristan: What? And the info on him?

Mathias: Yeah, that’s all real too. But nothing about the murder-suicide yet, but his wife, job, daughter…all checks out from what I can find.

Warren: Fuck… FUCK!

Preston: Look, let’s just watch the rest and see where it goes. We don’t know who it’ll be focused on yet and it’ll be easier for us to support them when it happens, right?

Tristan: Right, I’m with you, man. Let’s just try and calm down.

Warren: No need, it’ll be me.

The group looked at Warren, his face sullen and his voice hoarse.

Warren: I’ve been having… nightmares. Real bad ones, at that. They’ve been getting more real as we approached today. JJ was in my head, mocking me and screaming over and over.

Fay: Your turn. Warren: How the fuck did you…

Fay: Same thing I’ve been dreaming for a while. Same thing I bet the rest of us have, too.

Warren slumped back, mouth open and staring at the TV as Fay cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. This was having an effect on us all and it wouldn’t be long before the cracks became bigger.

00:14 – The show returns and we’re given the same setup as before, Madame Bidell coming to life with a wheeze, as if gulping the first air into her lungs after spending a lifetime underwater. Hands gripped the cloth tight and for a moment, she froze. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have said the broadcast had issues. But she quickly began bobbing and weaving her hands once more.

“I welcome you back, my faithful viewers of the veil. We had to take an extended break and speak to a caller off air, which I apologise for, but it was foretold and so proper preparations were made. I will now move to our next guest, one that I hope will be more… receptive to my readings.” She flashes those far too perfect teeth and the dial tone rings out once more.

Warren’s phone begins to ring.

We stare, incredulously, for what was only a few seconds but felt like far longer. Warren answered and I have never seen him so terrified in my life.

Warren: Hello?

“Ah, yes… Warren Joseph Fereday… I have some uncomfortable truths and predictions I must share with you. Are you quite ready?” Her eyes were shimmering, her mouth open in between sentences. It was unnerving. Warren swallowed.

Warren: Yeah… yeah, I’m ready, Madame Bidell. Let’s just do this.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting such good manners from the loudmouth of the Fereday family and, by extension, the social group you’re in. I expected you to berate me, call me names and make some crass joke, isn’t that more your style?” She paused, frowning and her voice slipping again from sweet to downright insidious as she continued. “What’s wrong, my boy? Not been getting a lot of sleep? Is it the nightmares? Or the guilt?”

Warren began sweating, he tried to answer her, but she cut him off and carried on, the rest of us in absolute silence.

“Oh, that’s right, Warren. I know all about what you did. You see, guilt is much like an evil spirit. It attaches to you and feeds off your soul. Now I may be able to predict your future, and I most certainly will, but your past is equally intriguing, don’t you think?”

Her index finger snaps directly up and her hands freeze, it’s pointing to the ceiling as she brings its mangled form to her lips and shushes with intensity.

“You knew he needed his medication, but you wanted to play some more. Poor little Frankie Fereday, he trusted his big brother to look after him, trusted his big brother to ensure he was safe while mom was away at work. But when he collapsed and started seizing, you shushed him to calm yourself down before calling 911.”

The crystal ball began twisting and showcasing a smashed coffee table, blood still dripping from the corner as a body seized just out of view, feet twitching as another pair darted around frantically.

I knew Warren’s little brother had died when we were in 5th Grade, but I’d never thought to bring it up too much, it’s just the sort of thing you don’t talk much about when you’re 11 and Warren was never the type to share.

Warren: Stop, I’m begging you, please…

“I will not. That poor boy twitched and gurgled and took 5 days to die. My god, what a hanger-on! YOU are to blame for that. You took all that rage and pain and directed it outward, always trying to be smaller, thinner, faster and louder. To make sure you kept a barrier between yourself and everyone else, but ensuring if those who could actually stand your incessant drivel, you’d be expedient enough to save them THIS TIME.”

