Spirits from Beyond

FIVE

JC sat listlessly on the only chair in his room and looked about him, for want of anything else to do. It wasn’t much of a room. Dusty, airless, the bed-clothes probably only put on the bed that very day, after Brook was sure they were coming. JC didn’t need to be told no-one had used this room in ages. Any sane person would have taken one look around and moved out immediately.

It was a typical country-pub room-barely big enough to hold the bed and some very basic furniture. The bed itself was a single, deliberately undersized to make the room look bigger. JC didn’t expect to be spending any time actually sleeping in the bed, which was just as well. He was pretty sure his feet would stick out the end. A battered, old-fashioned wardrobe stood to one side, its unpolished wood covered with scrapes and scratches; and an equally uncared for chest of drawers stood on the other side of the bed. No television, not even a radio. A door at the rear led off to a frankly tiny bathroom. A low ceiling, deeply dull wallpaper; and not even a carpet to cover the bare floor-boards. The pale yellow light from the single bulb seemed flat, lifeless, even oppressive. At least the shadows were staying still. The wind rattled the only window in its frame, while rain spattered against the glass. It sounded cold, and desolate. JC felt like he was a long way from anywhere.

He looked at his suitcase, standing alone and unopened on the bed. The suitcase he always kept packed and ready in his apartment, for those occasions when he had to leave in a hurry, on the Boss’s word, for some mission that wouldn’t wait. He didn’t need to open his suitcase and look inside to know what was in there. The contents never changed. Only the essentials; and a few nasty tricks that the Institute didn’t need to know about. Because he wasn’t supposed to have them. There was a lot to be said for planning and preparation; but JC had always been a firm believer in cheating. Your opponent can guard against plans and have contingencies in place for what you’ve prepared; but they’re always baffled and helpless in the face of blatant cheating.

JC looked almost fondly at the suitcase, then sat up straight in his chair as the suitcase began to move. It rocked slowly back and forth at first as though making up its mind and gathering its strength, then it edged slowly forward along the bed, humping along in a series of slow, jerky movements, rucking up the counterpane as it went. JC rose out of his chair and glared at his suitcase.

“Stop that! Right now! Or there will be trouble!”

The suitcase stopped moving. It stood very still, half-way along the bed, as though trying to pretend it had never moved at all. Only the crumpled counterpane remained to show the length of its travels. JC stood there for a moment, watching the suitcase carefully, then reached forward and pushed the case hard, with one extended finger. The case rocked back and forth, very slightly, and was still again.

JC opened the suitcase and looked inside, but no-one had sneaked anything in. Everything was as it should be. So he closed the suitcase again, lifted it up, and placed it on the floor by the far wall, where he could keep an eye on it. The suitcase remained where he put it, as though it had got the whole moving thing out of its system.

The door to the oversized wardrobe swung slowly open. The heavy dark slab of wood moved slowly and silently, and the brass hinges didn’t so much as creak once. JC waited until the door had stopped moving, then he edged cautiously forward to look inside the wardrobe. Nothing there. Not even any coat hangers. Only shadows and dust. JC shut the door, and looked at it; and it didn’t move. Instead, the door to the landing swung slowly open.

JC caught the first movement out of the corner of his eye and spun around quickly to watch the door open all the way, all on its own. Out on the landing, the somewhat brighter lights were still on; and it was clear there was no-one out there who could have opened the door. JC strode forward and stepped through the open doorway and out onto the landing. He looked up and down the long corridor, but no-one was out and about. Happy and Melody’s doors remained firmly closed. JC took a firm hold of the door-handle, stepped back inside his room, and pulled his door shut.

He could have locked it. But somehow, he had a feeling that wouldn’t make any difference.

On the other side of the room, the door to the tiny bathroom swung open. JC glared at it. There was something eerie and even upsetting, about the refusal of his doors to stay shut. It made JC feel. . that he wasn’t in control of things. And he hated that. He hurried over to the bathroom door and slammed it shut. The wardrobe door swung open. JC slammed that shut as well. And while he was doing that, the door to the landing opened. JC ran across the room and slammed it shut with all his strength; and then stood with his back pressed against it, glaring round the room. Breathing hard, and not only from the exertion of running back and forth. It was all happening so quietly. . There was no actual threat, or attack, nothing jumping out from behind any of the opening doors. It was as though the room was mocking him and defying him to do anything about it.

“All right!” he said grimly. “Among the many things I’m not supposed to have with me, there is an exorcism grenade in my suitcase. Packed full of holy light; just the thing to dispel unruly spirits. Do you really want to play hard core, this early in the game?”

