Ghost of a Dream

NINE OLD TRUTHS, COME HOME TO ROOST

Melody ran headlong through the narrow theatre corridors, not once looking back. She didn’t need to look back to know that the Faust’s Phantom was still hot on her trail. She could feel his presence behind her, feel his hot gaze on her back, feel his rotten breath on her neck…She pounded down the dimly lit corridors, arms pumping at her sides, not even trying to pace herself. She had to get to the others, had to tell them about the Faust…because they only thought they were dealing with a haunting. They didn’t know there was a monster in the house. In the end, she had to look back over her shoulder, because she couldn’t stand the tension any more; and, of course, he wasn’t there. Never had been. She made herself run a little faster anyway. She hoped she was going in the right direction. All the corridors looked the same to her. She felt like a mouse running a maze, with a cat at every exit. She took a sharp left turn without slowing and pounded down another long corridor that looked like all the others.

The Phantom burst out of a side passage and slammed right into her, lifting her off her feet as though she weighed nothing and throwing her hard against the far wall. She cried out miserably at the impact and tried to struggle; but he held her easily with one hand at her throat, her feet kicking helplessly several inches above the floor. She made herself fight him, flailing wildly; but her human strength was nothing compared to the Phantom’s. He pushed his masked face right into hers, smiling nastily with the revealed half of his face. Up close, the grubby mask smelled of rotting leather, while his half-face smelled of rotting flesh.

“You can’t outrun me, my sweet,” he said, and his voice was a low, hissing thing, full of venom. “I’ll always be able to run faster than you because I’m a made thing, not bound by human limitations. I was made to run down my prey, then do awful and unforgivable things to it. I was made to make you suffer, and to enjoy it. And I will! It’s good to have a purpose in life.”

Melody brought up her machine-pistol, stuck the barrel right under his jaw, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gun was shockingly loud, and Melody cried out despite herself at the terrible sound and the blinding glare. The sheer velocity of the bullets slammed the Phantom’s head back. The repeated impacts broke his hold on Melody and drove him backwards. Melody half collapsed into a crouch before she got her strength and balance back, but she kept firing. The Phantom lurched and swayed this way and that, but she moved the gun with him. The bullets punched right through his formal clothes and cape, but he didn’t cry out, and he didn’t bleed. Melody quickly realised that the Phantom could heal as easily as the Faust who made him.

A sudden silence fell across the corridor as Melody ran out of bullets. The Phantom smiled at her. She looked blankly at the gun in her hand, as though it had betrayed her, and she shook the pistol for a moment, as though that would do anything. She had more clips for the gun, but they were all back in the lobby, in the arms cabinet. She looked at the Phantom, smiling at her like a shark that’s scented blood in the water; and she smiled back at him. He didn’t like that. He started towards her, and she went for him, throwing the empty gun into his face. He snatched the machine-pistol out of mid air and crumpled the metal in his inhuman grasp. And while he was preoccupied doing that, Melody punted him good and hard between the legs. The Phantom dropped to his knees, mouth stretched wide as he tried to force a scream through his constricted throat. Melody punched him once, in the side of the head, just to be sure, then ran on.

The Faust really shouldn’t have made you in his own image, she thought, as she ran. Given you two hostages to fortune…And you really should have been expecting that. Not terribly bright, this Phantom of the Haybarn.

She rounded the next corner at speed, and there, waiting for her was Old Tom, the caretaker. She stumbled to a halt, and he smiled benignly at her. He didn’t seem in the least surprised to see her. She struggled to get her harsh breathing back under control, so she could warn him about the Phantom; but he was already talking.

“You don’t want to go this way, miss. You want to go down there, round that corner, then it’s second on the right. Take you straight to the main stage area, that will. You can’t miss it.”

“Get out of here!” Melody said finally.

“What?”

“Get out of here! Get out of the theatre! There’s bad people here. Dangerous people.”

Old Tom smiled and shook his head. “Bless you, miss, I’m not in any danger. No-one’s going to hurt Old Tom. You follow the directions I gave you, and you’ll be fine.”

He pointed out the direction to her. Melody looked, and when she looked back, he was gone. Not a trace of him anywhere. Melody scowled briefly, gathered up her strength, and ran down the corridor.

She finally saw a familiar set of swing doors up ahead of her, burst through them without slowing, and found herself back in the main auditorium. She stumbled down the central aisle, leaning on end chairs as she went, for support. Up on the stage, JC and Happy, Benjamin and Elizabeth and Lissa, were all standing together and arguing loudly. They broke off to look out at her, caught off guard by her sudden entrance. She stopped, and slumped down onto a padded chair for a moment, to get her breath back. She always felt a little safer when JC and Happy were around, though, of course, she’d never tell them that. It took encountering something like Faust and his Phantom to get her to admit it to herself. She glanced quickly behind her; but there wasn’t the slightest sound or sight of the Phantom. Yet. She forced herself up out of her chair and glared indiscriminately at everyone on the stage.

