Dead Scared (20 page)

‘Eric’s fine,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about him. Look back into your own past, please. What did Goodman do? How did the accident occur?’

‘Please, Will, don’t make me look back there . . .’

‘Trust me, Phyllis, please,’ I begged her, squeezing her hands, brushing the thinning hair away from her skeletal face as it fluttered away like golden cobwebs on the breeze.
‘The answer is in the past. Only you can do this.’

‘I think . . .’ said Dougie, looking through the frosted glass of a doorway. ‘I think that’s the staircase. Perhaps I can make a run for it . . .’

‘What?’ I said, turning my attention back to my friend and away from Phyllis. ‘On one leg? He’s probably waiting outside that door right now, ready to bury that pick in
your back!’

‘I can’t wait here for the damn axe to fall,’ he hissed. ‘If I can get down the stairs, I might be able to get out of the window and start hollering. It’s still
early yet. If I can make it down the drive, someone’s bound to hear. A commuter, anyone.’

‘But can you make it that far?’ I said, grabbing his arm with a ghostly hand, fearful emotions surging through me.

‘I have to try,’ he whispered.

I could have cried looking at Dougie’s face. Blood was drying on his temple. One hand clutched his torn thigh while the other gripped the door handle. The iron knob rattled as the nerves
coursed down his body and through his palm. I closed my hand over his, the shakes ceasing.

‘I’ll be by your side, mate. All the way.’

He nodded and yanked the door open. I peeked back as he set off in a stumbling run across the landing, but there was no sign of Phyllis. She had gone, disappeared into the darkness. I cast my
eyes about, searching the shadows for Goodman. Dougie hit the second-floor banister and began working his way along its length toward the staircase. He snorted through gritted teeth, each step
clearly agony. I felt his pain as if it were my own, the discomfort shared between us. He was about to hit the top step when the pick lashed out from the darkness in the corridor, catching him by
the ankle and bringing him down.

Dougie hit the landing with a thump, rolling over as Goodman’s hands slipped around his throat. Again, I felt Dougie’s pain, a stifling, choking sensation as Goodman squeezed the
life out of us both. He struck my friend’s head on the floor, Dougie’s eyes bulging as he struggled in vain for breath.

She materialised behind Goodman, a smoky black form that coalesced in the gloom. As the shadows took shape, a pair of skeletal hands encircled the teacher’s throat like a noose. She yanked
her tormentor back, instantly tearing him free of Dougie. Her movement had knocked Goodman off balance, and he staggered into the banister on the landing. Dougie gasped for air, rolling on to his
side as Phyllis’ spectral form wavered in front of Goodman.
Now
the headmaster could see her.
Now
he saw his handiwork.

‘It . . . it can’t be,’ he whispered from where he crouched on his knees. ‘You’re
dead.
’

‘By your hand!’ shouted Phyllis, her voice reed-thin and scratchy, like nails down a blackboard. ‘Murderer!’ A green aura shimmered about her wraith-like form, a dread
wind blowing around her as she towered over the headmaster.

‘You’ve got me all wrong,’ he said, beginning to stand, one hand out, imploring, begging forgiveness. ‘It was an accident!’

‘Accident?’ Phyllis gasped, her hand slipping around her own throat. ‘You killed me. Strangled me with your own school tie. I didn’t love you, but I didn’t deserve
to die . . .’

Dougie took a step toward the top of the staircase, the boards creaking beneath his feet. That was all it took. Goodman spun, the pick in his other hand rising high to strike him.

‘Look out!’ I screamed, alerting Dougie to the headmaster’s intentions. My friend leaped forward, crashing into the teacher’s middle and wrestling with him for the pick.
The two of them collided with the banister, the wooden rail splintering as it gave way beneath their combined weight. I looked down, two lofty storeys to the ground far below. The sound of rending
wood echoed through the House as rail, spindles and newel post were ripped free, and the struggling figures both tumbled into thin air. Towards their deaths.

‘Leap!’ I screamed, barging my friend free of Goodman’s grasp and propelling him further out into space. Dougie collided with the great chandelier, its cobweb-covered crystals
rattling as he was snared within its ornate arms and finials. The brass column lurched, grinding against its ceiling housing as Dougie’s weight threatened to tear it free, but somehow it
held, turning on its bracket and dislodging an avalanche of dust. I remained on the broken balcony, staring the short distance across to my friend where he was suspended, safe from harm. I peered
over the edge, expecting to see Goodman far below.

