Ways to See a Ghost (17 page)

On my own.

It was the first time in years I hadn’t gone out
UFO-chasing
with Dad. Each time I thought about it, everyone out there without me, it made me feel sick inside, you know? And I was worried about Isis too.

I said sorry to Dad, of course I did. Loads of times, actually. I asked if I could go with him. I reminded him Friday was one of the nights I was meant to be at his place, and how Mum would go mental if he cancelled because she’d already arranged a meal out with Brian. I tried anything I could think of, but he wouldn’t budge. I didn’t say anything to Mum, cos I hoped he’d change his mind in the end.

Friday, about half past five, Mum dropped me off at
Dad’s. I got out, ran to the door and waved back at her, like everything was normal. I didn’t want Dad to have a chance to talk to her. I rang the doorbell, and by the time Dad answered, Mum was already driving off.

He was holding one of his monitors. It was covered in bubble wrap, ready to go in the van. He frowned at me, so I pointed at my rucksack.

“I’m packed.”

Dad peered out of the door, but Mum had gone. He frowned at me again, all serious.

“I’ve already told you, Gray, you can’t come along, not this time. Cally wouldn’t like it, and I don’t want any more arguments. I need to be able to concentrate on my work.”

“Isis is going to be there. If she can go, why can’t I?”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t decide what Isis does. Anyway, Cally said Philip Syndal specifically asked for Isis to go.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently Isis has got psychic powers now, or whatever.” He looked at me. “But you haven’t.”

“Please!”

“No. You’re staying here. Watch a film or something, stay up as late as you want.”

I plonked my rucksack on the floor. “You’re not allowed to leave me on my own all night.”

Dad snorted. “Are you a baby? You’ve been on your own loads of times.”

Which was true, and another thing I never told Mum.

Dad put the monitor into a cardboard box. “Look, Gray. I can’t risk things with Cally. Not now, when she’s already threatened to break it off.”

“But you’ve had loads of girlfriends!” I yelled. “And the chasing trips were always
our
thing.” About the only thing we ever did, just the two of us.

Dad didn’t even stop packing up.

“This is different!” he said. “Cally’s important, you know?”

More important than I was.

“If you won’t let me go with you, I’m going to tell Mum!”

Now Dad stopped, staring at me. “Tell her what? What are you on about?”

My hands were in fists.

“I’ll tell her,” I said, “about the times you dragged me along on your dates. And the times you left me here on my own, so you could go and meet a girlfriend. And the times you told Mum you were helping me with my homework, when really I was helping you on a gardening job.” It hung there in the air. Mum’d flip – Dad would be back to Sunday afternoon visits, like when I was little.

Dad folded his arms.

“What are you up to?” he said, and his voice was as cold as the Arctic. “First you try and split me up from Cally, and now you want to ruin our time together? For what? Spite?” He was holding himself really still; I could see how angry he was. “If that’s how you want things, fine. Do
it!
” He slammed off into the kitchen, bashing and crashing as he packed up the last of his gear, marching to the front door.

“There is no way you are blackmailing me into anything, Gray!” he shouted, yanking the door open. “Me and Cally are for keeps, so you’d better get used to it! Phone your mum. Tell her I’m irresponsible, tell her what a useless dad I am! If you want to stop our visits, that’s up to you, but you’re NOT coming out tonight!”

And he stormed out of the house, driving off without me.

I sat on his sofa. I might’ve cried for a bit.

I thought about phoning Mum, but I didn’t want to tell her that stuff, not really. Like Dad said, she’d stop me staying with him.

I got up, and went into the kitchen. Dad never gets in any food on UFO-chasing nights, because we’re always
out in the countryside somewhere, eating Super Noodles. So there was only breakfast cereal, and some milk in the fridge, which nearly made me cry again. But instead I sat down with a big bowl of cornflakes, and thought about stuff.

Like, how my dad is.

Like, how other kids have dads who stay with their mums, and do stuff like swimming and football at weekends. Dads who don’t introduce a new girlfriend every few weeks, and expect their kids to be fine with it. Dads who aren’t obsessed with UFOs and think that’s more important than anything.