“You stay right where you are! I’m coming up! And I don’t care what you’re arguing about; I’ve had a far worse time than you have, so my problems are bound to be much worse than yours, so I am entitled to be in a very bad mood!”

“Never knew you when you weren’t!” murmured JC.

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to.”

Melody strode down the main aisle, round the side, and up onto the stage, while everyone else stood exactly where they were and looked at her. Melody had that effect on people, sometimes. If only because they knew silent, fuming rage when they saw it. She finally stomped across the stage to confront Happy, who gave her his best What have I done now? look.

“Why don’t you answer your phone?” snarled Melody.

Happy blinked at her a few times. “It hasn’t rung. Did you try and call me? You never call me when we’re out in the field. You said constant communication was a sign of weakness.”

Melody growled deep in her throat and shook her head in frustration. Happy considered her for a moment and took a tentative step forward.

“Something’s happened,” he said. “Something bad. I don’t have to look inside your head to know that. What was it? What could possibly spook you this much? Are you all right, Melody?”

“No,” she said. And then she managed a small smile. “But I do feel a lot better for being here, with you.”

“Yelling at me is very therapeutic,” said Happy, solemnly. “A lot of people have told me that. After they calmed down.”

Melody looked around her. “What’s everybody doing back here?”

“That is what we were…discussing, when you made your dramatic entrance,” said JC. “Old Tom brought Lissa and me a message. Ostensibly from Happy, saying we all needed to meet back here. Urgently. Only when Lissa and I arrived, it was to find Happy and his two actors waiting here for us, demanding to know why I’d called them back.”

“Old Tom is a ghost,” said Happy. “Or more properly, a ghost in disguise. I saw him disappear into a pool of darkness.”

“I said he was too broad a character to be true,” said Benjamin. “A performance of a caretaker; not the real thing.”

“We were always very suspicious of him,” said Elizabeth. “But only because we thought he was a journalist in disguise.”

“Never even occurred to us that he might be the ghost haunting this theatre, said Benjamin. “I mean, walking around with us, pretending to be real, like us…That is so creepy, the hairs on the back of my neck are tying themselves in knots.”

“Sly,” said Elizabeth. “Underhanded. I mean, you don’t expect spirits to sneak around and take advantage of you.”

“He told Lissa and me that Happy wanted us here, urgently,” said JC.

Happy shook his head quickly. “Not me, boss. Nothing to do with me.”

“I had gathered that,” said JC.

“We’re here because we found a note pinned to the wall,” said Happy. “Apparently from you, telling me to get the actors back here sharpish.”

“And you didn’t think to phone me first, to check?” said JC.

“No signal,” said Happy. “And no, I didn’t try to reach out to you with my mind. After watching Old Tom melt away to nothing, I didn’t trust the atmosphere in this place; and I certainly wasn’t going to drop any of my mental shields. It’s not safe here, JC. For Old Tom to pass as human like that, up close and personal, with none of us suspecting a thing…that’s almost unheard of. Maintaining something like that takes a hell of a lot of power.”

“Have you still got the note?” said JC.

“Sure,” said Happy.

But when he rummaged in his pocket, it wasn’t there. Happy smiled weakly at JC and tried all his other pockets, sometimes more than once; but the note was gone.

“Someone wanted us all here,” said JC. “Old Tom…or whatever that really is, hiding behind the appearance of Old Tom.”

“A kindly old duffer who no-one would look at twice,” said Happy. “So clearly harmless, no-one ever suspected a thing. Good disguise.”

“Excuse me!” Melody said loudly. “But I do have something very urgent and extremely dangerous to discuss!”

JC smiled at her easily. “Of course you do. Very well, Melody; what brings you back here? In such an excited and sweaty state?”

“Something is chasing me,” Melody said bluntly. “Trying to kill me; and then all of you.”

“How very stupid of it,” murmured JC. “Where…”

Melody gestured back at the swing doors, at the rear of the auditorium; and everybody looked. The doors didn’t move. It was all very still and very quiet. Everyone looked at Melody again.

“Who is it?” said JC. “Who’s after you?”

“The Phantom of the Haybarn,” said Melody.

“You have got to be fucking kidding,” said Happy.

