Dead Scared (5 page)

‘I ain’t afraid of no ghost! Not if they’re all like you, anyway. I’ve seen scarier episodes of
Scooby-Doo.
’

‘There’s nothing scarier than those underpants.’

‘Don’t diss the growlers, pal!’ said Dougie, turning on his heel and promptly tripping over an upturned root hidden beneath the mist. The root suddenly moved, leading to a
frightened yowl from my friend as he scrambled backwards. A dark shape ran between the graves, its fleshy tail snaking behind it as the creature fled from the teenager.

‘Ain’t afraid of ghosts, but a rat makes you scream like a girl!’

‘Shut it, Casper!’ said Dougie, scrambling to his feet, mud covering his dressing gown as it flapped open in the breeze. ‘I hate rats, as well you know!’

‘I think you just soiled the Hulk,’ I laughed. ‘Way to make him angry!’

‘I’m not joking, Andy,’ said Stu Singer, reaching across the table to grab a slice of pizza. ‘He’s being haunted by Will!’

Andy Vaughn, Dungeon Master of our small band of geeks, glanced up wearily and shook his head.

‘For a clever lad you can be extremely gullible, Stu. He’s pulling your leg. Tell him, Dougie, and put the idiot out of his misery.’

‘Can we just get back to the game, please?’ said Dougie, trying to change the subject as he picked up the die and rolled it across the table. The twenty-sided gem bounced off the
pizza box and rattled to a halt. Andy leaned forward from behind his Dungeon Master’s screen, peering over the edge of his glasses to inspect the roll.

‘Seven. That’s a fail. You’ve picked the chest’s lock all right, but you feel something sharp prick your thumb.’

Stu laughed at Dougie’s misfortune, showing the true camaraderie that provided the heart of every adventuring party in the world of roleplaying games. ‘Can I have a look at
what’s inside?’ he said, showing more interest in the chest’s contents than the injury Dougie’s halfling thief had sustained.

‘Watch him,’ I whispered. ‘He’ll nick the lot.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ exclaimed Dougie. ‘Can we just resolve what’s happened to me before you loot the chest? I get first dibs as it was me who picked the lock,
remember?’

Stu leaned back in his chair, waving his pizza slice triumphantly. ‘You go for it, Dougie. I can wait until you’re dead.’

‘You’re supposed to be a blooming cleric, aren’t you?’ grumbled Dougie. ‘You’re the worst holy man I’ve ever met!’

‘So Stu is saying you’re being haunted by Will?’ asked Andy. ‘Do you remember when he spent an entire summer telling everyone dwarves don’t have knees?’

‘They don’t!’ exclaimed Stu.

‘They do, Stu,’ replied Dougie with a sly grin. ‘But you can thank Will for that one. It was his idea to tell you that.’

‘Thanks, Will,’ said Stu into thin air.

‘No worries,’ I said, knowing he wouldn’t hear me.

‘Will says, “
No worries
”,’ said Dougie, passing on my comment.

While Stu smiled to be acknowledged by me, Andy laughed, forgetting the game and staring at Dougie incredulously.

‘You
genuinely
think that the spirit of Will came back from the dead? Why on earth would he bother haunting
you
?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Dougie, spinning the odd-shaped dice on the table. ‘Reckons he’s got unfinished business.’

‘Dude, you’re as gullible as Stu!’

‘It’s true,’ sighed Dougie. ‘He’s here with me now. He’s
always
here.’

I didn’t miss the hint of annoyance in Dougie’s voice. Fond of each other though we were, we hadn’t been apart since the evening after my cremation – that never sounds
any less ridiculous – and it was clear my presence was wearing him down. I felt bad, but what could I do? For whatever reason, I’d gravitated toward my friend. I was drawn to him as
sure as a pensioner goes for a profiterole. If anything, the more time we’d spent in one another’s company, the stronger that bond had become, to such a point that I felt nauseous at
the prospect of being apart from Dougie. I was drawing strength from my best mate, there were no two ways about it.

‘Will? An ever-present phantasm?’ Andy shook his head. ‘No, I’m not having that. I need proof.’

I stepped around the table and looked at the open rulebook in front of him, obscured from the others by his cardboard screen. A quick glance over Andy’s shoulder at the contents on the
page gave me all the information I needed.

‘Tell him he’s on page forty-seven of the rulebook and that the chest’s booby-trapped with a poison dart which will kill when you fail a saving throw. Tell him also that the
chest contains eighty-one gold pieces, a giant ruby, a bottomless bag of holding and a gauntlet of smiting. Also tell him he’s got a humungous zit on the back of his neck. I’d stand
well clear if I were you.’

