Simon Green - Spirits from Beyond

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

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

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

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

“Is everything all right?” he said carefully.

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you picking up anything, Happy?”

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

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

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

“What kind of something?” said JC.

“Old,” said Happy. “Very old.”

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