By the time I’d got down to the mushy-sweet milk at the bottom of the bowl, I was back to thinking about everyone else being out there on Dad’s UFO-chasing trip, without me. The sick feeling inside me actually hurt.

“I wish it was last year!” I said, out loud. “I wish Dad never met Cally!” Except, then I wouldn’t know Isis, and she’s one of the best people I’ve ever met.

Was. Was one of the best.

I drank the milk out of the bowl, then what was left in the carton. Dad was probably there by now, setting up his gear. Over by the phone, the coordinates of the field
were written on a bit of paper. Every time he goes on a chasing trip it’s somewhere different. He used to just think of places, like where the fields are really big and flat, or where there’d been crop circles before, but now he’s got this computer program he worked out. He puts in things like weather, sunspots, geology and UFO sightings. He says it can predict where the next sighting is going to be, so now if we see a UFO, Dad says it’s because of his computer program. Even though we’ve been out loads of times, and only seen stars.

I cheered up a bit. Probably none of them would see anything, even with their seances or whatever.

But it was still bad. Weird, when I thought about it. Cally had said Philip Syndal was desperate to go on Dad’s UFO hunt, once she’d told him about it. Why would he care about UFOs?

Except they weren’t UFOs, were they?

And he couldn’t know that –
I’d
only just worked it out and I hadn’t even told Isis.

I banged my head with my hand, trying to think, but everything kept rushing around. I tried to remember what I knew about Philip Syndal.

He was a real psychic, but Isis said he used tricks and
lies in his shows. He’d pretended not to see Angel, so Isis would think he was a fake. He had a ghost-eating monster living inside his head, and now he wanted it to go into Isis.

My brain went crazy in panic for a moment then, thinking what would happen to Isis if that thing got inside her. It was so massive, like frozen darkness. If it got in her head… she’d be a puppet, or a zombie or something.

I flapped about in my mind for a few minutes, then I got a grip.

Philip Syndal couldn’t do much with everyone there, could he? I mean, it wasn’t just him and Isis. Dad and Cally would be on the UFO hunt, plus all the nuts from the Welkin Society. They’d see him if he tried anything.

The Welkin Society.

It seemed ages ago, I’d almost forgotten about it, but the Welkin Society was part of it all too. I mean, Norman Welkin dying was what got us all together in the first place. Dad had said there was some fighting going on in the society, that Norman had been suspicious about some of the other people in it. And I bet he’d meant Philip.

He was covered in ice, like frost.
That’s what Isis had said, afterwards in the pub. I’d thought she was being over the top, back then.

I ran to Dad’s computer and switched it on. As soon as it was online, the instant messenger started blinking. There he was, like always. Stu the Keeper, ready for a chat.

I clicked on the chat box and started typing.

Hi Stu. Just wanted to ask a question about Norman Welkin’s death.

Blink blink.
Then a reply straight away.

Hi Gil. Your latest totty let you have a bit of time off then? You tired her out?

Ha ha.

“Yuk,” I said, looking at the screen. But Stu was probably going to tell more if he thought he was talking to Dad, so I typed.

Yes, ha ha.

Which was the best I could do without actually being sick. Then I typed:

Have you got any more on Norman

Welkin? Cause of death?

Blink blink.

Do you ever read anything I send you,

Gil? I emailed the coroner’s report last week.·

Blink blink.

Fancy another Doctor Who night some time?

I didn’t bother to answer, and I don’t care if Dad falls out with Stu. Instead I opened up Dad’s email and typed in his password, which he doesn’t know I’ve worked out, but it was easy to break because he uses my name and birthday for everything.

Anyway, I scrolled through Dad’s emails and there it was: one from Stu saying ‘NWelkin coroner’s report – we were right!’ Dad hadn’t even looked at it. I opened it up, and started reading. It took a bit to understand it, but I found a line that read ‘cause of death’ and next to it, ‘hypothermia’.

Norman Welkin didn’t have a heart attack at all, he’d frozen to death.

On a sunny day in March. I remember, I wasn’t even wearing a coat. He couldn’t have got frozen going for a walk in his garden.