There was a long pause. JC stood stiffly with his back to the door, glowering around his room, from door to door. . but nothing moved. JC nodded and allowed himself a small smile. Some phenomena bluff really easily.

Kim walked into his room, passing effortlessly through the outer wall. Which was disconcerting given that they were on the first floor. JC couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. He moved away from the door, smiling at Kim. She smiled happily back at him and shot him a sultry look. She’d shifted her ectoplasm again, changing her appearance just for him; and now she was dressed in a traditional tweed suit, complete with strings of pearls. She’d even shortened her gleaming red hair and arranged it in a serious country-set cut. On her, it looked good. JC grinned.

“Someone down in the bar was wearing an outfit exactly like that.”

“I know!” said Kim. “I was there, watching unseen, and listening. Honestly, darling, such a bunch of story-tellers! Wouldn’t know a real ghost if it manifested in their living room, right in front of the television.”

“Was that your face at the window?” said JC.

“Of course not,” said Kim. “I had a damned good look, and I didn’t see a face in any window. I think someone got caught up in the drama of the moment.”

The two of them were standing face-to-face now, looking deep into each other’s eyes. It was as close as they could come to holding each other. The living and the dead might love each other, but they could never touch. Which was one of many reasons why such relationships were frowned upon, by. . pretty much everybody. JC and Kim stood so close together, they could have felt their breath on each other’s faces if more than one of them had been breathing.

“Why didn’t you join us before?” JC said finally. Because it was easier to talk about the job than so many other things. “You could have come with us, on the train. I could have used your company. Happy and Melody were sniping at each other all the way down. .”

“I travel more quickly on my own,” said Kim. “I used the low road, the hidden path of the dead.”

“Oh yes?” said JC. “And what was that like?”

“Busy,” said Kim.

“I don’t really want to know, do I?”

“No, sweetie,” said Kim.

“It is good to see you again, my love,” said JC.

“And you, my darling,” said Kim.

They high-fived each other, their palms not quite touching.

“There are things I can’t talk about,” said Kim, “And there are things I won’t talk about because I’m dead and you’re not. One of us has to be the sensible partner in this relationship. So I’ve been here at the King’s Arms for some time, waiting for you to catch up. . looking around, moving unseen, pushing my nose into things.”

“And?” said JC.

“I haven’t seen anything supernatural,” said the girl ghost, frowning prettily. “But I can say, very definitely; that I don’t like the feel of this place. It’s hiding things from me.”

“So is Brook,” said JC. “He knows a lot more than he’s telling.”

“But he’s the one who called you for help,” said Kim. “Why would he hold back information that might help you help him?”

“Good question,” said JC. “Did you see what was happening just now, here in my room?”

“No,” said Kim. She listened carefully as JC explained about the doors that didn’t want to stay shut. Kim’s eyes gleamed eagerly as she pattered noiselessly round the room, studying everything with great interest.

“I don’t See anything, darling. The doors are quite definitely nothing other than doors.”

“I never got the sense there was anyone moving them,” said JC. “But it wasn’t any kind of illusion. And my suitcase really did move, on its own, just like the doors.”

“Physical phenomena,” said Kim. “Never a good sign. It takes a lot of power, of accumulated energy, for the dead to affect the material world directly. But I don’t smell any poltergeist residue. .” She turned abruptly to grin at JC. “I wish I’d been here to see it!”

“Wish I hadn’t been,” JC said steadily. “It wasn’t very nice, on my own.”

Kim was immediately back before him, staring at him sorrowfully. “You have to understand, JC. I’m back; I’m back with you, and the team. . But I can’t always be with you. There will be times when I have to go my own way. Following my own leads, going places you can’t. . and I won’t always be able to tell you where I’ve been or what I’ve had to do. For your safety as well as mine.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Kim?” said JC.

“Lots and lots of things, darling,” said Kim. “I will tell you what I can, when I can. Except for the times when I can’t; and then I’ll tell you a comforting lie. Because that’s what relationships are all about.” She sighed, tiredly. An affectation, of course, because ghosts don’t get tired. But JC appreciated the effort. Kim looked at him steadily. “Eventually, this will all be over; and I’ll be able to tell you everything. And it’ll be such a relief. Secrets are heavy. They weigh you down. But until then, we have to do this one step at a time, for both our sakes. Trust me?”

“Always,” said JC.

“I wish I could hold you,” said Kim. “Hug you close, feel your heart beating against mine.”