The head of the pickaxe was embedded into the floorboards on the edge of the landing, while the shaft hung down over the landing’s edge. Goodman hung from the end of it, both hands
gripping the wood as his feet struggled for purchase against the wall. Digging the toes of his boots into the thin cracks of crumbling mortar, he looked across to Dougie with a grin.

‘Well, boy,’ he snarled, ‘sitting pretty there, aren’t you? Hang about and I’ll be with you momentarily.’

With horror I watched Goodman raise one hand over the other, slowly hauling himself higher and walking up the wall. The axe head creaked where it was buried in the landing, the tool straining
under the weight of the advancing headmaster. He grunted as he climbed, his eyes wild with murderous intent, his comb-over stuck to his sweat-slick bald head.

‘Couldn’t stay away, could you? Meddling little oik. Well, you like the ghosts so much, you can join them.’

The chandelier jingled as Dougie nervously shifted. He was a sitting duck. Once Goodman got back on to the landing, it would be the end for all of us. With Dougie gone, what would happen to me?
We were joined at the hip, inseparable. Would he join me in limbo – or something worse?

Goodman’s fingers scrabbled over the edge of the landing, their torn and bloodied tips struggling for purchase. I stared at the hand, a killer’s hand. He needed to be stopped.
Reaching forward I gripped the ring finger and focused, prising it loose. It pinged free, followed by the little finger as I looked over the ledge and glared down at Goodman.

‘You’re done hurting people,’ I whispered as his terrified eyes finally focused on me. I don’t know what it was that suddenly allowed him to see me. Perhaps having seen
Phyllis, his mind was now open to the possibility of ghosts. The same had happened with Dougie, after all, once I’d first visited him.

‘Underwood,’ he burbled, spittle foaming on his lips. ‘Think of what you’re doing, lad!’

I hesitated, my hand wavering over his straining thumb, index and forefinger. Could I do it? Could I take someone’s life? Would that make me any better than him? Before I could decide I
felt a cold presence at my side, turning to find Phyllis had joined me. Her phantom black hand closed over mine, drawing it back.

‘Let me do this,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have to.’

‘But you can’t move things in the physical world, Phyllis, remember?’ I said. ‘It has to be me.’

‘You’ve a good heart, Will. You couldn’t take a man’s life, no matter how evil.’

My shoulders sagged, the tears welling in my eyes as I looked across to Dougie. My friend stared back, a terrible understanding and realisation on his face.

I heard Goodman’s low chuckle. ‘Well isn’t that a shame? One of you
can
harm me but won’t, and the other
wants
to but can’t. Stand aside, children.
Let me show you how this is done.’

His other hand came up, seizing the head of the pick axe where it joined the shaft, Goodman’s face rising above the landing’s edge. The blade bit the board even deeper, twisting
position with the sudden movement, the spongy timber crumpling around it. The sound of groaning wood made all three of us look back as the floor began to buckle, nails and screws uprooted as the
ground began to lose its integrity. The gleeful look was washed off Goodman’s face as he let go of the pick, the tool tearing free from the splintering timber flooring and tumbling into space
behind him. It landed on the ground floor with an almighty
thunk
, embedded into the soiled lobby carpet, the other end of the axe head pointing skyward.

The floorboards were tearing free around Goodman now, crumbling as he grabbed them and clattering from the landing. He slipped back with a screech, his sweaty hands snatching at the exposed
joists, sliding ever closer to the drop, palms full of splinters.

‘Help me,’ he wheezed.

I threw my hands forward, ignoring my darker instincts. I snatched at his forearms as he continued to lose his grip, his fingers now leaving furrows in the disintegrating wood. I focused all my
energy on Goodman’s wrists, holding on tight, willing myself to halt his progress. Even Phyllis wrapped her arms about me trying to help. It was all in vain. Goodman tumbled back, his fists
full of decayed timber, screaming as he cartwheeled backwards through the air. Dougie, Phyllis and I looked away, unable to watch the headmaster’s descent. Goodman plummeted to the ground two
floors below, his scream cut short as he landed on the pick in the centre of the lobby.

In the moments immediately after Goodman’s death, the House, and all within, appeared to be in a state of shock. A deafening silence had fallen over the building, every
noise muted as if heard underwater. Ghost though I was, my ears felt like they’d popped and my vision wavered. I was at ground zero in the aftermath of a bomb attack. I collapsed onto the top
step of the staircase, holding my head in my hands as I tried to fix my gaze upon Dougie in the chandelier. Goodman’s wasn’t the first horrible death Red Brook House had witnessed, but
we had to pray it was the last.