Except I knew he could. Because I’d got caught in that freezing blue, shivering so hard I couldn’t speak, my hands going numb. And all on a boiling hot day in the shopping centre. The ghost-eater, the Devourer, it was as cold as deep space. If me and Isis had been caught for any longer, we probably would’ve frozen too.

Isis had tried to tell me something, back when Dad and Cally were fighting – the reason she wouldn’t tell her mum what was really going on. She’d never finished telling me, but now I was sure what it was. I felt like my heart stopped.

Philip Syndal had used the ghost-eater to kill Norman Welkin, and he was going to use it to kill Isis if she didn’t do what he wanted.

I sat at the computer, still as a statue.

Isis was out there with a murderer. I was the only one who knew, and I was fifty miles away.

Philip Syndal dropped the members of the Welkin Society into a trance as quickly and easily as he’d hypnotised Cally. He led them down the rustling tramlines, deep into the wheat, then asked them to push out into the rough stands of the crop, taking up positions in a straggly circle. Isis followed them, taking her place five or so metres from Cally. She didn’t want to do anything that might spark an argument, and so give Philip more ammunition against Cally.

“Ian,” Philip called, “can you move a pace to your right? Jean, just come forwards a step or two.”

As if any of it mattered
, thought Isis. This was just another trick, like the ones he used at the theatre. She checked the distant hedgerows, which looked like dark walls under the
fading-gold sky. There was no sign of anything. Not yet.

“Now,” said Philip, “shall we start our meditation?” Isis saw his eyes glitter as he looked her way. “You too, Isis. Just shut your eyes and do what I tell you.”

Close your eyes.

Words, half-remembered from a non-existent memory, forced her lids shut. Philip Syndal started talking, a soothing murmur that quickly lulled the others into quiet, then sleep. After a while he stopped, and began humming in his off-key whine. The noise blended with the hushing wheat and the distant whir of a combine harvester. Isis fought against it, but with her eyes closed her mind started to drift, a sleepy cloud covering her thoughts.

Small, freezing hands grabbed her arm, pulling at her.

Isis snapped awake, looking down to see Angel staring up.

“Wake up!” said the little ghost.

Isis smiled a thank you, but put a finger to her lips.

“You have to be careful,” she whispered. “He can see you, remember?”

“He dint see me,” said Angel, looking pleased with herself. “I play hidey-seek.” As Isis watched, the small figure scattered herself into the shadows between the ripe wheat, vanishing.

Now Isis only pretended to close her eyes, keeping them open a crack, ignoring Philip’s strange humming. He finished, and there was silence for a minute. Then the rustle and crack of footsteps through the wheat as Philip moved around the circle. She watched him stop next to each of the hypnotised adults and murmur words to them she couldn’t hear.

Isis held still, eyes nearly shut and heart fully pounding, as he crunched her way.

“Are you awake?” he whispered to her.

She didn’t move. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, pushing a little. She swayed gently, not resisting the movement, but not falling either. Was that what a hypnotised person would do? She hoped so.

Philip leaned in, breathing next to her ear.

“You will stay here, in this circle, until I tell you to open your eyes,” he whispered. “You won’t hear anything, or remember what I say and do.”

She tried to stay motionless. If he was giving her commands, then he must think she was hypnotised like the others. She breathed slowly and steadily, as if she were sleeping, while his footsteps crunched away from her, becoming more and more distant. After a little while, when she was sure he’d gone, Isis opened her eyes properly.
Around her the adults were standing motionless in the wheat, arms at their sides, heads tipped forwards a little, like sleeping scarecrows.

“He stinky,” muttered Angel, flickering like moonlight from behind the wheat stems. “I glad he gone.”

“Where did he go?” whispered Isis, trying to see. Fifty metres away were the screens and bright dots of Gil’s computers and monitors, his tall figure moving between them, oblivious. The rest of the field was fading into shades of grey, as the last of the sunset slipped out of the sky. She couldn’t see Philip anywhere.

“He over there,” said Angel, pointing at a distantly dark and gloomy corner of the field, where Isis could only see the shadow of an overreaching hedge. “He talking.”

Isis stared at her in surprise. Who else could have come into the field?