“I am working on it,” said JC.

“What?” said Kim. “Really?”

“I have a contact in the Nightside,” said JC, “who swears he knows someone who can make it possible for people and ghosts to. . be together. For short periods.”

“Not too short, I hope,” said Kim. “JC, the Nightside is a bad place. Heaven and Hell and everything in between. I don’t like the thought of your going there.”

“You can find anything in the Nightside,” said JC.

“Or it can find you,” said Kim, frowning. She seemed genuinely upset. “You watch yourself, JC. Anything you acquire there will always have a hidden price tag.”

“I will be very careful, I promise,” said JC. “But you know I’d do anything for you. Pay any price.”

“Forever?”

“Forever and ever.”

They turned away, ostensibly to study the room again, tacitly agreeing to save the argument for another day.

“I was sad, to see Happy and Melody going off to separate rooms,” said JC. “I liked them being together. I’ve always thought they were. . stronger, more focused, when they were together.”

“Happier?” said Kim.

“Let’s not ask for miracles,” said JC. “Let’s say less grumpy. They’ve both been a complete pain, all day. Personally, I’m astonished Happy was able to stay off the stuff for as long as he did.”

“You can’t help an addict if they’re determined not to be helped,” said Kim.

“The trouble is. . I’m not sure whether helping Happy is the best thing,” said JC. “The pills aren’t good for him, not in the long run. They may even be killing him, by inches. . But there’s no denying he’s a better team member when he’s. . chemically enhanced. He’s braver, smarter, more insightful. I have to wonder, Kim; should I fire Happy from the team, for his own good, to save his life? Or should I encourage him because he’s more useful to me and the Institute when he’s using? I’d hate to think I was actually that cold-blooded. .”

“He might fall apart even faster, without you and Melody and me to hold him together,” said Kim. “I believe he needs us far more than he needs pills.”

“But does Happy believe it?” said JC.

* * *

Melody sat on the edge of her hard and unforgiving single bed, in her own small room, with her lap-top set out on the bedspread before her. Typically, she’d hardly given her room a glance before going straight to work. Melody always preferred to concentrate on the job at hand first, and everything else second, if at all. She hadn’t expected her room to come with wi-fi, but then, she didn’t need it. After all the changes she’d put her lap-top through, she could pick up a signal anywhere. If only by bullying the nearest tower.

She was currently checking out web sites on the most famous haunted pubs in England. Lots of familiar names kept popping up, but, much to Melody’s surprise, not only did the King’s Arms of Bishop’s Fording not make the top ten. . it didn’t even earn a mention in the top hundred. None of the main discussion sites had ever heard of the King’s Arms as far she could see. She pursued the inn’s history with all her very best search engines, but all she could find were a few old stories from the local newspapers, of people spending the night at the King’s Arms and leaving early. The stories were vague and unremarkable and nearly always played for laughs. Silly-season filler pieces. Those foolish tourists, jumping at noises in the night; not like proper country-folk. . That sort of thing. But when Melody followed the stories through, it quickly became clear that no-one had stayed overnight at the King’s Arms since the 1970s.

That had to mean something. Melody pulled her legs up onto the bed, so she could sit cross-legged and glare at the lap-top’s screen more efficiently. Why did the phenomenon, whatever it was, start or possibly restart in the seventies? Did something happen then? Had something been disturbed, or awakened? There was nothing in the local press. .

Melody swung her legs back over the side of the bed, stood up, stretched, and shook her head restlessly. She couldn’t concentrate because she was still angry at Happy. And at herself. She shut the lap-top down, slapped the lid closed, then went walking around the room. Not looking for anything, walking around and around. Not going anywhere, roaming around the room in tight little circles, avoiding the furniture because she always thought better when she was on the move. It gave her the illusion that she was doing something.

What made her really mad was that she never saw it coming. She thought everything was going well. She thought she and Happy were. . well, happy. They talked, they did things together, the sex was great. . She’d had no idea that Happy had fallen off the edge again and gone back to his bloody pills. And she should have known. She kept a careful eye on Happy, all the time, keeping track of his moods and his needs. It wasn’t her fault. She was sure it wasn’t her fault. Except. . if that were true, she wouldn’t be feeling so bad. Like there was a great empty hole where her heart should have been.

How did she let him down? What didn’t she do? Had she failed him in some way? She did everything for him, went out of her way to make sure she was always there for him. Even though that didn’t come naturally for her. No. She didn’t let him down; he let himself down. But she still couldn’t help feeling that someone else might have noticed something.

