Simon Green - Spirits from Beyond

The bar itself seemed surprisingly modern, with all the most up-to-date features and fittings. Gleaming metal and polished wood stood out proudly alongside more traditional items like horse brasses and stuffed and mounted wildlife. Large blackboards offered surprisingly ambitious bar food and reasonably expensive wines. The whole place felt cosy and comfortable, easy on the eyes, with a good ambience-everything you’d expect from a standard country inn. Except JC couldn’t keep from wondering: why was the building positioned so far outside the town?

Brook started to explain to everyone why he’d called in professional ghost hunters, but JC quickly cut him off. If there was information to be handed out, he wanted to be in charge of it.

“So!” he said brightly to the attentive crowd. “What are you all doing here on such a miserable night?”

“No need to hide the real reason for your visit,” said a red-faced farmer type, nodding and almost winking. “Eli Troughton, dairy farmer. That’s me. We all know why you’re here. Where are the cameras?”

“What?” said JC.

“I thought they’d send someone famous,” said a tall, wispy goth girl, dressed in every shade of black. “I don’t recognise any of them.”

“What?” said Melody.

“I expect you’ll want to hear all the stories, eh?” said an expensively suited man who looked like a local solicitor. “I’m Michael Cootes, local solicitor.”

“Famous for its ghosts, is the King’s Arms,” said a very blonde young lady. “I’m Jasmine. Will there be photographers? I take a very good photo if I say so myself.”

“What?” said Happy.

“Famous for its stories, but not quite famous enough, eh Adrian?” said Troughton; and everyone present laughed loudly.

JC felt very much that he’d like to be let in on the joke. He looked at Brook, who was back behind the counter; and the barman quickly declared that the team’s first drinks were on the house. So JC had a large brandy, Melody had a gin and tonic, and Happy, rather surprisingly, asked for a glass of Perrier. Presumably because he didn’t need anything else. Melody shot him a quick glare that very clearly said You’re not fooling anyone . Happy looked down his nose at her and sipped his sparkling water with his little finger extended. JC gave Brook a hard look, and the barman nodded quickly.

“I’ve been telling my patrons all about you,” he said defensively. “The three best professional ghost hunters in the game today, come all the way up here from London, to help put things right here. That’s why the place is so full tonight.”

“Like when the BBC filmed Songs of Praise in the local church,” said Cootes. “You couldn’t move in the pews for new frocks and big hats. Vicar hadn’t seen a congregation that big in years. Got stage-fright in the pulpit, and the verger had to take over.”

“If you’re the Ghostly Busters,” said Jasmine, “shouldn’t you be wearing those big nuclear packs on your backs?”

“You’re thinking of the other guys,” Melody said coldly. “We’re professionals. They’re fictional.”

“Even so,” said Troughton, “don’t you have hawthorn and garlic, crosses and holy water; all that stuff?”

“That’s for vampires,” said JC. “We don’t do vampires. That’s another department. We’re here to investigate the situation and see what needs doing. If anything does.”

“But where are your cameras?” Jasmine said doggedly. “I had my hair done specially for the cameras!”

“What cameras?” said Happy.

“For the television programme!” said Cootes. “For the show! You’re here to make a show about the King’s Arms and its ghosts, aren’t you? Like Mostly Haunted ?”

JC looked at Brook, who flinched, then shrugged. “I had to explain it to them in terms they would understand, Mr. Chance.”

“Which of you is the psychic?” said Troughton. He grinned at Melody. “She looks like she could get inside a man’s head.”

“Ms. Chambers is our scientific expert,” said JC. “Mr. Palmer here is our resident psychic.”

Everyone in the main bar immediately turned their gaze on Happy. He wasn’t pleased about that but did his best to bear up under the close inspection. The most common reaction in the crowd was disappointment, in that Happy appeared so ordinary and unprepossessing. They’d clearly been hoping for someone a bit more. . exotic. They couldn’t see Happy doing the whole rolling-on-the-floor and speaking-in-tongues bit.

“All right then,” said Cootes, leaning forward on his chair to fix Happy with a challenging stare. “Show us something. Go on.”

“Oh, this can only go well,” murmured Melody.

Happy looked straight back at Cootes, his face surprisingly calm and composed. “I don’t do party tricks. Neither am I a performing dog.”

“Thought so,” Cootes said loudly, looking about him triumphantly. “Fake. They fake it all, for the television.”

“We are not part of any television show,” said Happy.

“Fake, fake, fake,” said Cootes, grinning broadly.

“All right,” said Happy.

“Oh dear,” said JC, quietly.

Happy looked thoughtfully at Cootes. “You want me to tell everyone here something about you? Something only you would know?”

“Give it your best shot,” said Cootes, openly defying him.

“You watch a lot of porn, last thing at night,” said Happy.

Cootes stiffened in his chair. “You’re guessing. You could say that about anyone.”

“But you do it while wearing your mother’s dress,” said Happy.

Cootes’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. And in the time it took him to work out a convincing denial, the moment passed. Everyone in the bar erupted with laughter, seeing the truth in his face. Cootes looked like he wanted to get up and leave, but he was trapped in the middle of the crowd. So he buried his face in his glass and ignored everyone. JC took the opportunity to call for a round for everyone. To make up for not being television people and, hopefully, to loosen them up enough to get them talking. Everyone crushed up before the bar, happy at the prospect of a free drink. A little later, while they were all settling down again, JC got Brook to himself, for a moment.

“Why are you working alone tonight?” said JC, bluntly. “You must have known there was going to be a crowd in. Where’s the rest of your staff?”

“There’s no-one but me,” Brook said quietly. “Can’t keep staff. Not here. I advertise in all the local papers, offer really good wages, hoping to bring people in from outside who don’t know the stories. . but I can’t get anyone to stay for long. Not once things start happening. Even the local trade’s dropping off even though the townspeople have been coming here for generations. Point of pride, that they aren’t afraid of no ghosts. But there’s only a crowd in here tonight because there’s safety in numbers. And even the regulars won’t stay too late. They don’t like to go home in the dark. .”

He moved quickly away and called for his patrons’ attention. They all quietened down, quickly enough. They seemed a good-natured crowd.

“These ghost hunters are here because the King’s Arms is justly famous for its many ghost stories,” said Brook. “But recently, I think it’s fair to say that things have been getting out of hand. I’ve been having trouble coping; you all know that. .”

“What ghost stories?” said JC, cutting in quickly when it became clear Brook was having trouble getting the words out. “Are we talking actual hauntings? Has anyone here actually seen a ghost? Personally?”

It all went very quiet. Everyone looked at everyone else, clearly waiting for someone else to start. In the end, Troughton sat up straight and nodded firmly to JC.