He sniggered, until Melody shut him up with a cold glare. She filled them all in on her encounter with the Faust, and his creation, the Phantom. She made it as clear as she could for the actors, while still being careful to refer only obliquely to The Flesh Undying. Some things civilians were better off not knowing. JC and Happy got what she was talking about immediately and shared several thoughtful and meaningful looks. Benjamin and Elizabeth, and Lissa, mostly looked confused. Melody finally ran down, and they all looked at the swing doors again.

“We are in deep shit, people,” said Happy. “This isn’t just a haunting any more. I say we get the hell out of here, napalm the theatre, then salt the ashes afterwards. It’s the only way to be sure.”

And then he broke off abruptly. All of them turned around as the sound of quiet, mocking laughter drifted across the stage from the far wings. And there, standing half in the shadows and half in the light, smiling easily, was Old Tom, the caretaker. Except he was standing taller and straighter now…and he didn’t look like someone who’d take orders from other people. He looked like the man in charge. Benjamin and Elizabeth stared at him, then moved to stand close together. Happy started forward, to put himself between the two actors and danger…and then he remembered that JC was here, so he didn’t have to be the hero any longer. That was JC’s job. With a certain amount of relief, Happy fell back and hid behind Benjamin and Elizabeth, out of harm’s way. Melody moved over to join him. JC took a moment to notice that Lissa was giving Old Tom her full attention although she didn’t seem nearly as affected as everyone else. JC filed that thought away for future reference and stepped forward to face Old Tom.

“Who are you?” said JC.

“What are you?” said Happy, from a distance.

Old Tom stepped out onto the stage, into the bright light. The flesh of his face had sunk in deeply, right back to the bone, becoming desiccated, mummified. The face of some long-forgotten corpse, brought to light at last. Dark lips had drawn back from yellow teeth in a never-ending smile. The only life left in him burned in his eyes, shining brightly from his dead face.

“I am the unquiet dead,” he said grandly. “The unquiet past, determined to be heard at last.”

“Damn,” said Benjamin. “He’s one of us! He’s an actor! We’re the only ones who talk like that.”

“Ah,” said Old Tom. “But not just any actor.”

“You’ve put on a pretty good show, so far,” said JC. “All the thrills and chills of a ghost train; but no-one was ever in any danger of getting hurt. So what’s really going on here? What’s this all about?”

“Why don’t the dead lie still in this empty palace of broken dreams?” said Old Tom. He pointed a single skeletal finger at Benjamin and Elizabeth, still huddled together. “Ask them. They know.”

And then he faded away, melting into thin mists that blew away and were gone. Even though there wasn’t a breath of a breeze, anywhere on the stage. JC, then Happy and Melody, and finally Lissa, turned to look at Benjamin and Elizabeth.

“It’s time to tell the truth,” said JC, not unkindly.

“Past time, I’d say,” said Lissa.

Benjamin and Elizabeth consulted each other silently, with one of their long looks that meant so much, but only to each other. And only then did they both nod briefly, in agreement. They held on to each other’s hands, like lost children comforting each other in a dark forest, and turned to face the Ghost Finders, and Lissa.

“It’s all my fault,” said Benjamin. “Alistair Gravel didn’t disappear. He didn’t go away. I killed him.”

“It was an accident!” Elizabeth said immediately. “We were arguing, at the top of the stairs. Raised voices, shouting into each other’s faces, lots of arm-waving. Benjamin shoved Alistair in the chest. And he fell, backwards.”

“I’d forgotten where we were,” said Benjamin. “And I never meant to shove him that hard. By the time we got to the foot of the stairs, he was dead.”

“What were you arguing about?” said JC.

“The play, of course,” said Elizabeth. “The bloody play.”

“Twenty years ago, we wrote the play for Alistair to star in,” said Benjamin. “It was a good play. I mean, really good. Everybody said so. We all knew it was our best chance for fame and glory, to break out of this very small pond and make real names for ourselves. But, we were having trouble raising funding. Until Frankie Hazzard came forward. Mister big-name movie star. He wanted a starring role in the theatre, to give himself some credibility. Someone sent him a copy of our play, and he wanted in. Wanted to star in it. And with his name attached, suddenly there was no problem getting all the money we needed, and then some.”

“But Alistair would have none of it,” said Elizabeth. “He refused to be pushed aside and replaced. This was his big chance, too, and he knew it. He said…he’d contributed so much to the play already, in rehearsal, that he’d sue us if we tried to go ahead without him. We did offer to pay him off, but he wasn’t interested. He insisted on his right to play the lead.”

“We argued,” said Benjamin. “I pushed him, and he fell. And he died.”

He couldn’t speak for a moment, holding back tears.