There had been times when she was. . busy. Working on her own, researching The Flesh Undying and the conspiracy inside the Institute. Doing necessary things, to keep them both safe. She couldn’t be with him every moment of the day. . She stopped dead in her tracks, torn between one thought and another, one feeling and another, her hands clenched into fists. She really was in the mood to hit someone.

She caught a glimpse of her face, in the mirror on top of the chest of drawers. She looked at her reflection; and a madwoman looked back at her. Wide-eyed, snarling mouth, face blotchy from a rush of blood, from the passions that raged within her. She didn’t want to look like that, didn’t want to think she could look like that. . And then Melody looked more clearly and saw there was a man standing right behind her. A tall figure, all in black. She stood very still, and the man leaned forward to speak directly into her ear, from behind.

“Well,” said a cold and nasty voice, “no-one’s going to disturb us now, are they?”

Melody smiled. And back-elbowed the man right under his sternum. All the air went out of him in a rush, and he was already bending sharply forward as she spun round to face him, almost as though he was bowing to her. Melody kicked him accurately and extremely violently in the nuts; and a low, whistling scream forced its way out of the man’s constricting throat. He dropped to his knees before her, both hands pressed over his crotch. Like that was going to help now.

Melody looked her would-be attacker over. A man dressed in black, with a dark balaclava to cover his face. Melody grabbed him by the arm, hauled him back onto his feet, and threw him around the room. She hung on to his arm with both hands, slamming him violently into the furniture and off the walls, while he made horrible noises of pain and distress.

Melody smiled a really unpleasant smile and eventually let the intruder fall to the floor. She kicked him several times, in very painful places, to make it clear she was still mad at him, then stood over her would-be attacker, breathing hard. She had to admit that she did feel better. She’d needed someone to take her frustrations out on. Melody ripped off the dark balaclava and immediately recognised the pale sweating face underneath.

It was Cootes, the local solicitor.

“How did you get in here?” said Melody.

“Sneaked back in, through the rear door,” said Cootes, in a very unsteady voice. “While all the others were hurrying to their cars. No-one noticed I wasn’t with them. I came up here before you did and hid inside your wardrobe.”

“How did you know which room I’d be in?” demanded Melody.

“I don’t know!” said Cootes, miserably. “I just knew. .”

He seemed honestly confused about that. As though he hadn’t even considered the question before. Whatever was working in the inn had messed with his mind. . Not that this in any way excused what he’d intended to do. Nasty little man. .

“Please. .” said Cootes. “I was upset because I wasn’t going to be on television. And because of what your friend said. . Please! Don’t hit me! It was a joke, a bit of fun. .”

“Yeah,” said Melody. “I’m really amused. .”

She grabbed Cootes by the arm and hauled him back up onto his feet. She dragged him over to the door, opened it, and kicked him out onto the landing. He fell sprawling on the floor and scrabbled quickly away on all fours, desperate to put some distance between him and Melody, until he realised she wasn’t coming after him. He rose painfully to his feet and glared back at her, tears of shock and pain and shame coursing down his face.

“I’ll get you for this!”

Melody raised the machine-pistol in her hand and aimed it at him. “No you won’t.”

Cootes swallowed hard, the last of the colour dropping out of his face. He nodded slowly. “I think. . I’ll be leaving now. If that’s all right with you.”

Melody nodded, and he turned and ran for it. She watched Cootes go until he disappeared down the stairs, then she grinned broadly and went back inside her room.

* * *

Happy sat alone, ignoring everything, completely uninterested in his room and its contents. He sat slumped on a stiff-backed chair, before an old-fashioned, black-lacquered writing-desk. He was looking at all the pill bottles and boxes he’d taken out of his suitcase and set out on the desk before him. He honestly hadn’t realised how many there were. All of them carefully labelled in his obsessively neat handwriting. A lifetime’s collection. . of chemical excuses. For not being good enough.

He picked them up and put them down, moving them back and forth in patterns and connections that only made sense to him. Setting them out in possible combinations, considering the effects, and the side effects. . He never used to mix his poisons, but then, he never used to do a lot of things. .

He’d actually created a lot of these pharmaceutical marvels himself, thanks to his access to the Carnacki Institute’s very private laboratories. One of the Institute’s most revered research chemists, a certain defrocked Franciscan monk, a genius with access to unstable compounds, was always ready and willing to help Happy out. If only out of curiosity, to see what Happy would do to himself. Apparently the monk saw Happy as his own personal on-going experiment. He kept saying he was going to write a paper, one of these days, on exactly how much damage the human constitution could stand.

