Authors: Curtis Jobling
‘I know about the phone call, Dad.’
Ouch. He’d brought
that
up. And he’d said he hadn’t believed me!
‘What phone call?’
‘Your one with Bradbury that you tried to hide from me.’
‘How the hell—’
‘Does it matter how I know? You’re keeping something from me. What is it?’
I could see Mr Hancock was getting angry, his knuckles white as they gripped the plate in his lap. He hadn’t been prepared for this line of questioning. Dougie had the scent and
wasn’t stepping down.
‘Is Bradbury blackmailing you? What hold does he have over you? What did you do for him? Is he into something dodgy, or what?’
‘Douglas, it’s better if you don’t—’
‘But I
want
to know. I need to! Whatever’s gone on affects us both, clearly. Why are you so dead set on not working for him. If it isn’t something dodgy that’s
stopping you, then what is it?’
‘You don’t understand—’
‘Then
help
me understand, Dad,’ said Dougie, rushing to his father’s chair to beg at his feet. ‘I want to help you. But there can be no secrets. I need to know
what’s happened.’
‘Stop it, son,’ whispered Mr Hancock.
‘We can do anything when we work together. I can see what it’s doing to you. Let me—’
‘I said, be
quiet
!’
Mr Hancock stood so suddenly that Dougie fell over. He smashed the plate into the fireplace, sending toast crusts and shards of porcelain across the hearth. His hands made fists at his sides. I
did the same, stepping between father and son, channelling my energy. Should his old man do something stupid and out of character, I’d try and protect my friend.
Instead of striking Dougie, he grabbed a couple of bottles from beside his chair and left the room. We heard the key turn in the door that led from the kitchen into the garage. Mr Hancock
slammed it behind him, locking himself away in there. Dougie wept where he lay as I stood stunned.
‘Well,’ I whispered. ‘At least you got him out of his armchair, mate.’
There were no smiles. There was no laughter. It didn’t look like there would ever be laughter again.
I’d expected Dougie to head to Lucy’s house after such a ruckus with his dad, but it didn’t happen. Perhaps it was too late for a sudden appearance on her
doorstep. Or she was out with her girlfriends. Maybe the last person he wanted to see when he was feeling so angry was Lucy. Whatever his reasons, we found ourselves heading somewhere altogether
more thrilling. Ghost I may have been, but my heart still trembled with anticipation.
‘It’s not you, Dougie. It’s Bradbury, like I said.’
‘It must be awful being a smartarse.’
‘Well, I don’t like to bang on about these things, but I
was
right.’
‘Yeah, buggerlugs,’ he grumbled. ‘Pays to be an eavesdropper, eh?’
The fight with Mr Hancock had brought the two of us closer again. The monosyllabic grunts had given way to actual conversation now, as Dougie let off steam. He didn’t want to hear that
I’d been right all along, of course, so I tried to go easy with the gloating. Tried. I may not have succeeded.
‘This doesn’t change what I said about Lucy, you know?’ he said. ‘You’ve been a royal pain in the butt when she’s been around.’
‘And I’m doing something about it, I promise.’
‘Pie-crust promises. They break awfully easily.’
‘So why here, tonight?’ I wanted to get his mind away from the unhappiness at home and on to the bowel-shattering, gut-scrambling, squit-inducing horror that possibly awaited us.
‘Seemed as good a time as any. There are a lot of questions about him that need answering. Maybe he’ll be in a talkative mood!’
‘Talkative?’ I choked on the word. ‘I thought we were visiting in the daytime though?’
‘You’re a ghost who’s scared of ghosts now?’
‘Of this one, deffo.’
‘I can’t see us finding him in daylight. The station’s used during those hours. It’s busy, full of people, unlike now. It’ll be closed. Remember, it was Danger
Night when we saw him.’
‘How could I forget?’
Danger Night was the scam pulled by the fairground that came to town once a year; one night in which all rides were half price because they hadn’t been safety checked. Preposterous to
anyone with a smidgeon of intelligence, but the neighbourhood kids got a buzz out of that frisson of peril, and even we managed to get swept away by it. As it happened, that night really
did
turn out to be dangerous. We had hidden on the railway platform from Vinnie Savage and his gang, only to discover something far scarier awaited us: the Lamplighter’s ghost. I shuddered,
recalling his awful apparition.
