Spirits from Beyond (11 page)

“What if we don’t want to go?” said Melody. “We’re getting close to some real answers! I can feel it!”

“You’re making waves,” said Latimer. “And that’s not what I need right now. So off to the West Country with you. It’s standard stuff, practically a text-book haunting, nothing too difficult. Not really worthy of an A team, but it’ll do to keep you occupied, and out of the spotlight, until the interest in you dies down.”

“Interest?” said Happy. “What interest? Who’s interested in us?”

“You don’t need to know,” said Catherine Latimer.

“Story of my life,” muttered Happy.

“Treated like mushrooms,” Melody said harshly. “Kept in the dark and fed shit.”

“Go sort out the haunted inn,” Latimer said flatly. “Do a good job. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t get killed. And take your time coming back.”

Happy was up and out of his chair and heading for the slowly opening door the moment it was clear to him the meeting was over. Melody took her own sweet time getting up, to make a point, and still managed to catch up with Happy before he was out the door. JC stood up, checked that his incredible white suit was hanging properly, and only then looked at the Boss.

“So what did happen to the Empty Librarian?”

“Nothing, as far as I know,” said Catherine Latimer.

FOUR

GHOST STORIES

Later that evening, following a series of railway journeys that went on that little bit longer than body and soul could easily bear, JC and Happy and Melody arrived at that old country inn, the King’s Arms, outside the small country town of Bishop’s Fording. An old farming community, of old houses in an old setting.

The three Ghost Finders disembarked at a very small station, only to find they were still some way short of their destination. They had to take a taxi ride through the town and out the other side to reach the King’s Arms. And it was raining hard. Really hard. The kind of storm that makes you want to head for the high ground and build an ark. Chucking it down, with malice aforethought, adding an extra layer of misery to an already cold and desolate evening.

JC and Happy and Melody crammed themselves into the battered back seat of the only taxi-cab on duty because the driver didn’t allow anyone to sit next to him. Apparently he found this . . . distracting. He didn’t even want to take them to the King’s Arms and went all sulky and silent when JC insisted. He drove his taxi through the pouring rain with great concentration, staring straight ahead, ignoring his passengers. There wasn’t really room for three people in the back seat, especially when two of them were ostentatiously not talking to each other. Happy and Melody sat jammed shoulder to shoulder and still managed to find two completely different directions to look in. They’d had a loud and emotionally messy argument on the train coming down, about any number of things, but always coming back to Happy’s return to supportive chemical maintenance. So now there was a frosty silence in the back of the taxi to match the sullen silence up front.

JC stared straight ahead, peering past the driver to look through the windscreen because it was better than getting involved. He studied the town as they passed quickly through it: squat dark buildings with brightly lit windows and absolutely no-one out and about in the streets. Hardly surprising, he supposed, on a night like this. And it was late, heading out of evening and into night. The town fell suddenly behind them, and the taxi shot down a long, narrow road into the countryside beyond. Tall trees with heavy foliage lined both sides of the road, their heavy tops leaning out and forward, to form a dark canopy overhead; so it seemed they were travelling through a long, dark green tunnel. There were no street-lights outside the town, and with the moonlight cut off, all JC could see was the road directly ahead. Water splashed up around the taxi, thrown up by the taxi’s progress through the flooded road, the waters pouring in from the saturated fields beyond the trees. And still the rain came down, shining in the headlights.

The great green tunnel suddenly disappeared, the trees falling away behind them. The taxi slowed down even though there was clearly still some way to go. At first, JC thought it was because the flooding had grown worse, but then he saw the driver’s face in the rear-view mirror and knew it was nothing to do with the flooding. The man’s face was pale and sweaty, the eyes wide and staring. And JC realised the driver was genuinely scared.

“Is everything all right?” he said carefully.

“You wanted the King’s Arms,” said the driver. “Don’t distract me. I need to keep my eyes on the road.”

Everything was not all right. JC could hear it in the driver’s voice. And they hadn’t even reached the inn yet.

