Dead Scared (4 page)

You can’t underestimate the healing powers of a good lolly, regardless of your age. Dougie had devoured one while he’d sat with her, as she talked him through bereavement and
depression. He’d left the room with two more stashed in his pocket, the first of which had already found its way into his mouth as he waited for the headmaster to call him in.

‘Why does he want to see you?’ I asked as we stared at Goodman’s door.

‘Hang on a minute. I’ll just turn on my psychic link.’

Mrs Jolly appeared down the corridor, passing from her office to the staffroom, winking and throwing Dougie a thumbs-up as she went by.

‘She’s ace, isn’t she?’ said Dougie quietly, keeping our chats as secretive as possible after the nurse’s pep-talk. ‘I wish she was my mum.’

‘You really want to consult your dad on that before you marry them off. He might have something to say on the matter. She’s twice his size!’

Dougie smiled.

‘A diet of Drumsticks and Double Lollies will do that.’

We both laughed as the headmaster’s door opened.

‘What’s so funny, Hancock?’

Goodman was a tall, rangy man, with an award-winning comb-over that swept across his bald head. Legend said it was backcombed up from his bum, though nobody was about to investigate. He always
wore the same brown tweed jacket with leather arm patches, and mismatched trousers.

‘Nothing sir,’ said Dougie, recovering his composure instantly.

‘Hmm,’ said Goodman, standing to one side. ‘In you come, boy.’

I hummed the tune to the Imperial March from
Star Wars
as I followed them into the office, blissfully aware that my tomfoolery might set Dougie off again at any moment. I saw his
shoulders shake a little as he sat down in front of Goodman’s desk, the headmaster settling on the other side and leaning back in his leather captain’s chair. His father’s old
mining pick and lantern sat on one shelf of his enormous bookshelf, a reminder of where he’d come from. Goodman was big on tradition and roots. You can take the man out of Yorkshire,
etcetera.

‘You’re not in trouble, Hancock, but you can lose the lollipop for starters.’

Dougie whipped the sweet out of his mouth and sat up straight. Goodman took the school very seriously, commanding respect from pupils and staff alike. You could often find him striding around
the school on his spindly legs, barking orders like that demented bloke from
Fawlty Towers
. Parents, naturally, loved him.

‘I wanted to see you because I’ve been . . . made aware of your circumstances.’

‘I don’t follow, sir.’

‘This talking and muttering to yourself, boy: there’ve been a couple of mentions in the staffroom this morning, and now Mrs Jolly has got me up to speed. I just wanted to say,
Hancock: we can make sure you get help, should you need it.’

It was at this point in time that ordinarily I might have whispered something insensitive regarding a trip to the loony bin, but it suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea. Looking at
it from the school’s perspective, one of their pupils was coming apart at the seams after a seriously traumatic experience. Dougie was having a tough enough time dealing with me being a ghost
– now he had to convince the school that he wasn’t mad.

‘I’m all right, sir. Really.’

‘You sure?’ Goodman leaned over his desk, fingers knitting together as he whispered conspiratorially. ‘Don’t feel you have to bottle things up, Hancock. The best thing to
do is talk about your feelings, understand?’

Dougie nodded, eyes wide and unblinking. This was Goodman trying to ‘be friendly’, and it reminded me an awful lot of a dog attempting to miaow. In all the years I’d been at
school, the headmaster had been many things, but friendly wasn’t one of them. Intimidation was more his style, a fierce glare that commanded respect and produced toilet-related mishaps for
those pupils with the weakest bladders. Dougie and I were used to Goodman’s gruff act now, so seeing him trying to play the ‘nice card’ was slightly unnerving.

I walked around the headmaster’s desk – out of habit, really, as I could just as easily have strode through it – and across to the window. I really did feel like I was
eavesdropping now. I shouldn’t be in here with Dougie as he had a heart-to-heart with Goodman. Maybe there
was
something Dougie wanted to say, but couldn’t with me being present.
I glanced back and hooked my thumb towards the window, mouthing the question: ‘Want me to go?’

Dougie shook his head.

‘There’s really nothing you want to talk about, boy?’ With his dickie-bows and cravats, Goodman looked more like Doctor Who’s dad than a headmaster, but you
wouldn’t dare ask him where he’d parked his TARDIS.