One day, Happy hoped to discover what use the Ghost Finders had for private chemical research. No-one else in the labs would even talk to him, let alone discuss what they were doing, or what they were there for. But given that chemicals had no effect on ghosts, Happy did wonder whether the Institute might be trying to develop better field agents, or at least ones who lasted longer, through creative chemistry. If Happy had only known, he would have volunteered.

Officially, Catherine Latimer had no idea what Happy was doing, down in the very private laboratories. But Happy was pretty sure she did know, really. Or they’d never have let him in in the first place.

He picked up a couple of silver pill boxes and rattled the contents thoughtfully. He needed new combinations now, in increased concentrations, because standard pharmaceuticals didn’t do the job any more. He’d built up a quite frightening tolerance, down the years. And as a result, he’d had no choice but to start experimenting with stronger and stranger things. He’d tried mandrake root and mongoose blood, green tea and monkey glands, and even diluted doses of Dr. Jekyll’s Elixir. That last one, mostly out of curiosity. He’d quite fancied the idea of being someone else for a while. Someone who didn’t have his problems, or weaknesses; or at least someone who wouldn’t care. . Someone new who didn’t scare so easily. But the diluted dose couldn’t even affect his much-altered metabolism; and he was scared to go full Hyde.

In case he couldn’t turn back.

His eyes ranged back and forth across the endless handwritten labels, hoping something would jump out and catch his eye. His drug use had never been recreational, never been about getting off his face. It had always been about keeping the world, and especially the hidden world, outside his head. So he could hear himself think and be sure the emotions he was feeling were just his own. All he’d ever wanted was peace of mind; and after all this time and all this effort, he was no nearer attaining it.

Of course, the job, and the weird experiences, and the constant paranoia didn’t help. But he couldn’t bring himself to quit, not now he knew what the world was really like. Not now his team needed him, more than ever. And besides, where else could he hope to gain access to the kind of chemical help the Institute provided. .

He sat on his uncomfortable chair and listened to the wind and rain batter against the closed window. It sounded. . lost, and alone. Sudden gusts of night air forced their way in through cracks in the warped window frame, fluttering the flowered curtains. Happy could feel the storm raging outside, feel its growing, angry presence, like some terrible wild animal prowling around and around the inn, searching for a weak spot, for a way in. Happy felt a sudden impulse to get up and run out of the inn, rip all his clothes off, and run naked through the storm, defying the lightning to hit him. But he didn’t have the energy.

He was tired all the time now. Woke up tired, spent the day tired, and went to bed tired. Bone-deep, soul-deep, weary. He wanted to sit there in his room and do nothing. . feel nothing. . He wanted to take a pill, any pill, any number of pills, to shock himself out of this. . At least the pills woke him up, gave him a reason to go on, helped him invest himself in the world. Like it mattered. .

The pills made him feel alive, but he didn’t want to take them any more. Because he didn’t like who he was when he took them; because he wanted to be somebody Melody might take back.

Because he had a feeling she might be his last hope. His last life-line.

And because if he did give in to the pills, dived into the great chemical ocean one more time and let it close over his head, he didn’t think he’d be coming back.

While Happy was sitting there, quietly thinking about life and death, he heard the sound of a door opening. He looked at the main door, leading out onto the landing; and it was closed. Happy slowly realised the sound must have come from behind him, from the rear of the room. He pushed his chair back from the writing-desk, turned around in his chair, and looked behind him. A door had appeared in the wall at the back of his room, one Happy was sure hadn’t been there before. He looked at the door. It seemed ordinary enough, set in an ordinary wall. It was standing a little ajar, no more than a few inches. It wanted Happy to get up and come over to it, he could tell. When he didn’t, the door swung wide open, all on its own, revealing a long corridor falling away, lit with a sullen blood-red glow. The walls beyond the door were red, like flesh, or meat. . something quite definitely organic. And repellent.

It was a really long corridor, falling back and back, stretching off into the distance, much further than the inn could have physically contained. And the more Happy looked down the corridor, the longer it seemed to be. There was a feeling of promise to it, that if Happy would walk through the door and down the long red corridor, something would be waiting there for him.

Happy glared at the door, and the corridor beyond, and raised his voice. “Do I look like a tourist? How dumb do you think I am? Piss off!”

The door slammed shut, quite silently, and disappeared. Happy was left looking at a perfectly normal, uninterrupted, deadly dull wallpapered wall. He sighed slowly and turned back to the writing-desk. He wasn’t surprised to find a young woman sitting beside him, on a chair that hadn’t been there a moment before. It wasn’t like she’d appeared out of nowhere. More like she’d always been there and he hadn’t noticed till now. Except Happy knew she hadn’t been there.

