Graveyard Shift (19 page)

I
had a terrible sleep, the kind where you spend the night dreaming you're wide awake. At one point, about three in the morning, Dad came into the room and sat on the bed, stroking my forehead.

I could barely make out his outline in the inky darkness, but I recognized his voice as soon as he spoke.

“Remember when we were at the old house and you still believed in Santa Claus?” he said. “And you stayed awake one Christmas Eve, waiting to hear him come and start unloading presents around the living room?”

I nodded but, being asleep, didn't reply. I may have moaned and murmured a little.

“You wanted to sneak downstairs and catch him in the act,” Dad continued, “so you could tell your friends at school, the ones who didn't believe, that you'd seen him. Just before midnight you heard footsteps and papers rustling in the liv
ing room, so you crept down and peeked around the corner. And there I was, rolling up newspapers and laying them in the fireplace so that we could have a fire in the morning. But there were no presents to see. I hadn't put them out yet.”

I groaned, tossing and turning. He rested a strong hand on my shoulder to settle me.

“You weren't disappointed to see me instead of him,” he said. “You were
angry
. I'd never seen you so angry. Remember?”

Somewhere between sleep and consciousness I shook my head. Angry? I couldn't recall that at all.

“You said, ‘Why are you still up, Dad? Why don't you go to bed? If he sees you, he won't come. What're you thinking?' Makes me laugh to think of it now. You always were a dreamer. You always needed something to believe in, like the business you're involved in now.”

He stroked my cheek, and his fingers felt soft and clammy against my skin.

“Do you still believe in me, Ben?” he asked.

Dad,
I thought,
would you mind not doing that? Your hand is so cold.

“Do you?” he asked.

Of course I do,
I thought.

A car passed outside, its booming sound system rattling the walls. Its headlights streamed across the window, throwing into sharp relief the figure perched on the bed, stroking my cheek.

It wasn't my father.

That wasn't his face and those weren't his hands. The last time I'd seen this visitor, it'd been at my throat, those hollowed-out eyes just fractions away from mine, the scent of the grave whispering off it.

“We can get to you anywhere, any time,” it said.

A gargling sound wormed out of its throat. The lipless mouth opened wide and rushed at me, closing over my face.

With a shout, I wriggled out from under the duvet and threw myself across the room, thumping against the wall and sliding down to my haunches on the carpet.

It's all right,
I thought.
Deep breaths. No one there. Only me down here on the floor and my sleeping self in the bed, turning over with a sigh and a swish of bedclothes. I'm still asleep. There's nothing to fear.

We can get to you anywhere, any time.

I slept on, dreaming of being awake watching myself sleep. Perhaps this was how newly-departeds felt, displaced and outside themselves, looking in.

My shoulders rose and fell with each breath, and now and again I shivered and moaned. My fists drew into white-knuckled bundles at my chin, clenched so tightly that by morning my nails had cut red half-moon shapes in my palms.

 

“‘All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream,' innit?” read Mel.

Mr. Glover winced and shook his world-weary head.

“What?”
said Mel.

“Nothing,” he sighed. “Please continue.”

“He can't win,” Becky whispered. “He's going to break down and cry if she keeps this up.”

It created quite a stir when Becky chose to sit with me during English. The others in her gang stared at her as if she'd lost her marbles. The twins said nothing, but I had a good idea what they were thinking. Only Raymond Blight looked the other way, disinterested.

“Did you catch the news?” Becky said.

I nodded. We weren't supposed to discuss it in school, but she was finding it hard to keep quiet.

“I saw him,” she said.

“Who?”

She checked around — no one watching — and mouthed the words
Mr. October
.

“On the news report,” she said. “After the building came down, he went inside, into the ruins. No one commented or tried to stop him. And when he came out again, a whole train of people were following. Couldn't anyone else see him?”

Mr. Glover's glare cut short our conversation.

“Sorry, sir,” Becky said.

“Sorry,” I echoed.