* * *

The taxi finally slammed to a halt right at the edge of the King’s Arms car park. The driver couldn’t get any closer because the wide-open area was packed with parked vehicles, crammed together from one low stone boundary wall to the other, with hardly a space left in between. Everything from family runabouts to Land Rovers to expensive muscle cars. As though the whole community were waiting at the inn to welcome them. The taxi-driver sniffed loudly and peered out through the windscreen. He addressed his passengers without looking around, without taking his eyes off the view before him. As though to do so might be dangerous . . .

“This is it. King’s Arms. Close as I can get. That’ll be eight pounds. Please.”

He said the last word as though it were part of some foreign language he didn’t normally use.

“Get the baggage out of the boot,” JC said firmly. “And don’t bang it about if you expect any kind of tip.”

He pushed his door open and got out, hunching his shoulders against the pouring rain. Happy and Melody got out different sides of the cab, then came forward to join him; and the three of them stood close together, scrunching up their eyes as water trickled down their faces. None of them had thought to bring an umbrella because the weather reports for the area hadn’t even mentioned the likelihood of even a gentle shower. JC glared about him. Shimmering blue-white moonlight reflected back from the rain-soaked open fields, filling the car park with an eerie, uncertain light.

“I hate rain,” Happy said miserably. “It’s cold and wet and it sinks into your clothes and gives you chills. Hate it.”

“Weather forecasts,” Melody said bitterly. “A very basic contradiction in terms.”

“Let’s get inside,” JC said diplomatically. “I’m sure we’ll all feel a lot better when we’re all warm and cosy in the main bar.”

“I don’t like it here,” said Happy. “I can feel the pressure building. There’s a storm coming; and it’s going to be a monster . . .”

They all looked across at the inn, on the far side of the crowded car park, and the inn looked back at them. The taxi-driver hauled their suitcases out of the trunk, muttering under his breath all the time. It sounded like he was making hard work of it, but none of them offered to help. The King’s Arms was a large, blocky building, with bright lights burning cheerfully in all the downstairs windows. Up above, everything was dark. The inn looked solid, well established, as though it had endured time and weather and other things, and was still here in spite of all of them. The sign swinging noisily above the main entrance looked surprisingly modern, a stylised crowned head. Happy regarded it suspiciously.

“So which King was the pub originally named after? George V, maybe? Though the building looks to be a lot older, maybe even sixteenth-century . . .”

“Some people can’t help showing off their ignorance,” Melody said loudly to JC. “The King’s Arms is much older than that. This particular building goes back so many centuries, under so many names, that there’s no way of telling which monarch it was named after. I do wish at least one of you would read the briefing files . . .”

“But then you wouldn’t have the fun of lecturing us,” said JC. “You’re annoyed because the truck bringing your main equipment is delayed by the weather.” He did his best to sound patient and understanding but couldn’t quite bring it off. It’s hard to feel civilised with rain trickling down the back of your neck. “I’m sure it’ll be here tomorrow, and you can shout at the drivers. Won’t that be nice?”

Melody sniffed loudly and moistly. “I swear they do this deliberately, just to mess with me. Good thing I packed some basic tech in my suitcase. Enough to make a start . . .”

“Would that be the really heavy case that the driver is struggling with?” said JC innocently.

“Don’t you dare bash it about like that!” said Melody.

She went hurrying back to rescue her bag from the driver. JC and Happy exchanged an understanding glance. And then they both looked at the inn again.

“Are you picking up anything, Happy?”

“Yes . . . It feels like we’re being watched.”

“From inside the pub?” said JC, frowning.

“No,” said Happy. “From all around . . . Something knows we’re here. And it’s not pleased.”

“What kind of something?” said JC.

“Old,” said Happy. “Very old.”

Melody came back, dragging a large suitcase behind her on protesting casters. The taxi-driver followed after, bringing JC and Happy’s much smaller suitcases. He dumped them both at JC’s feet and glowered at him meaningfully. He didn’t actually stick out his hand for payment, but he was clearly thinking about it.

“What’s your hurry?” said JC. “You weren’t in any rush to get here.”

“I need to get back to town before the flood-waters cut off the only road,” said the driver.

Which was reasonable enough; but there was something in the man’s voice, and in his manner, which suggested there was a lot more to it than that. When JC didn’t respond immediately, the driver glanced about him in a jumpy sort of way. He was definitely scared of something. He wouldn’t even look at the inn itself. JC took pity on the man and gave him ten pounds. The driver stuffed the note in his pocket without even looking at it and hurried back to his taxi. He opened the door, then stopped and looked back, as though prodded by some last vestige of conscience.