The young woman looked real, and solid. She was medium height, with a trim body and long blonde hair falling down around a pretty, heart-shaped face. She had big eyes and a sweet smile. She wore a long white dress-not actually a bridal gown, but that was what Happy thought of when he looked at it. The young woman held her hands neatly folded together in her lap, perfectly calm and peaceful and at ease. She seemed happy to be there with Happy.

He looked at her for a long moment. He didn’t even try to raise his Sight, to See what she really was, what was really going on. Not because he was scared to but because he was so worn-out. . that he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. He wanted someone to talk to, and she would do as well as anyone. And if she turned out not to be real, so much the better. He could be honest with someone who wasn’t really there. He smiled at the young blonde woman, and she smiled back at him.

“I’m tired,” said Happy. “Really, really tired. It’s hard for me to feel anything, to care about anything. Or anyone. Including me. I do try, but. . it’s getting more difficult every day, to force a way through the tiredness, to find a reason to go on. At first, I had the job. I liked helping people, helping the living in their troubles, helping the dead to move on. But the job keeps getting harder, and more complicated, taking more and more out of me, and the pressure never ends. . When the job wasn’t enough any more, I looked for another reason to go on living. Melody tried hard to be that reason, God love her, but. . She did everything she could to distract me from my problems; but she couldn’t solve any of them. She couldn’t save me from being me. So I went back to the pills because the pills were always there.

“The effort wears me out. . the everyday effort of fighting to stay sane. Sometimes I wonder whether it might be better to lie down, and go to sleep, and not have to wake up again. And if God is good, I won’t dream. .”

The young woman shook her head slowly. “Death is worse,” she said. “Trust me.”

She became suddenly, utterly horrible.

* * *

Happy screamed and screamed and screamed. Until Melody kicked his door in and came running into the room, her machine-pistol at the ready in her hand, searching for a target. She was half-expecting another intruder, like the man she’d thrown out of her room, but it only took her a moment to see the room was empty. Apart from Happy, staring at nothing, screaming at the top of his voice. His face was bone-white with shock, his eyes bulging half out of his head.

Melody put her gun away, hurried over to Happy, knelt beside him, and took him in her arms, hugging him to her as tightly as she could. He stopped screaming and buried his face in her shoulder, sobbing like a frightened child. Melody patted his back and murmured comforting words in his ear. She was honestly shocked. She’d seen Happy face down ghosts and gods and everything in between, and never seen his nerve broken this badly. She thought at first he must have taken something, but it only took a glance to see that all the bottles and boxes set out on the writing-table were unopened. And besides, Happy took pills so he wouldn’t have to see the things that frightened him. Melody glared around the empty room, desperate for some enemy to lash out at.

JC arrived a moment later. He stopped abruptly in the open doorway as Melody aimed her machine-pistol at him. She quickly recognised him and lowered the gun. JC took a moment to make sure neither she nor Happy were injured, then he prowled quickly round Happy’s room, checking the place out. He opened the wardrobe and looked inside, looked out the window, checked the tiny bathroom, and even looked under the bed. When he’d satisfied himself that there was no-one else in the room, he went back to Melody and Happy. They were still holding on to each other. Happy had stopped crying, but he was still shuddering uncontrollably. JC raised an eyebrow at Melody, who shook her head. JC did his best to sound calm and reassuring.

“Happy, this is JC. You’re safe now. There’s only Melody and me here. Can you tell us what happened?”

Happy slowly raised his head to look at JC, not letting go of Melody. His eyes were puffy, but his gaze was steady. He tried to explain, talking of a door that came and went, and a blonde woman who wasn’t real, and said things. . but most of what he said made no sense. JC understood. Often, it’s not what actually happens in a haunting that matters; it’s how it makes you feel. Ghosts are very good at finding your weak spots. Your psychic pressure points.

Happy stopped shaking. He took a deep breath and let go of Melody. She immediately let go of him, stood up, and stepped back. Happy mopped at his face with a handkerchief, blew his nose, and rose unsteadily to his feet. He looked at where the door had been in the rear wall, but, of course, there was nothing left to show where it had been because it was never really there. Or at least, never really a door. JC nodded to Melody, and the two of them moved away to stand in the open doorway, so they could talk quietly together.