“Later,” she whispered as Mel returned to reading. “I can't wait for tonight. I'm all jittery. It's like being part of a secret society.”

“That's exactly what it is. Let's try to keep it secret.”

 

From that day on, we walked to the Ministry together after school. At HQ I took her through the duties she'd soon be performing, showing her the telegraph and the typewriter and explaining the importance of transcribing each list accurately.

I introduced her to the dispatch workers, who by now were calling me by my name. Becky was impressed by that, but not as impressed as she was by the ever-expanding records office with its miles-apart walls and infinite ceiling.

“How can that be? You mean every single day it grows larger?”

“Every hour, every minute. It never stops.”

“So who are the armed guards I keep seeing? And who's the grumpy old woman in the booth? Is she always so disagreeable? And has anyone ever told her she has spiders in her hair?”

“I did once. It wasn't a great idea.”

She soon grew into the part, sometimes joining Lu and Mr. October in the field while I stayed behind to file paperwork. On Saturdays she even offered to cover for me while I took Mum to her weekly hospital appointment.

At the hospital I kept to the waiting area outside Mum's treatment room. It seemed wiser not to go wandering. Now and then I saw agents from the Ministry come and go from the ward. I didn't know them all by sight, but with a look and a nod they quickly told me who they were. It was reassuring to know they were around and on my side.

After the hospital, once Mum was home and resting, I'd return to the Ministry and Becky would tell me excitedly about the dramas I'd missed during the day.

The month sped past. Halloween was approaching. The shops filled with broomsticks, pointy black hats, and green, glowing goblin masks. We all brought pumpkins to school, where we scooped out the soggy pulp and seeds to make jack-o'-lanterns. Becky brought an extra, using it to bake pumpkin bread in home ec. It tasted more like cake than bread, with a sweet cinnamon flavor.

In art, the rest of the class volunteered me to take charge of decorations. I painted a scarecrow creature and a Michael Myers mask from the film Dad used to play every Halloween night when I was too young to stay up and watch.

By the time we were done, the art room looked like a haunted house, and the school's corridors resembled the walls of a ghost train ride. Grinning skulls and phosphorescent masks, werewolves and vampires and Frankenstein monsters looked down with eyes that followed you wherever you went.

After Mr. Redfern's class, the last of the day, I was clearing my desk when I heard voices outside the room — Becky and Kelly talking out in the hall.

“But you always have before,” Kelly was saying. “What's the problem? It's only for a few hours.”

“I know,” Becky said. “But I forgot, and now I've got other plans.”

“Well, the rest of us are going. It won't be the same without you.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You're no fun anymore. You're becoming dead boring, actually. You've been boring ever since you made friends with
him
.”

I wondered if Kelly knew I was in hearing range. Something in her tone told me she knew very well.

“Don't be like that,” Becky said patiently. “Look, if you like, we'll do something this weekend instead.”

“Nah, forget it. You do what you like.”

“But, Kelly . . .”

Kelly's voice faded as she flounced down the hallway. “And don't bother seeing us off at the bus stop, either. Wouldn't want to keep you from your new best friend.”

She stomped angrily down the stairs.

Becky was leaning against the wall looking flushed when I came out of the classroom. She answered without my needing to ask.

“It's nothing. They're trick-or-treating, and they expect me to go because I always have. How can I tell them we have matters of life and death — well, death — to deal with?”

“You can't.”

“No, I can't. I'm all right, though. I'm not upset. Kelly's never spoken to me like that before, but I know she's only jealous.”

“You could still go if you wanted. They're your friends. You don't have to come every night.”

“But I do,” Becky said. “I've waited years for this, ever since my Blue Grandma's funeral. Mr. October calls it my true calling.”

“I know.”

“And if you're lucky enough to find it, or for it to find you, you have to grab the chance with both hands, don't you?”

“Even if it's dangerous?”

“Even then.”

