Spirits from Beyond (17 page)

“Well, well,” she said. “Company. How nice.”

Kim was suddenly standing there before her, blocking her way. “What do you want here?” she said steadily.

The blonde woman pointed at Happy. “Him. I want him.”

“Well, you can’t have him,” said Melody. “He’s spoken for.”

“He’s protected,” said Kim.

“Protected,” said the woman, still smiling. “And how are you going to stop me?”

Kim lunged forward suddenly, like an attack dog. She threw herself at the woman and thrust out a single hand. It glowed fiercely, the same golden glow as JC’s eyes. The blonde screamed briefly, then exploded into long streamers of light, like so many colourless fireworks. She was gone in a moment, and the door in the wall with her. Kim lowered her no-longer-glowing hand, looked the wall over carefully, and turned back to smile sweetly at her team. A slow, satisfied, and only slightly scary smile.

“No-one messes with my friends,” she said easily. “You make one of mine scream, I make you scream. Oh yes!” She grinned at JC and waggled the fingers of her hand at him. “Just a little something that I picked up on my travels.”

“Very impressive,” JC said carefully. “But what exactly was it that you blew up? A ghost? A presence?”

“No,” said Kim.

“Any chance it’ll show up again?” said Happy.

“Oh, almost certainly,” said Kim. “But I think I can promise you . . . that when we do see it again, it’ll be a lot more respectful.”

“I think I’ll carve some crosses into the tips of my bullets,” said Melody.

“Excuse me,” said a hesitant voice from the doorway. They all turned to look at Brook, who stood as though he were frozen to the spot. He was staring at Kim. “Who, or what, is that, please?”

“Allow me to present to you the only ghost in the Ghost Finders,” JC said grandly. “Her name is Kim, and she’s my girl-friend! Be polite to her. If you know what’s good for you. Now, I think we’ve all had as much rest as we can stand, so I think we should go back downstairs and regroup in the bar. So you can tell us all the things you haven’t been meaning to tell us, Mr. Adrian Brook.”

SIX

DISTURBANCES

Everyone felt much more comfortable, and even comforted, once they were back in the main bar. The lighting seemed brighter, warmer, even friendlier. And the shadows were just shadows. Brook bustled around, chattering cheerfully as he got out what he promised was the good brandy. Everyone else perched on the high bar-stools as Brook set out brandy glasses before them, apart from Kim, who tucked up her feet and hovered cross-legged in mid air beside JC.

Brook poured out generous measures of the good brandy, for medicinal purposes, on the grounds it was good for shock. And if they didn’t have shock, it was only because he hadn’t presented them with the bill yet. Brook laughed determinedly at his professional joke and started to pour a glass for Kim, until she stopped him with an upraised hand and a sweet smile.

“Spirits don’t drink spirits, darling.”

Brook blinked at her a few times, and double-taked as he realised she’d rearranged her ectoplasm again. Kim now appeared to be wearing a shimmering white nurse’s uniform, complete with a dangling stethoscope and a cute little cap perched on the back of her head. Brook looked at JC.

“She does that,” JC said calmly. “I think she spends her spare time reading the ghosts of old fashion magazines. I find it best not to ask questions on the grounds that you’re never going to receive any answer you can be comfortable with. Best to smile and nod, and move on.”

Brook poured himself a large measure of the good brandy. JC made a point of not looking at Happy and Melody, so he could study them surreptitiously in the big mirror behind the bar. His two living team members were sitting side by side, looking at their drinks. They weren’t actually talking, but their body language suggested they were a lot more comfortable around each other. JC was pleased about that. He didn’t try to draw them into conversation. He didn’t want to push things, yet.

Brook finished his brandy and put the glass down on the bar-counter with more noise and force than was strictly necessary. His face was flushed and blotchy, and his eyes were more than a little wild.

“Whatever you saw up there, or thought you saw, don’t let it get to you,” he said roughly. “The upstairs floor is its own world, with its own secrets. People have seen all kinds of things up there . . .”

“Such as?” said Melody, challengingly.

“Mostly, things people don’t want to talk about,” said Brook. “Like your friend, there.” He gestured at Happy, who was still staring into his drink.

JC considered Happy for a long moment. “After all the things you’ve seen, working on the job, everything from ghosts to gods to the ghosts of gods, and this was too much?”

Happy shook his head slowly. “Too personal.”

JC turned back to Brook, who met his gaze unflinchingly. JC smiled and pushed his sunglasses down his nose, so he could peer over the top, and fix the barman with his glowing, golden gaze. Brook went pale. He looked like he wanted to look away but couldn’t.