“Who’s he talking to?” she whispered.

Angel shook her head, and pressed her lips together.

“Please?” asked Isis.

Angel folded her arms. “I not tell. He horrid.”

Isis narrowed her eyes, peering into the shadows. There was only one person Angel always called horrid. She took a step, and the wheat crunched and creaked loudly.
She stopped. She couldn’t follow, or try and eavesdrop on Philip. He’d easily hear her crashing towards him.

Angel wafted in front of Isis.

“You not go!” she commanded.

“I can’t get near him anyway. Walking though this stuff is too noisy.” She stared at the brooding line of the hedges. “But if I go around…”

“Isis! Don’t!” cried Angel. “Pease!”

Isis crouched down, face-to-face with Angel.

“I have to find out what he’s doing, because…” She stopped, she couldn’t tell Angel about Philip’s plans. She didn’t want to scare her. “He’s a bad man, Angel.”

“He a bad ghost,” was the answer.

Isis went back to the nearest tramline, following it to the edge of the field. Angel tagged behind, plucking at her with cold fingers.

“You not go!” she cried. “He horrid! He stinky!”

Gil looked up from his stack of quietly beeping electronics as Isis came out of the crop.

“You had enough already?” he asked.

“I need the loo,” she said.

“Take your pick.” He smiled. “Watch out for nettles.”

Isis headed off, down the strip of rough grass at the edge
of the field. She tried to use the long shadows and growing darkness to hide in, keeping close to the overhanging hedge.

Angel’s luminous shape flitted anxiously after.

“Come back!” she cried. Isis turned round.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Philip can hear you. If you can’t be quiet, stay back.” She crept on, until she could make out two figures standing in the corner of the field. One was Philip’s slightly plump shape, the other was eerily lit, mouldy green. She crouched behind a tall clump of thistles, staying very still, hardly breathing. Listening to what they were saying.

“… even doing here? Standing around in this field.” Philip Syndal was speaking, sounding irritated. “It doesn’t even tell me
why
I have to do things, not any more. I’m sick of it!”

“Have some patience, my boy.” Isis was surprised at Mandeville’s soft tone. It was as close to comforting as his raspy old voice could be.

“I
have
been patient,” whined Philip, “I’ve been patient for years!”

“I know, dear boy,” said Mandeville, his words spoken gently. “But soon you’ll be back to how you were when I first found you.”

“Miserable in a care home?” snapped Philip. “Or do you mean half-mad with ghosts?”

Everything suddenly made a cold, horrible sense to Isis. Mandeville had never mentioned knowing Philip, but he obviously did. Mandeville had to be Philip’s spirit guide, the one Cally was always on about, the one who helped him when he was a boy! He must have told Philip about Isis, and got her drawn into all this.

“It won’t be like that now,” Mandeville soothed. “So many phantoms are gone. We’ll be able to work together, uncluttered. A beacon for the world.”

Philip snorted. “I’ve already told you: when it’s out, I’m done. No more Psychic Syndal.”

“But I need a channel! I want it to be you. I’ve cared for you all these years.”

“Cared
for me?”

“I tried, at least. And think of your public, don’t they deserve to know the truth about the afterlife?”

“They don’t want the truth!” cried Philip. “They want Granny’s old recipes and next week’s lottery numbers! You’re just a fame-hungry old ghost, creeping around the psychics like the rest.” His voice drawled into a sneer. “Isn’t that how you found Isis the wonder-child?”

Mandeville shook his head, sending out a greenish dust to glow against the dark. “Don’t I even get a little gratitude?”

Now Philip laughed. “For
what?
You gave me to a monster. You said it would scare the ghosts away, well it did more than that. And it didn’t just find a little corner of my mind, like you said it would. It’s everywhere, in every thought! I only have times like now, when it’s taken flight, to think in peace. My life has been nothing, a slavery. I never wanted to do the stage shows, but I have to because it’s always hungry. Plus I’m a fraud; ghosts won’t come near me so I have to use tricks on the punters. And even that’s not enough, because I have to lure in any stupid ghost I can, just to prove I’m still useful to the thing
you
put inside me. I’m fighting for my life, for my mind, every day!” Philip was gasping, almost crying. “I would have been better off as I was. Madness would have been kinder than what you’ve done to me.”