‘Not really, sir. Me and Will were best mates, and I guess . . . I don’t know what I’m thinking at the moment. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to feel.’

‘You’re struggling to deal with the loss, aren’t you? It’s perfectly natural to grieve, Hancock.’

If only it were that easy for Dougie, I thought. I was right there, I wasn’t going anywhere. If I
was
gone he could start to deal with it, but I was still there for him, and he was
still there for me.
Best mates through thick and thin
. And through life and death . . .

I caught sight of Mr Borley, the school caretaker, raking the grass outside Goodman’s office window. Autumn was the busiest time of year for the old man, with every tree in the
neighbourhood managing to dump its dead leaves onto his yards and playing fields. With a thick mop of greying hair on his head and mutton-chop sideburns, he reminded me of old photos of Dad
I’d seen in the family album. Dad had been a bit of a rocker in his youth. Only he’d grown out of it. Didn’t look like Borley ever had. He glanced up towards me suddenly.
Instinctively, I ducked out of sight.

He couldn’t see me, could he?
I looked back at Dougie, who raised an eyebrow as if to say,
What are you hiding from? You’re a ghost, stupid!

I stepped back to the window behind Goodman’s chair and peered out again. There was Borley, bent over his rake, seemingly oblivious. I shivered – ridiculous, I know, considering I
was dead, but it was a deep-rooted nervous reaction. Something wasn’t quite right about Borley, but I didn’t know what.

‘I’m looking out for you, boy,’ said Goodman, standing up and walking to the door. ‘I want you to know that.’

He opened it as Dougie rose from his chair and turned to make his way out of the room. As my pal passed him, Goodman dipped into the chest pocket of Dougie’s blazer and whipped out the
final lollipop.

‘Oh, Drumstick!’ he grinned. ‘My favourite.’

Goodman patted my friend on the back and propelled him out of the door, with me ghosting past in hot pursuit.

‘And remember, Hancock,’ he said as he shut the door, his voice echoing from beyond as he finished the sentence, ‘my door’s always open.’

‘What on earth are you
doing
?
’

Dougie jumped up in bed, suddenly awake, drawing his duvet up under his chin in shock.

‘Oh, don’t be so overdramatic,’ I said, waving his protestations away. ‘I was only watching you while you slept.’

‘Watching me sleep?’ he wheezed. ‘Oh, well that’s a relief. For a moment I thought you might be doing something
really
creepy.’

‘Creepy would be those underpants you’re wearing: The Incredible Hulk? How old are you again?’

‘They were a gift.’

‘When you were seven? Reckon you should’ve moved on by now . . .’

‘Can
we
move on, please? How do we get you to where you need to be? And by that I’m talking about the Great Hereafter or wherever it is you belong. You can’t stay
perched on the foot of my bed like some phantom parrot, pal.’

‘Sorry to freak you out, buddy, but it’s not exactly a cakewalk for me either!’

‘Can’t you go and haunt Lucy Carpenter or something?’

‘Believe me, the last place I want to be is stuck in your room playing Casper the Friendly Ghost while you snore and fart your way to sunrise.’

‘Then why
are
you here?’

I had to think for a moment: it was a fair question. What was it that had drawn me to Dougie? I’d bimbled around his bedroom while he snored, eventually settling at the foot of his bed.
And I’d been quite content there. I can’t say I’d slept – ghosts don’t sleep, I’d learned that very early on – but I felt at peace. Why had I stayed in his
room, crouched over him like some spectral simpleton? There were certainly other places I’d much rather have been: his suggestion of haunting Lucy Carpenter wasn’t a bad one at all.

‘I wish I could tell you, mate, but I haven’t the foggiest idea. This limbo gig doesn’t come with a handbook!’

‘Then perhaps somebody should write one,’ said Dougie.

‘I’ll dictate, you take notes.’

We grinned momentarily before I continued.

‘Well, there’s nobody showing me the ropes. I really can’t put my finger on it, only to say that being here feels . . . right. Can’t be any clearer than that, as I really
don’t get it yet. As for what I
should
be doing, who knows? What do your other ghost mates usually do?’

Dougie clicked his fingers, jumping out of bed and rushing to his bedroom window. Yanking the curtains back, he looked out into the night.

