Simon Green - Spirits from Beyond

“What’s your hurry?” said JC. “You weren’t in any rush to get here.”

“I need to get back to town before the flood-waters cut off the only road,” said the driver.

Which was reasonable enough; but there was something in the man’s voice, and in his manner, which suggested there was a lot more to it than that. When JC didn’t respond immediately, the driver glanced about him in a jumpy sort of way. He was definitely scared of something. He wouldn’t even look at the inn itself. JC took pity on the man and gave him ten pounds. The driver stuffed the note in his pocket without even looking at it and hurried back to his taxi. He opened the door, then stopped and looked back, as though prodded by some last vestige of conscience.

“You’re not actually thinking of staying the night here, at the King’s Arms; are you?” he said roughly.

“Yes,” said JC. “Any reason why we shouldn’t?”

The taxi-driver shuddered briefly. “Then may God have mercy on your souls.”

He clambered quickly back behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, turned the taxi around, and set off down the waterlogged road, driving a lot faster than was safe. His lights soon disappeared into the dark green corridor and were gone. The three Ghost Finders looked at each other, then at the inn. Seen through the driving rain, the bright lights shining through the old-fashioned leaded windows seemed especially cheerful and inviting.

“Looks cosy enough to me,” JC said determinedly. “We can check out the pub’s history tonight, do whatever needs doing tomorrow, after Melody’s equipment has arrived, then maybe take a few days off, for a nice little holiday. I think we’ve earned one. Good food, good drink, good company, and all of it at the Institute’s expense. Doesn’t that sound splendid, my children?”

“Your optimism never ceases to amaze me,” said Happy. “You should know better than that by now. I told you; this is a bad place! I mean, look at it! That pub’s thirty feet away if it’s an inch, and already I’m getting bad vibes. Given the sheer age and accumulated history of that place, it’s probably crawling with ghosts and ghoulies and long-leggity beasties. And I hate long-legged things. Including supermodels. It’s not natural to be that bony.”

“We only deal in ghosts,” said JC. “For anything else, they can call RentaKill.”

“Can we please get in out of the rain?” Melody said forcefully. “Before we all drown?”

And she headed determinedly for the main entrance, hauling her large suitcase along behind her like a reluctant dog. Happy picked up his suitcase and went after her, splashing deliberately through every puddle along the way to demonstrate what a rotten day he was having. JC grabbed his case and started after them, then stopped and looked about him.

“Kim?” he said. “Is that you? Are you here with us?”

There was no reply. JC went after the others.

* * *

He had to turn this way and that, squeezing his way through the narrow gaps between the closely packed vehicles. Big and small, rich and poor-must be a hell of a turnout at the pub, thought JC. Maybe it’s quiz night. . And then he stopped, as he realised Happy and Melody had stopped, barely half-way through the car park. JC moved forward to stand beside Happy, who was clutching his lightweight suitcase to his chest.

“Tell me that case isn’t just full of pills,” said JC.

“It isn’t just full of pills,” said Happy, not even looking round. “Travel light, travel fast, that’s what I always say. Because you can’t make a hurried exit from a scene of imminent peril if you’re dragging heavy luggage along behind you. I know; I’ve tried. Amazing what you can bring yourself to abandon if Something is catching up with you. These days my suitcase contains a thermos full of hot chicken-and-sage soup, an assortment of useful items, and my pyjamas. I don’t normally bother with such things, but I always wear pyjamas when I’m away. In case there’s a fire. Or a burglar. Everyone knows burglars are frightened of pyjamas. Or is it a chair and a whip? I can never remember. .”

“You took something in the toilet on the last train, didn’t you?” said JC.

“Possibly,” said Happy. “Who can say? I might be naturally cheerful. It does happen. On occasion.”

“Junkie,” said Melody.

“Kill-joy,” said Happy.

“Children, children,” said JC. “Why have we stopped?”

“Because we’re not alone,” said Happy. “There’s someone else here, in the car park with us. Or, more likely, Something.”

JC looked carefully around him. Moonlight and light from the pub’s windows washed across the great hulking shapes that filled the car park. Everything seemed still and peaceful. And then something moved, between the parked cars, a dark, shadowy shape, moving quickly in and out of sight. JC pressed forward, threading his way through the parked vehicles to where he saw the shape; but when he got there, there was no-one. JC and Happy and Melody moved quickly back and forth between the cars, splashing through the puddles. Again and again, they all saw the dark shape, flitting soundlessly, disappearing in a moment, but they couldn’t even get close to it. In the end, JC got fed up with being led around by the nose and turned his back on the cars. He walked determinedly towards the pub, and the others went after him. And if they caught a swift movement out of the corner of their eye, they ignored it.

“Probably someone playing games,” JC said loudly.

“Or Something,” Happy said helpfully.

“Look, are you picking up on anyone? Or anything? No? Then we are going inside,” said JC, firmly. “Now, we are about to enter a public house, full of civilians. So I want us all to show a confident and united front, or I may or may not wait until we are alone to dispense savage beatings.”

“Bully,” said Happy.

* * *

They hurried through the main entrance and found themselves at one end of the main bar; a large open space full of bright lights, wonderfully warm and dry, with a whole crowd of people sitting at tables and standing the length of the long bar-counter. All conversation stopped the moment the three Ghost Finders made their entrance. Everyone turned, or at the very least lowered their drinks, the better to look over the newcomers. It was like facing a solid wall of expectant faces. And then the barman came bustling out from behind the bar-counter to greet them, beaming happily. A big, beefy, older man, with carefully styled grey hair and a hard-used face, wearing traditional country-bartending clothes. He made a point of shaking hands vigorously with all three of them.

“Welcome, welcome! Adrian Brook, proprietor of the King’s Arms, at your service! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t get here tonight, what with the weather and all; but here you are! Good to see you all! No need to introduce yourselves; the Institute contacted me earlier, gave me all the details. . Your reputation precedes you! Now, let me introduce you to the regular crowd.”

Which was all cheerful enough; but behind Brook’s blustering bonhomie, JC could sense a not particularly well-hidden desperation. Like a drowning man clutching at a life-belt.

Some thirty or forty men and women looked eagerly at JC, Happy, and Melody, as Brook introduced them all by name, as professional ghost hunters. He didn’t mention the Carnacki Institute; but then, it was doubtful anyone present would have recognised it anyway. Still, they all seemed pleased enough, and casual enough, with the idea of ghost hunters. Which suggested they took ghosts seriously here. JC looked the crowd over carefully. A fair mix: young and old, prosperous and less prosperous. Pretty much every social group, represented somewhere. They all had wide smiles, and searching eyes. Brook kept up a cheerful stream of chatter as he took the team’s coats, hung them up, and handed them each a towel to mop their faces and rub at their wet hair.