She leaned forward, taking the still dislocated finger and grinned.

“Do they know about the…well…” before shoving it down her throat and inducing vomiting, leaning over the table for just a moment before laughing, popping up without any signs of distress. “I bet they don’t. You may be loud, Warren, but you’re awfully good at hiding things. Shame it won’t save you in the end, none of you.”

Warrens face was riddled with tears and the rest of us felt a chill go down our spines. Madame Bidell’s arms were moving erratically, the fingers twitching in uncomfortable ways as the smoke grew darker and a very… very different image loomed.

Every single one of us. Dead. Some through morbid torture devices and others through our own hands. Piled up on top of each other with my blank, vacant expression staring back as I lay atop the heap of my dead friends.

Then, the smoke clouded over the image until it showed us all, sat there in terror. Her joints were audibly clicking now, the sounds in her voice growing croaked and wheezy.

“I see SO much guilt between you all, so many shared mistakes with vile truths just beneath the surface. All I need to do is pick the scab to get at that tender wound. I see a group who looked the other way, who didn’t speak up, who couldn’t say NO, who sees too much when they dream, who wasn’t fast enough, who made a deal they can’t annul and someone… someone who misses you very, very much. A betrayal most foul that will one day take more than one life. Because when you look Beneath The Static…it looks beneath you.”

The call ends and the gong once again rings out, this time the show immediately cutting to a commercial.

Mathias: She knows something we don’t.

Fay: Wrong, she knows EVERYTHING we do and then some.

Mathias: I mean about all of us, there’s something one of us is carrying about us that the others don’t know.

Millie: No shit, none of us knew what’s happened today, to you or to Preston. Secrets are what they are.

Tristan: Do you wanna tell us whatever yours is?

Millie: No… I’ll… I’ll wait until it’s on the show. There’s a chance he might… never mind, no. I don’t.

Preston: Ok, but she showed us all DEAD. We gonna talk about that?

Mathias: That’s just… I dunno… special effects? I’ll admit the live-cam effect is creepy, but there’s gotta be something to it.

Warren: No. She’s right. It’s my fault Frankie is dead.

We stopped, the room felt colder, Warren took a deep breath before continuing, his lip quivering.

Warren: I just… I wanted to play out in the snow SO bad, but Frankie had been put on some new meds and he wasn’t acclimating to them properly. Mom said to stay indoors and keep an eye, make sure he didn’t miss any of them. But I was 11 and irresponsible. I remember his body going limp, his skin going cold and the way my mom screamed when she came through to the emergency room. She said she never blamed me, but…

He put his hand over his face and began weeping uncontrollably, his head going into his knees.

Warren: I will carry that for the rest of my miserable fucking life. I deserve this. I deserve whatever is coming for me. We all do.

The room grew silent again, and we opted to give Warren some space, comfort him and make sure we kept an eye on his feeding habits going forward.

Within a few minutes, the final part of the show aired, and we knew there would be more. I held Fays hand and squeezed, knowing she was terrified of her nightmares as much as she was her secrets, our secrets, laid bare.

00:20 – Intro sequence and gong bring us back to the show. The camera pans back and Madame Bidell’s body snaps up, the back arching and the limbs falling listlessly at the sides. Her jaw moves up and down, the words coming out sounding forced and slurred.

“Welcome back to beyond the veil, I hope you enjoyed my magic tricks. But unfortunately, there was never a true purpose. I just wanted to have some fun and reach out to some friends. The more they watch, the stronger the connection gets. Isn’t friendship wonderful? It’s eternal. It’s the drill that will pierce the heavens!” Madame Bidell casts her left arm to the sky, pointing, as a snapping sound cuts the air and the shoulder dislocates, much to our disgust. “Oh, my mistake, I don’t have full control yet. I’m all right now!”

A vile, putrid laugh breaks out through the speakers. It starts off feminine and rapidly grows lower, slower and more familiar. A second crack rings out and the soft moans of Madame Bidell intermixed with high-pitched squeaks of pain permeate the room as she jumps in her seat, the body twitching before a figure begins to rise behind her chair.