“This is no ordinary haunted inn, like we were promised!” JC said angrily. “I’ve never seen Happy like that before. . There’s something really bad here. And much more powerful than we were led to believe.”

“I need to set up my equipment,” said Melody. “Get some readings. But it’s all back in my room, and I don’t want to leave him. .”

“It’s all right,” said JC. “I’ll stay with him. I won’t leave him alone for a moment.”

Melody nodded quickly and looked back at Happy. “I’m just popping out,” she said loudly. “Back in a minute.”

Happy barely acknowledged her, his eyes worryingly empty. Melody hurried out the door. JC went back to stand with Happy. He looked at all the pill boxes and bottles set out on the writing-table, and winced. He’d never realised there were so many of them.

“I haven’t taken anything,” said Happy, finally, not looking at JC or the writing-desk.

“Maybe you should,” said JC. “If that’s what it takes to get your head back together.”

Happy looked at his pills. “You’ve got to admit, JC, it’s an impressive collection. Uppers and downers and sideways. . Things to shut my mind down, and others to blast it wide open. Pills to make me brave, or smart; but nothing there to make me strong. How do you do it, JC? How do you stay so confident all the time?”

“Because I’m team leader,” said JC. “And because I’d rather die than let you and Melody down.”

Happy looked at him then and actually managed a small smile. “Word is, you did die, down in the Underground. What was it like?”

“If something like that really did happen,” JC said carefully, “which I am not necessarily ready to accept, I don’t remember.”

“Probably just as well,” said Happy. “Why is it, JC. . that all the people and things we encounter, come back from the dead, are always so very angry?”

“I don’t know,” said JC. “Perhaps the hereafter disappointed them by not being what they wanted it to be. Or perhaps the hereafter didn’t want them because they were unworthy. And spat them out. Mostly, I tend to think of most of the dead things we encounter as escaped prisoners. Jail breakers; bad things, on the run. And it’s our job to herd them up and send them back where they belong.”

“Except that it’s rarely that simple,” said Happy.

“No,” said JC. “But then, life is complicated. Why should death be any different? It’s important to remember that not all ghosts are bad. Case in point. . Kim; would you come in here, please?”

Kim appeared immediately, standing demurely in the middle of the room. She’d refined her ectoplasm again and now seemed to be wearing a Salvation Army Girl uniform, complete with tambourine. She smiled sweetly at Happy and dropped him a wink.

“I thought you could use a little cheering up. Hi, Happy!”

He barely smiled. “Thanks for the thought. How long have you been here, at the inn?”

“Ooh, ages and ages. I got here long before you. I’ve been studying the King’s Arms, inside and out. Dreadful place. Not only the inn, mind you, not just the building, but the whole surrounding area. It’s all soaked and saturated with retained information. Layer upon layer of memories, ghosts, weird phenomena. Some of it going back centuries. .”

Happy was already nodding in agreement. “Yes, called here, like moths to a flame.” He perked up quickly, the colour seeping back into his face as he became intrigued by the problem. “Something must have happened here, long ago, that made such an impact on this site, and this area, that in a sense it’s still happening. A psychic irritant, if you like; like the grain of sand a pearl forms around, inside an oyster. We have to dig down, separate out and identify the original causal agent, and shut it down. Hard. And then everything else should fall apart and disappear. Except, of course. .”

“Nothing’s ever that simple,” said JC.

“You read my mind,” said Happy. “There are ghosts operating here in the inn. But I think that’s just the surface. There are other things here, far more powerful than I am comfortable thinking about. They like being here, like pigs rolling in shit. Something really nasty tried to scare me off. Possibly because it sees me as a threat. I suppose I should feel flattered. . Kim, can you detect anything out of the ordinary in this room with your more-than-ordinary ghostly senses?”

The ghost girl drifted slowly round the room, taking her time. “I don’t See anything,” she said, finally. “Which is, frankly, a bit suspicious. I’ve no doubt something was here, but it’s gone to great lengths to cover its tracks.” She stopped suddenly. “Someone’s coming. A live person.”

She turned to look at the door, and the others did, too. The barman Brook peered in through the open doorway and jumped as he found everyone staring at him. He smiled weakly and nodded but decided not to actually enter the room.

“Sorry to intrude,” he said. “I thought I heard. . something. Thought I’d better. . pop up and check. Is everything all right here?”

He took in Kim properly for the first time, and his eyes widened. She threw him a dazzling smile and rattled her tambourine at him. Brook looked at JC.

“Another one of yours, is she? Working the case on the quiet?”

“You could say that,” said JC.

“Will she be requiring a room, too?”

