She was part of a long tradition. The American Spiritualist movement dates back to 1848, when the Fox sisters of upstate New York convinced their followers that mysterious raps heard in answer to posed questions were responses from unseen spirits. Of course, people throughout history have longed for glimpses of the afterlife, if only to learn what awaits beyond death. But with the evangelical Second Great Awakening challenging traditional Calvinist beliefs, the mid-nineteenth century offered particularly fertile ground for an emotional religious revival. It spawned a tidal wave of seances, where people gathered to receive messages from the spirit world delivered through mediums who claimed to be in touch with the dead.

Anyone could make money as a medium, and anyone did. Seances and readings proliferated as newly minted mediums contacted the spirit world via spirit guides (discarnate entities relied upon for spiritual guidance) or the deceased themselves. But alongside those eager to believe sat skeptics just as eager to uncover fraud. Close observation revealed levitating objects suspended by string, and tables tilted by nothing more “spirited” than the medium’s knee. Supernatural “manifestations” turned out to be dolls, while plaster casts served as “materialized” ghostly hands. Yet even after the Fox sisters admitted in 1888 that their spirit rapping had been the result of cracking toe joints, people continued to believe. By the turn of the twentieth century, Spiritualism had more than eight million followers in the United States and Europe. And despite the movement’s glaring lack of credibility, there was more to come.

As the 1920s dawned, the world struggled to recover from the one-two punch of the Great War and the 1918 influenza pandemic. Nearly 120,000 Americans died in World War I. The flu surpassed that figure, sweeping across the landscape in 1918-1919 and taking over 500,000 American souls with it. Almost everyone lost someone dear to them, taken with little warning. Spiritualism experienced a new surge of popularity as, fueled by sorrow and desperation, people flocked to seance tables in search of closure.

As before, fraudulent practices flourished. Mediums continued to glean information about the deceased from the words and descriptions of those trying to contact them. There was ectoplasm made of butter, muslin, and even sheep’s lung. Materialized spirits (including Woodrow Wilson and King Ferdinand of Bulgaria) turned out to be cut-outs clipped from magazines. Spirit photography, where hazy images of the beloved deceased floated about a living subject, was revealed to be nothing more than double exposure. But people came anyway, searching for answers and comfort that traditional religion and modern science couldn’t provide.

Mrs. B’s “circles of enlightenment” were held at her home, in a room set aside as a chapel. A little altar with a cross atop it sat on one side of the room; Mrs. B identified as a devout Christian. Instead of the expected round table, there was a circle of chairs. Spirit pictures–pastel portraits of Mrs. B’s spirit guides–lined the walls. Quartz crystals and religious artifacts were set on side tables. The air felt dense, like walking to one’s seat involved passing through several sets of velvet curtains.

Six of us settled into our chairs. Mrs. B reached for the light switch. As total darkness settled around us, she asked if anybody in the room saw “anyone.” Nobody did. She herself saw points of light, which she identified as spirits. She received information from several spirit guides who had been with her for decades. Frequently she spoke in one-size-fits-all generalities that invited personalized interpretation. Some of her pronouncements seemed like obvious follow-up statements to a participant’s question. Nothing “appeared,” thank heavens; no ectoplasm, thumps, or unusual noises announced otherworldly guests.

I started wondering if anyone else in the room noticed that, except for changes in hairstyle and clothing, all the spirit pictures on the wall looked the same. Did anyone really believe that Mrs. B’s beautiful rose quartz necklace had been materialized as a gift from a spirit guide?

Mrs. B thoroughly believed in her own ability to communicate with spirits and didn’t care whether other people did or not. Neither did the couple comforted by words from their deceased teenage son. Nor did the woman who’d come to ask her late husband for a little guidance about where he’d left his will. Mrs. B listened to a voice none of us could hear and repeated what she heard. I learned later that, based on the information, the woman did indeed locate the will.

Perhaps this is the fundamental reason why belief in Spiritualism continues. For each uncovered act of fraud, there are stories that can’t be explained in logical terms.

Our world moves forward in a steady flow of scientific and medical advances. Technology keeps us in nearly constant contact with each other, no matter where we are. But despite these changes, people today experience the same longing and emptiness as did those so willing to believe the Fox sisters back in 1848.

For those who yearn for something “more,” Spiritualism offers hope.

Although it was obvious to me that dolls were alive, the outside world did not agree. So, I set up a series of tests to prove it. There was the “location” test, where I noted each doll’s specific place and pose before leaving the room (they were so good at staying still!). When I returned–usually abruptly, aiming for the surprise factor–one or more of my dolls had always neglected to snap back to her original pose. There was the “hunger” test. Since dolls never got to eat, it made sense that when left alone, they’d be hard-pressed to resist a cookie strategically placed in the middle of the room. Sure enough, careful examination always revealed a discreet nibble or two, more than enough proof for me, but maybe not enough to convince the doubters.

Oh, how I wanted to convince the doubters…

I don’t think I was a weird kid (I’ll leave that to you). Most kids are like this, able to intertwine “real” and “not real” at will. Those boundaries solidify for each of us in different ways for different reasons. Fortunately for me, I’m a writer. This has allowed me to keep the boundaries flexible for a long time.

Each of my three published books involves the supernatural. As with the thought of dolls parading about in my presence, I’m not comfortable writing horror. I lean more toward allowing a paranormal layer to co-exist with physical reality in a matter-of-fact way. For some of my characters, this reflects the world as they understand it to be. Other characters are not as accepting–nor should they be if there’s any hope of moving a plot along.

I’m used to my characters’ responses to the unseen in my books. I was less prepared for the reactions of some of my readers. For a very small number of them, the supernatural element in my stories isn’t simply unbelievable or even merely fictional…it’s downright offensive, a siege on their five senses and everything they know to be true. For these readers, that boundary between tangible and intangible has progressed beyond solid to something utterly impassable. They let me know that not only have I failed to pull the wool over their eyes, they’re insulted that I even tried.

Humans come in layers. We can rotate between belief and doubt over the same issue(s) throughout our lives. We’re also capable of believing and doubting simultaneously. This was true for me every time I left the room before each doll test. I’d announce loudly to the dolls that I knew very well they were alive, so if they wanted to hang out or eat a cookie or do whatever it was living dolls did, their secret was safe with me. I knew that if by some sad chance the dolls weren’t alive, they wouldn’t hear me anyway. But if they were alive…they might reveal secrets I’d never know if I didn’t take the chance and ask.

Even if the doll tests didn’t turn out exactly as I’d hoped, they did help put into perspective some of the unexplainable events that followed in my life. I’ve learned that not everything has to be explained. I’ve also learned that there’s no point in trying to convince those who doubt.

Best of all, I know that suspending disbelief is worth the risk.