At first I'd wanted to warn her about the enemy and the risk of taking sides against them, but after she rescued the fire children I'd never brought it up. She'd seen what was at stake, and she'd never backed down. If anything, the risk was what attracted her. It made her tick.

 

The clocks had gone back an hour over the weekend, and when we arrived in Islington the sky was showing the first signs of dark. A biting wind swept along the streets, hurrying us on toward the Ministry. Gangs of witches ran up to complete strangers carrying lanterns and shaking buckets of change, stamping their feet against the cold, unaware of the dead man watching from an antique shop doorway.

A field agent I'd seen once or twice before, Joe Mort, had joined the dead man to lead him away. Joe had the wiry frame of a bantamweight boxer, crew-cut black hair, and a thousand-yard stare. He winked at us as we passed and said, “Almost got away, this one. A 1742, dropped stone dead dur
ing a horror double bill at the cinema round the corner and ran out screaming.”

“Good thing you found him,” I said. “Is there much else going on tonight?”

Joe made a face. “It's Halloween. What do you think?”

We were early for work, and when we walked in, Sukie was finishing her stint in receipts, tapping out the last of a tall stack of cards.

“Oh, hi,” she said, not looking up.

“This is Becky,” I said.

“I know.”

Of course she did.

“He's busy,” she said before I could ask where Mr. October was. “Sorry, must stop doing that. Last I saw of him, he was running round the building in a fit. One of our operatives spotted a lost soul by the canal just east of here. We've been looking for this one for ages.”

“Busy night,” Becky said.

“Aren't they all?” Sukie's kinked eyes took us both in with one look. “But yeah, especially when the short days come and seasonal affective disorder kicks in. We've had two 3624s on the Northern Line already today.”

“What're they?” Becky asked.

“A bit like the first case you saw,” I reminded her. “But intentional.”

“Jumpers,” said Sukie. “Fatalities on the underground. There must be something about the Northern Line. It's the most popular departure point for suicidals.”

“What about the lost soul?” I said.

“Yeah,” Sukie said. “A matter of some urgency. Mr. October's all worked up about it. Obviously we need to track it before the enemy do, because as you know Samhain is their special night of the year — they'll be out in force until dawn.”

“A matter of some urgency,” Mr. October said, sneaking his head around the door. He hadn't yet changed for the evening's duties. His dark pirate persona alternated with the frail old man's, morphing back and forth between them. “There's a lost soul out there we need to track before the enemy do, because as you know Samhain —”

“We do know,” I said. “Sukie just told us.”

“Ah. Of course. In that case, may I just say ‘happy All Hallows'? Here, have a candy apple.”

He plucked one from behind his back and tossed it to me, then found another for Becky in the empty space above the door.

“Not for me, thanks; they hurt my teeth,” Sukie said, adding her last card to the stack.

“Leave the cards for Ben,” Mr. October told her. “I'll need your talents in the field if we're going to find this lost soul. Yours too, Becky. Ben, would you mind holding the fort while we're gone? Shouldn't take more than an hour if we're lucky.”

“OK,” I said, feeling excluded. Whatever was in the air tonight sounded like something I wouldn't want to miss.

“You won't miss a thing,” Sukie reassured me. “We'll call you as soon as you're needed.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Mr. October said. “Sukie, where's —”

“Already on it,” Sukie said. “She's outside bringing the rickshaw.”

“Be careful,” I said to Becky as they filed from the room. “You don't know what's out there yet.”

She smiled back from the doorway, her face patterned orange-black in the candlelight. “I've a fairly good idea, Ben. It's Halloween.”

The time dragged after they'd gone. Why would Mr. October require their services but not mine? If this was such a big night for the enemy, shouldn't I be out there doing whatever I could?

I took the cards to sullen Miss Webster in records, then sat at the desk studying the ancientspeak phrase book. The words still wouldn't settle on the page, and my head swam after a few minutes, so I rolled paper into the typewriter and went to work on my journal instead.