The aftershock lifted, the dust slowly settling across the stairwell and entrance hall, and the world returned to normal. Well, the normality that one expected when one was a ghost. The grating
jangling of the chandelier brought me out of my daze as it swung suddenly, Dougie at the heart of it, looking to leap across to the staircase. More dust came down, followed by plaster, as the
elaborate light fixture groaned under his weight.

‘Stay put, Dougie, for God’s sake!’ I said as he dangled from the ceiling, surrounded by crystals and cobwebs. ‘That thing could give at any moment.’

‘You don’t say?’ he said sarcastically as the chandelier groaned.

‘Are you hurt? You OK?’

‘Never better,’ he replied through gritted teeth. ‘Would now be a good time to mention my vertigo?’

‘I never knew you were scared of heights.’

‘Neither did I until I ended up hanging on a rickety chandelier that might send me crashing to my death.’

I tried to smile, tried to laugh to show him I was with him, but it caught in my throat. After all the night’s events, all I now wanted was to see him safe again. But what could I do? I
couldn’t run out of the door and fetch help. I couldn’t open a window and shout for someone. I was tied to Dougie, already at my elastic limit, sat watching him, fearful of his ongoing
predicament.

I glanced over the edge of the broken banister, turning away instantly when I saw Goodman’s busted body far below. To my relief, I found Phyllis sat beside me, no more the blackened
banshee from moments ago. She was her ghostly self once again, the torment lifted with the passing of Goodman. She rested her head on my shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘It’s over,’ she whispered. ‘It’s gone. I could leave here now.’

‘Do you want to?’ I asked.

‘The House has been my home for ages. I’ve roamed the corridors, stared out of its windows and sat in that classroom for longer than I care to remember. More than a home, it’s
been my prison. I don’t . . . feel I need to stay here any longer.’

‘This sounds an awful lot like a goodbye,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t have to be. You could come with me.’

I smiled. ‘I don’t think I could do that. You’ve grown tired of your un-life. I get that: I understand it. If you’d have lived you’d be well into your sixties by
now, like Goodman and Borley. Ghost I might be, but I’m also still a teenage boy. This is new to me. I died before my time, with so much more that I wanted to do in life. I’ll never get
the chance to achieve those things now, but who knows what I might be able to do in death? There are other ghosts in this world, all stuck here in limbo. Why are they here? What terrible thing has
stopped them from moving on? There are mysteries that I can solve, I’m sure of it, just as we solved your mystery, Phyllis.’

‘Just as you solved mine?’ she smiled. ‘You got the wrong bloke arrested!’

I laughed. ‘Yeah, but we got the right guy in the end, didn’t we? I can do some good. There’s a life I can live even though I’m dead. I’ve an opportunity here,
alongside that muppet over there,’ I said, pointing to Dougie as my friend waved back.

Phyllis glanced back over her shoulder and I followed her gaze. At the end of the corridor a light shone from her classroom, bright and brilliant as it spilled out of the doorway.

We both stood, Phyllis straightening her pinafore. Sniffing back a tear she called across to Dougie. ‘You look after him, you hear?’

I peeked past her down the corridor, toward the bright light. I wondered if I walked down there now and stepped through the doorway whether it would all be over in a blink of an eye . . . She
squeezed my hand.

‘Goodbye, Will Underwood,’ she whispered, kissing me on the cheek. ‘Don’t let death hold you back. Go out there, my friend. Live.’

I reluctantly released her hand, our fingertips lingering until the last moment, as she turned and departed along the corridor. I turned away when I saw her reach the open doorway of her
classroom, bathed in the warm, golden light. I closed my eyes as I heard the door close shut behind her.

We were alone until dawn. That was when the first squad car pulled up at the head of the drive to Red Brook House. They’d spied Goodman’s car beside the open gates, left there by the
headmaster the previous evening. Once Dougie’s dad had reported his disappearance, the word had gone round the neighbourhood like wildfire, with every able man, woman and teenager searching
for his whereabouts. A crowd had soon descended – including the local press – as the grim discovery of Goodman’s body was the first thing to greet the police upon entering the
House. The second was the teenage boy suspended from the ceiling two storeys overhead.