‘So,’ said Dougie, halting on the road at the top of the embankment. The footpath led down to the station. ‘That’s why we’re here.’
He strolled down the incline and I followed. We left the safety of the streetlights behind us, the bridge’s dark arch threatening to swallow the tracks below. I could sense Dougie’s
anxiety and no doubt he got a bucketload of mine. My stomach was in knots, nausea hitting me as we neared the platform. See, it had been
me
the Lamplighter had come for that night, not my
mate. The Hancock lad wasn’t the object of the ghost’s hatred, its ire. It had a hankering for Underwood and nothing else would do.
Dougie came to the gate at the bottom of the footpath. He turned to me, arms folded.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Off you trot.’
‘Eh?’
‘Get in there, go see if your pal’s knocking about. Let’s test the Major’s theory that he’s tied to the station and can’t leave.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘I wouldn’t kid about this, Will. I’m not going in there unless I really have to. At least on this side of the gate I’m clear for a quick getaway, should the need
arise.’
‘Should the
need
arise?’
‘Aye, if things go pear-shaped. It’s alright for you, you can slip through ’owt. Not so easy for me. I’d rather have a clear sprint if he doesn’t fancy
visitors.’
‘Because he was
so
welcoming the last time we met him,’ I said, phasing through the gate and on to the platform.
The station was empty, the ticket office locked up for the night, shutters down, door padlocked. I looked down the tracks in each direction. Eastbound toward town, the tracks disappeared through
the bridge arch, the road running over the top of it. To the west, the rails shone in the moonlight, cutting through the natural woodland that crowded the train line. I walked along the platform,
peering into every nook and cranny within the station house, searching for any sign of the Lamplighter. I looked up at the old gas lamps, rusting and redundant. I was waiting for them to spark into
life, just as they had on Danger Night, but they remained dead and dull. I stared down the shimmering tracks, searching for movement and finding nothing. I turned back up the rails toward the
bridge, squinting into the gloom. Two lights approached down the line, no doubt the last express on its way through the village to Liverpool. You never got stoppers at this time of night. I stepped
away from the platform’s edge as the lights neared, keeping my focus fixed upon the station.
My skin was suddenly crawling, cold dread creeping through me. It had been so long since I’d been aware of temperature I’d forgotten the sensation. My ethereal flesh rippled with
impossible goosebumps as my attention was drawn back to the bridge’s arch. Trainspotting 101: trains usually make a noise as they approach. The two glowing lights that blossomed in the
blackness carried no such telltale soundtrack. His eyes burned with a terrible fire, white hot coals on an ebony field.
The Lamplighter stepped out of the darkness, peeling away from the stone archway and coalescing before me. His spindly legs carried him along the platform, long coat wrapped about his skeletal
torso. He struck his staff against the floor and a flame burst into life at its head. One after another the old station lamps flared, balls of blue light rolling within them. I didn’t need
any further prompts.
I scrambled back the way I’d come, the hare having coaxed the hound into the hunt. Dougie screamed my name, pointing out the obvious all the while.
‘Run, Will! He’s here! He’s coming! He’s right behind you!’
‘Cheers, mate,’ I replied as I dashed towards him. ‘You’ll let me know if he grabs me?’
I passed straight through the locked gate and Dougie as the two of us toppled clear of the phantom. We fell on to the footpath, a jumble of limbs both solid and ghostly. We looked back as the
Lamplighter halted at the station’s threshold, his stovepipe hat adding another foot to his already towering frame. He turned his blackened skull one way and the other, up and down the long
mesh fence. Craning his neck forward, dirty scarf trailing against the gate, the Lamplighter brought his lighting pole back before swinging it out, over the gate and towards where we crouched. We
both gasped as it
whooshed
forward, a ghastly scythe looking to sever heads from stalks. The moment the staff passed over the gate and the station’s border, it dissipated, leaving a
trail of black smoke in its wake.
The Lamplighter hissed with disappointment. We sighed with relief.
‘Come to taunt a hungry old man, have we, children?’ His voice was the whisper of knives down our spines. ‘It has been too long between meals, young ones. So cruel. Two feasts,
one of flesh, one effluvial, and both beyond reach.’
His dark tongue flickered as he smacked his withered lips. They cracked with each movement, scorched skin splitting and falling in flakes.