“Tell me,” said JC, and it wasn’t a request. “Tell me what’s been going on here, at the King’s Arms.”

Brook swallowed hard. “So the stories about you are true.”

“Stories?” said JC.

“All kinds,” said Brook. “About you, and your team. That’s why I specifically asked the Institute for you people. Though I never really thought I’d get a famous A team like you.”

“Famous?” said Melody. “We’re famous?”

“I think he means infamous,” said JC.

“Who, exactly, has been telling tales out of school about us?” said Melody. She grabbed the brandy bottle and freshened her glass.

“I still keep in touch,” said Brook, almost defiantly. “With some of my old colleagues at the Carnacki Institute. They all had stories to tell, about JC Chance and his team. And there’s a hell of a lot more to be found on the Net. Most of it contradictory, of course; but that’s conspiracy sites for you. Everyone’s fascinated to see what you’ll do next.”

“You’re avoiding the point,” said JC. “And I’m afraid I decline to be distracted. Nice try, though. Now, what’s going on here?”

“When I first came back here, to my old home-town,” Brook said slowly, “I was looking for something to do, in my retirement. I saw the local pub was looking for a new owner, so I took it on. The regular drinkers immediately took pains to fill me in on all the old ghost stories, but I’d already heard most of them from when I was a kid. With my Institute experience, it didn’t take me long to recognise them as just stories. Traditional tales. I thought I knew better. So after I’d been running things here for a while, and I hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual or unearthly, I opened up the first-floor rooms for occupation again.”

“Even though bad things were supposed to have happened to people who stayed in those rooms?” said JC.

Brook shrugged sullenly. “I thought they were only stories! And running a local pub . . . is harder than you think. I needed the extra money staying guests would bring in. I had all the upper rooms cleaned out and renovated. Including a few tricks I learned cleaning up after Carnacki field teams. To be on the safe side. The local press did a big story about my renting out the rooms again, something that hadn’t been done since the seventies. The publicity brought people in from all around. And at first, everything seemed fine. But then the trouble started.”

“Ghosts?” Kim said brightly.

“No,” said Brook. “Worse than ghosts. Timeslips . . . Open some of the doors, and the room beyond could be from any time in the Past. A different version of the room, from some previous version of the inn. You could look in, quite safely, from the outside, and see places and people long gone. From decades, even centuries, ago. You could travel from one age to another by stepping from the landing into the room.”

Melody slammed a fist down on the bar top, and everyone jumped. She was grinning broadly, actually bouncing up and down on her bar-stool in her excitement. “This is fantastic! Actual, practical, Time travel! Oh, I am so going to try this out for myself!”

“No you’re not,” Brook said immediately.

“Why not?” said Melody. “I’ll bet you had a go, didn’t you!”

“No,” said Brook. “I never dared. The risk is too great.”

“Risk?” said Happy. “What risk?”

“The Timeslips come and go without any warning,” said Brook. Beads of sweat showed on his slack, grey face. He seemed almost hunched in on himself. “They don’t last long, you see. And if you’re inside the room, in the Past, when the door slams shut . . . you’re trapped in there. Lost in the Past, forever. Because when the door opens, that Past is gone.”

Melody looked sternly at JC. “This is far too good to pass up on, JC. Promise me that we will investigate this thoroughly, later.”

“If there is a later, yes,” said JC.

“Why did I know you were going to say that?” said Happy, not looking up from his drink.

“Maybe you’re psychic,” said Kim.

“Ghost humour,” said Happy. “Ho ho ho.”

“This isn’t funny!” Brook said loudly. “I lost three customers that way! Until I realised what was happening. I had to report the disappearances to the local police as guests who’d sneaked off, without paying their bills. I didn’t like to blacken their names, but what else could I do? Telling the truth wouldn’t bring them back. And who’d believe me? The missing guests’ families didn’t. They made their own inquiries when the police couldn’t help them, sent their own private investigators here to talk to me. I didn’t tell them anything. I showed them the upstairs rooms, and nothing ever happened because these people only ever showed up during daylight hours. The rooms stayed the same. Looking perfectly ordinary and innocent. As though they were protecting themselves. As soon as the investigators gave up and left, I locked all the upstairs rooms and stopped advertising them.”

“But the trouble didn’t stop there, did it?” said JC.