“Almost certainly not.”

Melody yelled for Brook to get the hell out of her way, and when he jumped back, she barged in through the open doorway, with her suitcase. She opened it and pulled out assorted scientific equipment. She quickly set it all up, talking quickly as she did, perhaps so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge Happy.

“This is all I have with me. Just the basics. A multi-sensor package, linked in to a very discerning computer. It may look to you like a lap-top plugged into a box, with assorted scanners; but it will do the job.”

She piled it all on the bed, then set about firing everything up, still talking to herself. Mostly in terms no-one else there understood. Everyone nodded vaguely, for fear she’d start explaining things. Brook was back peering through the open door again. Still refusing to come in from the landing. Melody studied the readings as they came in and scowled unhappily.

“This inn is old, JC. And I mean really old. We’re talking centuries. . Damn! I’m getting readings that say this building, this basic structure, goes all the way back to the fifth century.”

“Druid time,” said JC, a bit bitterly. “I should have known. . I should have known the Boss wouldn’t send us off to cover some everyday haunting!”

“You think there’s a connection?” said Happy. “Between what happened in London Undertowen and what’s going on here?”

“Don’t you?” said JC. “Go on, Melody. What else have you got?”

Melody scowled at her glowing lap-top screen. “This is really very limited tech, JC. But. . I’m picking up serious dimensions. Weak spots, incursions, doorways opening up to God alone knows where. . There’s so much supernatural activity going on here, it’s weakened the walls of reality, and all kinds of things are getting in.”

She stopped suddenly, to look suspiciously at the rear wall where Happy had seen a door that wasn’t a door.

“You had a visitor here, all right, Happy. And it wasn’t any ordinary ghost or revenant. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such readings, such raw power. . Be grateful your training protected you; it would have eaten the soul off anyone else. I’m not picking up any evidence of a cold spot, though, which is unusual. Did you feel one, Happy, at the time?”

“No,” said Happy.

“Then where was it drawing its power from?” muttered Melody, her fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. “Ah. Yes. I see. . Okay, this is seriously not good, people. There’s a power source here, maybe inside the building, maybe outside. . a really old and really unpleasant power source. Been here for ages, maybe all the way back to the fifth century. . But the really weird thing is, it’s not dissipating. In fact, I’d say it’s still growing, gaining strength all the time. . It’s what all the other phenomena are tapping into.”

“Excuse me,” Brook said diffidently from the doorway. “But what is she talking about?”

“Beats me,” JC said cheerfully. “I’m usually lucky if I get half of it. Mostly I nod and go along.”

“Right,” said Happy. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she made it all up.”

“I do not!” said Melody. “Wait! Wait! Hold on to your underwear, people, I’ve got something. . I think, I might be able to bring your blonde woman back!”

“Oh good,” said Happy. “Just what I wanted.”

“It’s all right,” JC said quickly. “You’re not alone now, Happy. Your team is with you.”

“Right!” said Melody. “Anything that wants to get to you has to go through us first!”

“That doesn’t sound as comforting as you think it does,” said Happy. “This really isn’t a good idea, JC. . I saw. .”

But he still couldn’t put it into words. JC patted him briefly on the shoulder and moved back to stand beside Melody.

“Is this really such a good idea?” he said quietly. “You saw what whatever it was he saw did to Happy. I don’t ever want to see him that upset again.”

“That bitch even looks at my Happy, I’ll rip her ectoplasm off,” said Melody. “Look at him; see the state of him. Whatever this thing was, it really did a number on his head. We have to show him that we can kick its arse. Or he’ll never be any use to us again.”

“Ah well,” said JC. “As long as we’re doing this for the team, and not just for him. .”

Melody scowled at JC and punched a new set of instructions into the keyboard. The scanners hummed loudly, the room seemed to lurch briefly under everyone’s feet, and the door reappeared in the far wall. Looking as though it had been there all the time, waiting for them to notice it. Happy made a small, frightened noise, but held his ground. All the colour had dropped out of his face again, but his eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was firm. JC walked slowly forward, to fix the door with a steady gaze.

“Don’t open it!” Happy said urgently.

But the door was already swinging slowly outwards, of its own accord. There was nothing to be seen beyond it save a flat and empty darkness. And out of that darkness emerged the young woman Happy had seen earlier. She smiled at him, and he flinched; but he still held his ground. Melody left her precious equipment to go stand beside Happy, aiming her machine-pistol directly at the blonde. Who stopped in front of the dark doorway and looked unhurriedly about her.

“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.”