Simon Green - Spirits from Beyond

“I’m not cleaning this up!” Melody said immediately, glaring at the mess around her. “I do not do cleaning up!”

“It’s true,” said Happy. “She doesn’t. But since I really don’t want to go back upstairs yet, I’m prepared to do a little light tidying, as long as it doesn’t involve actual effort.”

“I want to go see the ghost,” said Melody, sticking out her lower lip. “Why can’t I go and see the ghost? I’ll be quiet.”

“Too many people at once might frighten her,” JC said firmly. “Besides, do you really want to leave Happy down here, on his own?”

Melody shot a quick look at Happy and said nothing. JC turned to Kim.

“Be a dear, Kim, and go take a proper look outside. Several quick circuits of the pub, then go flit around the fields. See if you can track down this mysterious local power source. But don’t go too far, or get too close to anything unnatural. I’m becoming increasingly convinced that with this much raw power around, there are dangers here for the dead as well as the living.”

“Anything for you, sweetie,” said Kim. And she strode determinedly back through the wall again. Brook shuddered quickly and headed for the stairs at the back of the bar. JC went with him.

“Lydia’s room is at the far end of the landing,” Brook said quietly. “Every now and again I unlock the door and take a quick look inside. Make sure she’s still there, and that she’s. . all right. But I never go in.”

He started up the stairs, but JC stopped him with a sharp gesture. Brook started to say something, and JC gestured savagely for him to be quiet. JC stood very still at the bottom of the stairs, hidden in the shadows, and listened carefully. Because he wanted to know what Happy and Melody might say once they thought he wasn’t around. Because he needed to know how things really were with them.

There was a long pause, then. .

“Just because I’m talking to you again, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re forgiven,” said Melody.

“I had sort of got that,” said Happy. “Even though I’m still not sure why you’re so mad at me.”

“You have got to be kidding,” said Melody. “Really? Why am I so mad at you? You went back on your pills, and you didn’t tell me! Are you crazy? ”

“Sometimes,” said Happy. “Goes with the territory. We both do what we have to, to survive what the hidden world throws at us. You lean on your machines, I lean on my medications.”

“My machines aren’t killing me by inches!” snapped Melody.

“But I can’t live without my support mechanisms,” said Happy.

“Aren’t I enough for you?” said Melody.

“I hoped you would be,” said Happy. “God knows I wanted you to be everything I needed. You did try. I know that. But you can’t protect me from the pressures of the hidden world the way my pills can. Every day, it gets that little bit harder to keep the bad stuff outside my head. I’m fighting a war, Mel; and I’m losing.”

“Oh, Happy. .” said Melody. And JC winced to hear the helplessness in her voice.

There was another long pause, and then. .

“Isn’t there any special tech you could put together, to help me?” said Happy. He sounded very tired, and desperate. “Some machine that would shut down my ESP and make the world bearable?”

“I have done some research,” said Melody. She sounded tired, too. “The only thing I found that might work would just as likely destroy your mind. Lobotomise you. You wouldn’t be you any more.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Happy said gently. “I think. . I’d find that a relief.”

Another long pause.

“Is there nothing else I can do for you?” said Melody.

“Yes,” said Happy. “Hold me, while I’m dying.”

JC followed Brook up the stairs, sticking close behind the barman so he couldn’t slow down, or have second thoughts. Brook stepped out onto the landing, looked quickly around him into the gloom, took a deep breath, and turned on the lights. JC moved quickly off the top step and onto the landing beside the barman. After listening to Brook’s tales of terror about what the rooms got up to, JC was ready to see the landing with new eyes; but instead he was pleasantly surprised to find it looked like a landing. A long corridor stretching away to both sides, illuminated by reassuringly steady electric lights, with all the doors safely closed. Nothing moved anywhere, and everything seemed entirely still and quiet and peaceful.

JC looked at Brook. The barman was doing his best to look prepared and composed, but already a fresh sheen of sweat was appearing on his grey, haunted face. He looked like a man going to his own execution. He looked like a man. . who had good reason to be scared. JC patted Brook on the shoulder, and gave the barman his best reassuring smile. Brook did not appear particularly convinced.

After looking up and down the corridor several times, Brook gathered up his nerve and led the way down the left-hand corridor. The only sound on the quiet of the landing was the steady tread of shoes on thinly carpeted floor-boards. JC kept a careful eye on every door they passed, braced for any one of them to suddenly swing open, so Something could jump out and drag them in. . but the doors were only doors, and didn’t so much as stir as JC and Brook passed.

Until they came to the final door, at the very end of the corridor. It looked like all the other doors. Brook stood and looked at it for a long moment, and JC had enough sense not to hurry him. Brook leaned in close, almost but not quite pressing an ear up against the wood, and listened. Then he straightened up, took out his key ring, selected one, and unlocked the door. Another deep breath, and he threw the door open and stepped back, gesturing for JC to go in.

JC looked thoughtfully at Brook; but the barman stood his ground. The expression on the barman’s face made it very clear that he had no intention of going into the room. JC could go in if he wished. . but on his own head be it. Brook would be staying on the landing. JC shrugged quickly, gave Brook another reassuring smile, and strode confidently in. On the grounds that there was nowhere he feared to tread. Because this, after all, was just another haunting; and JC knew what to do with ghosts.

* * *

Once inside the end room, JC immediately understood why Brook had first mistaken the haunted room for another Timeslip. The ghost girl hadn’t only brought herself back; she’d manifested her old surroundings as well. The room reeked of the 1970s. The decade that taste forgot, or at least gave up on. JC recognised the era immediately, from the terrible earth brown and faded yellow colours, the Laura Ashley wallpaper, and the big, chunky furniture. JC stood in front of the open doorway and looked around, taking his time. He could sense Brook hovering behind him, peering in from a safe distance. Daylight from some past Time poured in through the window, filling the room with a cheerful, midday glow. It all looked very real, very solid, for one dead girl’s memory.

Lydia was sitting in a chair by an empty fire-place; and JC knew her immediately for a ghost. She looked real enough, solid enough; but you only had to look at her to know she wasn’t alive. Lydia sat at her ease in an overstuffed chair, reading a copy of Nova magazine with a photo of a young Germaine Greer on the cover. She seemed completely absorbed in her reading, so JC cleared his throat politely. Lydia raised her head, looked around, then smiled easily at JC. She seemed a little surprised but not in any way disturbed or frightened, at finding a strange man in her room. As though she knew she had nothing to be scared of. She started to get up, and JC gestured quickly for her to remain seated.