“We hid the body,” Elizabeth said finally. “Rather than have a scandal that would interfere with the play’s production. And success. We did it all for success.”

“It was my idea, not Elizabeth’s!” said Benjamin. “I couldn’t let her stand trial, and go to jail, just for being there. For something that was all my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault!” said Elizabeth. “It was an accident! A stupid accident. He fell.”

“We buried him beneath the understage area,” said Benjamin. “He’s still there. No-one ever found him or found out what we’d done. To our oldest friend.”

“Our dearest friend,” said Elizabeth.

“We kept the secret, all these years.”

“Of what we did, for success.”

“Except, there wasn’t any,” said Benjamin. “Frankie Hazzard insisted on major changes in the play. Rewrite after rewrite, that messed up everything. He changed everything that mattered, took all the best lines, and gave them to himself…”

“And every time we objected, he threatened to walk,” said Elizabeth. “And take the play’s funding with him. We had no doubt he’d do it if he couldn’t have his own way. And we were all in too deep, by then.”

“We were desperate to get the play on,” said Benjamin. “After everything we’d done, everything we’d lost…if there was no play, then it had all been for nothing.”

“And in the end, it was,” said Elizabeth. “The changes ruined our play. When we did finally get it on, it died in under two weeks.”

“Frankie Hazzard didn’t give a damn,” said Benjamin. “He walked away. On to his next big movie project.”

“We got the blame,” said Elizabeth. “Frankie Hazzard was a star. Everybody loved him. So how could it be his fault? No, said the critics, and the commentators, it had to be our play, our lousy words, that buried the production.”

“We killed our oldest and dearest friend and covered it up, for fame and glory,” said Benjamin. “And we didn’t get the fame, and we didn’t get the glory. It was all for nothing. And nothing was ever the same after that.”

“We left the Haybarn,” said Elizabeth. “We didn’t have to. The owners still believed in us, we’d made them a lot of money. Far as they were concerned, we were still a good draw. Locally. But we couldn’t stay. Not after what we’d done. Not knowing that Alistair was buried here.”

“And anyway,” said Benjamin, “it was no fun any more, without him. We left. Our careers…never really happened. We kept busy, but…the spark was gone.”

“I sometimes wonder,” said Elizabeth, “whether deep down, we felt we didn’t deserve to succeed.”

“This is all very touching, I’m sure,” said Melody, loud enough to make everyone jump. “But why are we all standing around chatting, when I already told you the Phantom is on his way here to kill us all!”

“Because he isn’t here yet,” said JC. “And this…is the job. The mission. We came to the Haybarn Theatre to discover the reason behind the haunting, so we could…resolve matters. Now we know, perhaps we can make peace between the various parties.”

“Now we know what’s been powering all these visions and manifestations,” said Happy. “Twenty years of unfinished business. Lying there in his grave, dreaming and plotting, gathering his strength…Is there anything stronger than thwarted dreams and ambitions? The loss of the life Alistair Gravel should have had?”

JC stepped forward, to face Elizabeth and Benjamin. She looked tired, beaten down. He looked even worse. But he still had enough left in him to hold Elizabeth protectively as he stared at JC.

“What now?” he said.

“Why did you decide to come back here, after all these years?” said JC. “To revive a play that had only ever brought you pain?”

Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other.

“I don’t know,” said Benjamin, frowning. “The idea…came to me, one night.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “The twentieth anniversary was coming up, and even though Benjamin and I never discussed it, we both knew it was much on our minds.”

“And when we did finally discuss it, we couldn’t get the idea out of our heads,” said Benjamin. “I contacted the theatre’s owners, and they said…they’d been waiting to hear from us.”

“It never occurred to me to question any of this before,” said Elizabeth. “But now I come to think about it…”

“You were called back here,” said JC. “Summoned, by a spirit of great power. But why? To tell you both that you had never been forgiven? To punish you?”

“No,” said Melody, caught up in the discussion despite herself. “That’s not it. The ghost put on a really scary show, but it’s clear no-one was ever supposed to get hurt…”

“Old Tom was a mask,” said Happy. “A disguise, for Alistair Gravel. A dead actor, playing a part.”

“I always said that caretaker was too broad a character,” said Elizabeth.

“The moustache didn’t help,” said Benjamin. “Alistair always was too fond of the make-up box.”

“So this has all been about Alistair Gravel,” said JC. “Watching us, as Old Tom. I understand everything, now.”

“Well, not everything,” said Lissa.

They all turned to look at her, and she smiled at them dazzlingly.

“Nothing in this theatre is necessarily what it seems,” she said sweetly. “And not everyone is who they appear to be.”

And she slowly and silently faded away.