Behind her, Isis heard Angel’s squeak of fear. She’d followed, even though she’d been told not to. Isis pulled the little ghost onto her lap, looking around for a wash of colour, listening for the flap of noiseless wings.

Out in the field, Mandeville sighed and Isis could taste the dust in the air.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly, “I can’t tell you how much.
I should never have removed it from the darkness. I thought its nature was to remain small and weak – I had no idea how its appetite would grow when it was this close to the living.”

“So you’ve said,” muttered Philip, “about a thousand times.” Isis heard the swishing, crunching sound of Philip walking into the crop. She huddled down, praying he wouldn’t see her or Angel.

“Don’t!” cried Mandeville. “Please, my boy. I’m still trying to help you.”

The crunching stopped, Philip turned back. “You mean Isis? Yeah, well thanks for telling me about her. I persuaded it and it likes the idea. Hop into the new girl and leave me at last. A nice new shell for the hermit crab.”

Angel touched Isis’s face with whisper-fingers. Isis could see how frightened the little ghost was. She clutched Angel tightly, shaking her head to show that she wouldn’t let that happen. Not ever!

Mandeville made a strange wheezing noise, and green dust poured up into the air. “No! That isn’t what I meant; she’s only a child.”

“I wasn’t much past her age when you sent it into me,” snapped Philip.

“It was a mistake! I didn’t know what would happen, but you do.”

“She’ll be
fine
,” said Philip. “Stop going on.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, she can save us…”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Philip’s voice rose into almost a screech. “I’ve been feeding it non-stop for
twenty-fi
ve
years and it’s
still
hungry! I live in a slaughterhouse…” He stopped. Isis heard him sob. “I just need it out. And this way I know it will be gone.”

“Please, give me one last chance to persuade her,” whispered Mandeville.

“You said it yourself – she won’t even try. All she cares about is her dead sister and idiot mother.”

Angel wriggled on Isis’s lap, wanting to scramble away. Isis held her tightly, putting a finger to her lips. They had to stay quiet and still until this was over.

“Well maybe she’ll care about you too,” said Mandeville, “if we can make her understand.”

“Like Norman did?” muttered Philip.

There was silence, then Mandeville said quietly, “I didn’t realise how fixed his views were on the nature of ghosts.”

Philip snorted. “He was a fool who had money.”

“So he deserved it?”

“You
said to make him understand! I tried, but he wouldn’t even listen to me! So I showed him what it’s like, I helped him to see it. That’s all. It wasn’t my fault what happened.”

“It has a heart of ice. What did you think would occur if it wrapped itself around him?”

“
I
don’t freeze. Maybe it’s different when it’s inside someone.” Philip paused. “But perhaps I should have fed it before I went to see Norman.”

“And now you’ve taught it how to kill the living.”

“No! It was an accident, he had a weak heart! The police said it was natural causes.”

“Is anything ever your responsibility?” asked Mandeville.

“Isis!” Angel whispered from her lap, her small arm pointing upwards. Overhead, the sky was sweeping into dark blue, night coming in too fast.

What had she been thinking, following Philip out here? Gil and his lights were far away, Cally was even further, lost in a dream.

“We have to get back,” Isis whispered to Angel. She pushed her ghost-sister off her lap, but when she tried to stand her legs were numb and stiff. Her first step was a stumble, her foot catching in the rough grass. She fell.

“Owf!” The sound pushed out of her as she landed.

“Who’s there?” said Philip.

“He coming!” screamed Angel.

Isis scrabbled to get up, but heavy footsteps were already pounding towards her. She looked back and saw Philip heading for her. She set off running, his footsteps getting closer and louder behind her. Then his hand grabbed her arm, wrenching her to a stop.

“Isis.” Philip was breathing heavily. “You shouldn’t be out here. Anything might happen.”

She tried to shake her arm free.

“I don’t want it! You can’t make me!” she shouted, too terrified to think clearly, or give any excuse for what she’d been doing.

Philip shook his head. “Everyone has to take shares, Isis.”