So those who drank of the bay’s waters would either receive spectral visitors—a sort of personal haunting—or their souls would be transported to a spectral plane, which is an entirely different kind of thing.One of the missionaries recorded in his diary that several members of the Olloo’et tribe confessed to him that they feared being transported and never being able to return to their bodies—that the spirits were, in fact, actively working against their return—and, if they did manage to come back, the men feared they would be cursed for their impertinence. It was not the sort of thing Rachel had given serious thought to. A native tribesman in the 1800s had a number of things to be afraid of—starvation, small pox, and syphilis for starters. A soul coaxed across the spectral divide and forever trapped in a netherworld seemed, by comparison, overblown. But then again, those men had not taken magic mushrooms behind the Dumpster at the Stop-N-Go when they were sixteen. Rachel had, so the extra shimmer that the electric lights began to take on and the patterns that appeared in the sand while she worked at the research site were nothing more than pleasant flashbacks.Compared to LSD, the visual effects were minor.