JJ Watson. Same suit, same raven black hair, same sickening smile. His full height towering over the seated Madame Bidell, but one arm inexplicably still out of shot.

“Well, it seems my ruse could not be sustained much longer. But no matter, folks. I’M the one you tune in to see each night, right? And I like to think the message of unity has reached everyone, even if it wasn’t me saying it.” He grins and I swear his teeth are moving in his mouth, swaying in the wind like pearly white grass blades, the roots barely hanging onto blackened gums. “But, before we depart and leave you beautiful people for another day. I’d like to kill two birds with one stone! To show a magic trick and to present a very strong set of words for some of our viewers at home!”

There’s no audience, no laughing track, no music. It’s one deranged man standing on a black stage. He still waits for an applause only he can seem to hear as he soaks up the adoration before simmering them down with his hands. The man is a fucking lunatic.

But it’s what he does next that allowed him into my nightmares.

He pushes hard on his unseen hand and the body of Madame Bidell begins to rise out of her seat as he makes mocking “wooo” noises. Her pain is obvious and as her stomach comes into view, JJ’s hand can be seen pushing against the skin, poking the flesh. His child-like giggling and showmanship only adding to the sheer horror before us.

“I want you to know that much like THIS meat puppet, I can make many more out there. This one was already old and useless when I found her, not a very productive member of the audience, I’m afraid! But, there are so many who have life, zest and desires that I can tap into. If you want a behind the scenes look, you WILL have to pay the price, kids. SOMEONE has to be my next meat puppet!” He leans forward and his face takes up almost all of the camera as he lets his bare eye run across the screen, the squeak it makes enough to bring my lunch back up. “If you don’t believe me, well let’s see the durability of my meat puppet and the durability of your desire to learn the truth, shall we?”

00:28 – Lowering his stance, he pulls back on his arm before hurling Madame Bidell into the camera lens; her face smashing with the glass and features getting cut and twisted, JJ unrelenting the entire time, screaming MEAT PUPPET over and over until her face was nothing more than a bloody, pulpy mass. The group is begging him to stop, but none of us turn the show off.

As he comes into view, it’s apparent his bronze skin is cracked and pink flesh is visible underneath. He moves his dishevelled hair back into place with ease and catches his breath, still grinning.

“Well, I’ll be! You really are a bunch of sickos, aren’t ya? So be it, I will lay all your secrets bare before I’ve had my fill. But I suppose it’s not very fair, after all, you’re damned if you do and damned if ya don’t! SOMEONE in your group put you in this mess and if you don’t turn up… well, we don’t wanna get into that, do we folks?” He wipes the blood from his face with his free hand and shakes off the viscera on his suit with an audible wet thud. “But, I’ll make something very clear to you all, just so there’s a little bit more clarity with those of you at home.” He begins tensing his face and veins pop out on his forehead, Madame Bidell’s teeth were chattering and the most godawful moan was coming from her as JJ began shouting. After a couple of moments where Millie, Preston and Mathias all looked away, JJ pushed his hand out of Madame Bidell’s chest cavity with a sickening crunch, bones, blood and organs splattering everywhere.

“I think I just recreated that scene from the Alien, folks!” JJ’s face is smattered with blood, his bright teeth a horrific contrast to the thick red blood running down his face, his tongue catching some and filling his mouth. In his hand was a small item, the chain attached running down his palm and dangling loosely. He pulls his arm free of Madame Bidell, licking the thick gore clean off of his arms and chewing on it, much to our disgust.

But it was nothing compared to the prophetic message he left us with as the show cut out and we were left in more chaos and turmoil than we’d been to that point.

JJ stepped toward the camera, still holding the trinket tight in his palm, spat out the piece of flesh he was chewing on and said, without missing a beat, something that would begin to put all the pieces together;