‘Well, he hasn’t eaten us,’ Dougie whispered. ‘That’s a start, eh?’
I cleared my throat. ‘We’ve met before, Lamplighter.’
‘So I recall. Your soul burns as bright as any I’ve seen.’ His voice was less harsh now. ‘What a waste, hiding behind that silly fence. Join me.’ He beckoned, long
bony fingers creaking. I was drawn to him, rising from the ground.
‘Oi!’ Dougie stepped between us, pushing his hands through me. It did the trick. I snapped out of the Lamplighter’s spell. Once more, the imprisoned monster hissed.
‘Is this how you catch your victims, Lamplighter?’ asked Dougie. ‘You charm them?’
Neither of us knew a great deal about the Lamplighter’s story, only that he supposedly snatched unsuspecting kids from the station back in the day. That was how local legend told it; the
truth could be altogether different.
‘I make you a promise, boy—’
‘
More
promises,’ Dougie groaned. He jumped as the flames roared in the Lamplighter’s skull, teeth snapping like burned splinters in his jaws.
‘So arrogant! I shall enjoy you, when the time comes. For it shall come, I guarantee it, children . . .’
We both shivered, neither of us feeling quite so cocky any more.
‘Why have you drawn me from my slumber?’
I looked at Dougie. He looked back. We both shrugged as the Lamplighter watched on expectantly, awaiting our answer.
‘We haven’t really thought this through, have we?’ said Dougie.
‘You’re the one who rushed down here tonight!’
‘OK,’ he said, turning back to the apparition. ‘What stops you from moving on? Why are you still here, haunting this station?’
‘This is my curse.’ The Lamplighter sighed, the sharper edges of his dark form softening, the fires in his eyes dying slowly to embers. ‘My sins come with a cost. I remain here
for eternity.’
‘Eternity?’ I gasped and pointed at Dougie. ‘Does that mean I’ll be cursed to follow him around until he’s an old man who can’t even wipe his bum?’
‘Each spirit has its own purpose, its own curse. Mine is to hunt in the dark. I may leave when another takes my place.’
‘Another takes your place?’ I stifled a grim chuckle. ‘I should imagine passing on the stovepipe and staff’s a hard sell for anyone.’
‘As I said, child,’ whispered the Lamplighter. ‘An eternity.’
He began to disintegrate before our eyes, his body losing its integrity as curls of dark smoke broke away from his torso. The eyes were pin-pricks now as he dissipated, wisps of black mist
carried away on the wind.
‘I’ll be seeing you, children, soon enough . . .’
Then he was gone, the platform lamps blinking out with his passing. Dougie and I remained where we were, each chilled to the bone.
‘I shouldn’t need to say this,’ said Dougie, ‘but we should both agree now. We’re
never
coming back to this station. Right?’
Some questions didn’t need answering.
‘This is it,’ I said, staring down the overgrown garden path. It was good to be investigating in daylight, the Lamplighter encounter firmly behind us. The sun
blazed overhead, the summer heatwave unrelenting, the bungalow’s lawn scorched dry. Brambles buttressed up against the brickwork, one enormous rhododendron bush threatening to break down the
front door.
‘It doesn’t look good,’ said Dougie. ‘It’s verging on derelict. Are you sure she still lives here?’
I nodded. ‘Last known address according to the census records Andy dug up. After you, pal. Work your charms!’
‘I’m a bit self-conscious, turning up alone like this. Should’ve brought a girl along.’
‘You could’ve always asked Lucy,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why you continue keeping my existence from her. There was a time when you told her you were being haunted by
me, remember?’
‘I did, but I think she’s pushed it from her mind, dismissed it as a moment of madness.’
‘Madness?’
‘She probably thought I’d gone off the rails for a while, went a bit ga-ga.’
‘Aye. Losing a loved one can do funny things to you.’
‘Loved one?’ said Dougie, rolling his eyes as he walked down the garden path. ‘Self-praise is no recommendation.’
Dougie rapped on the door with his knuckles and waited. There were voices within, footsteps approaching before the door swung open inwards. A squat middle-aged lady stood before us, wearing a
navy-blue nurse’s uniform. Her grey hair was scraped back from her forehead, her face fixed in a suspicious frown. She looked Dougie up and down. ‘Can I help you?’