Bar Harbor magician Dr. Wilson channels the spirit of the late governor Percival Baxter during a séance at the Criterion Theater last week.—EARL BRECHLIN PHOTO

The Criterion Theater will host a variety of shows, events and films during Magic Week. For a full schedule check out the Halloween Happenings directory in this week’s Islander.—EARL BRECHLIN PHOTO

Okay, maybe the Criterion Theater in Bar Harbor really isn’t haunted in the conventional sense, but it doesn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to believe it could be. There’s a strong sense of history and foreboding inside the slightly shopworn Art Deco walls. But take any place without a hint of sunlight, couple that with the usual creaks and groans of an old building, and it becomes very easy to be afraid – very afraid.

On Oct. 10 a dozen people, including a few reporters, gathered at a candlelit table on the theater’s stage before 900 empty seats to participate in an old-fashioned Victorian séance with local magician Dr. Wilson as the spirit guide.

They were there to summon the spirit of one of Maine’s most famous governors, Percival Proctor Baxter, to see if he would declare the last week of October to be Magic Week. It seems the current resident of the governor’s mansion declined to do the honor. The Bar Harbor Town Council, however, in its eternal wisdom, had no problem making that declaration.

Participants were asked to write questions for Gov. Baxter on small slips of paper to be sealed later into a jar. One by one the lambs were led by flashlight through the cavernous hall to the stage. Each person was asked to deposit a personal item into an envelope. Dr. Wilson, who had assuredly been sequestered off stage, would later attempt to match people and their belongings with help from friendly spirits. His score: only a few wrong, but then again it doesn’t take a rocket scientist, much less a Harry Houdini, to figure out a dangly pearl earring must belong to one of the women in the party.

“We are here tonight to recreate an authentic spirit séance,” Dr. Wilson said with a serious air. Participants were urged to quiet their minds, and, for good measure, to turn off all cell phones and pagers. “Remain in your seat with both feet on the floor at all times,” he added.

The evening’s magic began with a pendulum that purportedly possesses the ability to distinguish between different types of crystals. “Is it amethyst,” Dr. Wilson asked while suspending the small metal object on a chain over a piece of quartz. The pendulum mysteriously answered “no” by beginning to sway in a circular pattern. When held over a piece of amethyst, it swung back and forth in a perfectly straight line denoting “yes.”

The climax of the evening was an attempt to contact Gov. Baxter, who died in 1969. Dr. Wilson tied up two pair of small slates with ribbons. A tiny piece of chalk was inserted between them and both sets were put in the middle of the table.

Participants were asked to join hands to form “an energy chain.” Dr. Wilson positioned his crystal ball and his top-hatted head tipped forward, his chin resting on his chest. He began to groan.

Earlier in the evening Dr. Wilson had explained to everyone what to do if a spirit actually appeared. “If we have a materialization don’t touch it. People have been burned,” he warned. Nobody, it seemed, had a problem with that.

Sitting bold upright, Dr. Wilson began to channel the spirit of Gov. Baxter.

First, he answered the questions collected earlier, as each slip of paper was burned in a small metal bowl. The governor refused to reveal who will win the next presidential election, dismissing such questions as fleeting concerns of the living. He recited the words from a monument located at the base of Katahdin, the mountain Gov. Baxter helped save and include in the wilderness preserve that now bears his name.

“Join hands,” participants were ordered. A spirit this way comes.

Suddenly, from backstage, came a whooshing sound. Is it a spirit; some ghostly apparition from the venerable theater’s old speakeasy days? Perhaps it is the ghost of some gangland character, stewed to the gills on bootleg booze smuggled in by sea from Canada, who came to an ignoble end here, gunned down in a fight over his moll or in a dispute over some rumrunner’s share of the profits.

The sound swelled as the once-still air began to move. The candles on the table flickered and participants shot quizzical looks around the table to see if something, perhaps not of the corporeal world, was drawing closer …

Nah, it was just the hot air furnace.

Still, there aren’t too many places spookier than a dark, empty theater, especially when images of witches and warlocks begin to sprout on local porches and there’s an autumn chill in the air.

Gov. Baxter went back from whence he came and Dr. Wilson received a round of applause. The ribbons were untied from the pair of slates on the table. There, on the sides that were blank when they were sealed, was a hand-scrawled message. It seems old Percival has come through after all. The slates say “October 25-31 shall be Magic Week in Maine … for eternity, Percival Proctor Baxter.”

Of course for those schooled in such things, the handwriting looks suspiciously similar to Dr. Wilson’s own unique script. But, after all, we all sat there, skeptics and believers alike, and those slates didn’t move. What could be the explanation? Well, there’s only one of course, there must have been a little magic in the air.