‘You might be on to something. There must be others like you.’

‘Others?’

‘Phantoms, lost souls, ghosts and ghouls; you can’t be alone.’

I joined him at the windowsill, our eyes searching the nearby cemetery. During the day it was a peaceful, restful place, a shortcut to school for many kids. At night, however, a transformation
took place. Gravestones jutted from the thin mist like trolls’ teeth, beyond the back garden fence. It looked like the perfect setting for a haunting, a grim world of gloom and shadows,
straight out of a horror movie.

‘Do you really believe you’re on your own? You can’t be the only restless spirit out there.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Let me grab a torch,’ said Dougie, dashing to the foot of his bed.

‘And your jeans,’ I suggested, catching an unwelcome glimpse of the unsightly superhero pants as he pulled on his trainers.

A loose fence panel enabled Dougie to slip from his garden through to the graveyard, while I simply stepped through the thin timber and materialised on the other side. I was
gradually getting used to the sensation – moving swiftly was the best way to avoid nausea. Though not having a stomach to hurl with certainly helped. Still, going too slowly made my eyes feel
like onions, layer after layer peeling away as I passed through.

‘So, what are we looking for exactly?’ I whispered as I moved alongside my friend, the two of us scouring the darkness for anything supernatural.

‘You tell me,’ he replied. ‘I assumed you’d be all tuned in to whatever frequency ghosts work on.’

‘It’s not like Bluetooth, you know? I’m learning on the job!’

‘You can’t see them?’

‘Tell you what, the minute I do, I’ll let you know.’

‘What, you’re a ghost who can’t see ghosts?’

‘I’ve no idea, I’ve never done this before!’

‘Have to say, mate,’ muttered Dougie, ‘your haunting leaves a lot to be desired. Mooching about all day and night hardly strikes me as constructive use of your afterlife. You
should be out hooking up with some more ghostly folk.’

‘Of course,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘I just need to put my name down for Afterlife Anonymous, get along to the next meeting.’

‘I just think if you’d been searching for some other spirits you might be a little further along by now, uncovering why you’re here. They could help you move on.’

‘There you go again, saying you want me to move on,’ I replied.

‘Well, don’t
you
want to?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t reckon I do. This is my second bite of the apple: I doubt I’ll get another one. If I move on, as you put it, I’m gone for good.’

‘So I’m stuck with you for the foreseeable?’

‘I love you too, big guy,’ I smiled.

‘Which brings us back to what’s actually keeping you here.’

‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m still here because I need to find the driver of the car that killed me. It has to be that.’

‘It
has
to be that?’ exclaimed Dougie, stopping in the mist beside a gnarled old tree. ‘I thought it was love that kept spirits from moving on.’

That was when it came to me, like a lightning bolt out of the blue. The nagging sensation at the back of my mind, that important thing that I had needed to tell Dougie on the night of my death:
I had remembered it. The trauma must have buried the memory.

‘Lucy Carpenter kissed me.’

Naturally, my revelation caused Dougie to halt in his tracks, as if hit by an elephant gun.

‘You lying git,’ he said. ‘You’ve more chance of snatching a smooch off Mrs Jolly!’

‘It’s the truth!’

‘It’s a head trauma,’ scoffed Dougie. ‘That car hit you hard, dude!’

I shook my head, growing more confident with every passing second as my memory returned. The smirk gradually grew into a grin.

‘You think I’d lie about a kiss? What do I stand to gain?’

‘My undying admiration because you snogged the school hottie, for starters.’

‘Enough with the undying,’ I said, suddenly finding a spring in my stride. For the first time since my death, I was beginning to feel positive. ‘Look, I can’t find any
other way of explaining this, but the answer to why I’m a ghost is directly connected to that night. I think it’s discovering the truth that’s keeping me here.’

Dougie glanced around the gravestones, casting his torch about in sweeping arcs. It was clear to the pair of us that the cemetery was devoid of supernatural activity. Whoever the dead beneath
our feet were, it was clear they were resting in peace.

‘This is rubbish,’ he said. ‘We won’t be finding any answers tonight: there’s nothing here. If there are ghosts out there, we’re going to have to cast our net
wider to catch one.’

‘Catch one? Are you a Ghostbuster now? Don’t get all Venkman on me.’