“You’re not actually thinking of staying the night here, at the King’s Arms; are you?” he said roughly.

“Yes,” said JC. “Any reason why we shouldn’t?”

The taxi-driver shuddered briefly. “Then may God have mercy on your souls.”

He clambered quickly back behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, turned the taxi around, and set off down the waterlogged road, driving a lot faster than was safe. His lights soon disappeared into the dark green corridor and were gone. The three Ghost Finders looked at each other, then at the inn. Seen through the driving rain, the bright lights shining through the old-fashioned leaded windows seemed especially cheerful and inviting.

“Looks cosy enough to me,” JC said determinedly. “We can check out the pub’s history tonight, do whatever needs doing tomorrow, after Melody’s equipment has arrived, then maybe take a few days off, for a nice little holiday. I think we’ve earned one. Good food, good drink, good company, and all of it at the Institute’s expense. Doesn’t that sound splendid, my children?”

“Your optimism never ceases to amaze me,” said Happy. “You should know better than that by now. I told you; this is a bad place! I mean, look at it! That pub’s thirty feet away if it’s an inch, and already I’m getting bad vibes. Given the sheer age and accumulated history of that place, it’s probably crawling with ghosts and ghoulies and long-leggity beasties. And I hate long-legged things. Including supermodels. It’s not natural to be that bony.”

“We only deal in ghosts,” said JC. “For anything else, they can call RentaKill.”

“Can we please get in out of the rain?” Melody said forcefully. “Before we all drown?”

And she headed determinedly for the main entrance, hauling her large suitcase along behind her like a reluctant dog. Happy picked up his suitcase and went after her, splashing deliberately through every puddle along the way to demonstrate what a rotten day he was having. JC grabbed his case and started after them, then stopped and looked about him.

“Kim?” he said. “Is that you? Are you here with us?”

There was no reply. JC went after the others.

* * *

He had to turn this way and that, squeezing his way through the narrow gaps between the closely packed vehicles.
Big and small, rich and poor—must be a hell of a turnout at the pub,
thought JC.
Maybe it’s quiz night . . .
And then he stopped, as he realised Happy and Melody had stopped, barely half-way through the car park. JC moved forward to stand beside Happy, who was clutching his lightweight suitcase to his chest.

“Tell me that case isn’t just full of pills,” said JC.

“It isn’t just full of pills,” said Happy, not even looking round. “Travel light, travel fast, that’s what I always say. Because you can’t make a hurried exit from a scene of imminent peril if you’re dragging heavy luggage along behind you. I know; I’ve tried. Amazing what you can bring yourself to abandon if Something is catching up with you. These days my suitcase contains a thermos full of hot chicken-and-sage soup, an assortment of useful items, and my pyjamas. I don’t normally bother with such things, but I always wear pyjamas when I’m away. In case there’s a fire. Or a burglar. Everyone knows burglars are frightened of pyjamas. Or is it a chair and a whip? I can never remember . . .”

“You took something in the toilet on the last train, didn’t you?” said JC.

“Possibly,” said Happy. “Who can say? I might be naturally cheerful. It does happen. On occasion.”

“Junkie,” said Melody.

“Kill-joy,” said Happy.

“Children, children,” said JC. “Why have we stopped?”

“Because we’re not alone,” said Happy. “There’s someone else here, in the car park with us. Or, more likely, Something.”

JC looked carefully around him. Moonlight and light from the pub’s windows washed across the great hulking shapes that filled the car park. Everything seemed still and peaceful. And then something moved, between the parked cars, a dark, shadowy shape, moving quickly in and out of sight. JC pressed forward, threading his way through the parked vehicles to where he saw the shape; but when he got there, there was no-one. JC and Happy and Melody moved quickly back and forth between the cars, splashing through the puddles. Again and again, they all saw the dark shape, flitting soundlessly, disappearing in a moment, but they couldn’t even get close to it. In the end, JC got fed up with being led around by the nose and turned his back on the cars. He walked determinedly towards the pub, and the others went after him. And if they caught a swift movement out of the corner of their eye, they ignored it.