“No,” said Brook. “I contacted some old friends at the Institute. Told them what had happened. Hoping they’d be intrigued enough to send someone to investigate. Hoping they’d have some idea what to do about the rooms or how to bring the missing guests back. I felt . . . responsible, you see. The Institute said they’d look into it. But they never did. No-one ever came. I kept calling the Institute, trying different people and different departments, calling in every old favour I had, or thought I had . . . Until, finally, they sent you.”

Brook stopped there, to look at the team, before looking back at JC. “Would I be right in thinking there’s a reason why they finally sent a team, the team I’d been asking for all along? And not necessarily a good one?”

“Could be,” said JC. “But these Timeslipped rooms aren’t the real reason you need help, are they?”

Brook was trapped by JC’s glowing, golden eyes again. He nodded, reluctantly.

“When one of your regulars told the story about a young woman who came to a bad end in one of these rooms, I saw something in your face,” said JC. “That story meant something to you, didn’t it? Something personal . . .”

Brook licked his dry lips, and nodded quickly, as though bracing himself. “There’s another kind of room upstairs. Even more dangerous than the Time-travelling rooms. There’s one particular room where, if you go in, you don’t come out again. No Timeslips involved; every time I’ve opened the door and looked in, it’s always appeared to be the same room. Perfectly normal, everything as it should be. I’ve never seen a ghost or anything that shouldn’t be there. But I lost four more guests in that awful room before I realised what was happening. Four good men, who went in and closed the door and were never seen again.”

“So we now have a grand total of seven people gone missing,” said Melody.

“Yes!” said Brook. “Seven! Just . . . gone!”

“Then why keep letting that room to people?” said Happy, looking at Brook for the first time.

“Because the room moves around!” said Brook. “Sometimes it’s behind one door, sometimes it’s behind another . . . I can’t always tell, when I approach the closed door afterwards. Once it’s too late to do anything . . . I can feel that the room has changed. It’s like there’s something lying in wait, inside. Something hungry. And that’s when I know I’ve lost another guest. And I back away, not taking my eyes off the door, in case it should start to open . . . and I run downstairs and hide. Until enough time has passed that I can be sure it’s safe to go back upstairs, open the door, and look inside. There’s never any trace left of the guest I put in there.”

“Hold everything!” said Melody, glaring at Brook. “You noticed something was wrong but not your other guests?”

“Apparently not,” said Brook. “Most of my guests had a perfectly good time. Some even congratulated me, on how pleasant it was to stay here. That made it worse, somehow. And you have to understand—I didn’t know what was happening, at first. But after a while, the room let me know. I think it wanted to gloat.”

“So this hungry room is still up there?” said JC.

“Somewhere,” said Brook. “Hiding behind some apparently innocent door.”

“We’re going to have to look into that,” said Kim.

“You never used to be this funny before you went on your travels,” said Happy.

“Travel broadens the mind,” Kim said brightly.

“I had to explain the new missing guests to the police as more mysterious disappearances,” said Brook. “They really weren’t happy about that. Missing people are bad for the tourist trade. So the police got a warrant and searched my premises from top to bottom. Never found a thing. Because, of course, they were careful to carry out their search during daylight hours. So they were never going to find anything. They knew that. They were all local men. They knew the old, old stories, like everyone else.

“What a very interesting story,” said JC. “Be sure, we will investigate it most thoroughly. Now stop wasting my time and tell me the real reason why you need our help. Or I will get up and lead my people out of here; and you can deal with it on your own.”

Brook nodded, slowly. He looked tired, beaten.

“The real reason I came back here, to the town where I was born, and grew up, was a girl. Lydia Woods. I used to walk out with her, back when we were both teenagers. All those years ago. Her father ran this pub, back in the seventies. But, there was a long-standing, really nasty feud going on back then, between Lydia’s family and mine. The kind that goes back generations . . . You know what small communities can be like. They clutch their grudges to their bosoms, so they have something to warm their cold hearts in the night.

“Lydia and I, we didn’t care. We were young; and we really did believe love conquers all. We even thought, in our naïvety, that we might be the ones to bring our warring families back together. But somehow both our families found out before we were ready to tell them. Bad words were said, on both sides. Scary words. And all kinds of threats; by people we had no doubt were ready to carry them out. Lydia and I were forbidden to see each other, ever again.

“While I was still working out what to do, Lydia hanged herself. Right here in this pub. Upstairs, in her father’s room. My father told me and said it was probably for the best. I hit him, for the first time in my life, left this town, and went to London. Ended up working for the Carnacki Institute. And that was my life for so many years. I never came back here, never once talked to anyone from my family. Or hers. They’re all gone now, one way or another.