Dougie recounted this information to Andy, embellishing the last fact by saying I’d described the zit as a volcano ready to blow. Andy winced as he ran his hand nervously across his neck,
examining the rulebook before him. The colour came fast to his cheeks.

‘You must have this book or something, that’s the only explanation,’ he said in a fluster.

‘No,’ said Dougie. ‘It’s
not
the only explanation, is it? Will’s here, with us right now, and he’s going nowhere.’

‘And what’s the unfinished business which is keeping him here?’ asked Andy, warily warming to the idea.

‘Perhaps it’s love?’ offered Dougie with a sly wink to me. ‘He always had the hots for Lucy Carpenter.’

‘He had
no
chance with Lucy Carpenter,’ scoffed Andy as I sneered at them. ‘It’s got to be something else.’

‘Revenge,’ said Stu, polishing off another slice of pizza. The other two turned to him.

‘What?’ asked Andy.

‘Revenge for whoever killed him. The driver of that car just drove off. Not having justice is often what keeps a ghost from moving on, at least in many of the stories I’ve
read.’

Stu slurped the pizza sauce from his fingers as the three of us stared at him. Even I was impressed by this rare show of insight from him. Stu had a habit of hitting us with observations, facts
and trivia when we least expected it, and we rather liked it. It kept us on our toes.

‘See,’ I said to Dougie. ‘I told you: that’s why I’m still here.’

Dougie shook his head and turned to Andy. ‘What would you do if you were being haunted?’

‘Probably see about getting an exorcism or something.’

‘Hang about,’ I said. ‘That’s going a bit far, isn’t it?’

‘Isn’t that just for evil spirits?’ asked Dougie, ignoring me. ‘Will might’ve been guilty of having dodgy haircuts and a hand-me-down wardrobe, but it’d be a
push to describe him as evil. Where would we even start?’

‘Like I said, speak to my dad,’ said Stu, devouring the last pizza slice before anyone could bagsy it. ‘He’s a vicar, after all. Or maybe try a medium.’

‘Don’t you feel bad classing your old man in with nutters who think they can speak to spirits?’ asked Andy.

‘Father or palm reader, it’s all the same to me,’ replied Stu. ‘There’s that girl at school who reckons she’s got the gift – Bloody Mary. I bet she can
help you.’

‘I wouldn’t if I were you. She’s a right weirdo,’ muttered Andy. ‘How do you know so much about the Queen of Darkness, then?’

‘She and I went to the same dance class in juniors.’

‘You were in a dance class?’ we all said in unison.

‘I’m a man of mystery,’ came Stu’s reply.

‘I’m torn between which is the scarier image,’ said Andy. ‘You or her in a leotard.’

‘I’ve told you nerds before, any questions about girls, come and see me,’ he replied.

‘Sounds like you’re keen on Bloody Mary,’ said Dougie.

‘Nah, no way.’ He grinned. ‘Wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot bargepole.’

‘Can we get back to the more pressing business of Will haunting me?’ said Dougie. ‘So your dad might be able to help us? Does he do exorcisms?’

‘Dunno. Reckon he’ll have a go though. I’m pretty sure he’s seen the film,
The Exorcist
. How hard can it be?’

‘I don’t
need
exorcising!’ I shouted, though only Dougie responded, with a mischievous grin.

‘Are you going to roll this saving throw or what?’ asked Stu, getting bored and tossing the greasy gem die to Dougie.

‘I think we’ll pass on the exorcism for now,’ replied Dougie. He rolled the die and the four of us watched its twenty sides spin to a halt.

Andy sucked his teeth as they crowded around the resultant roll. ‘Yikes. That’s going to hurt. A lot. If it’s any consolation, the poison’s extremely fast acting and Filo
Bigfoot, halfling pickpocket extraordinaire, is dead within a minute.’

Stu patted Dougie on the back.

‘Bad luck, mate,’ he said, before turning to Andy with a manic grin, grimacing as he spied the Dungeon Master’s neck. ‘Now then, Spotty, about that gauntlet of smiting .
. .’

‘Are you sure this’ll work?’ asked Dougie, forcing his hair into clumpy spikes before the mirror.

‘Honestly. PVA is the next best thing to hair gel, just peels right out after it dries. I saw it on
Art Attack
once.’

With the lower school toilets to ourselves, Dougie was taking a moment to look the part before sidling up to Bloody Mary. With his hair now resembling that of a pocket punk, we were ready to
roll.

‘One more thing,’ he said, daubing his eyelids with a smear of marker pen. Two black flashes completed my friend’s gothic transformation with a minimum of fuss.

‘How do I look?’

‘I believe the expression is
well dark
, although you don’t see many goths wearing parka coats.’

‘I’ve told you. The coat stays. It’s my signature fashion statement.’

‘That statement being
I belong in the Seventies.’

Dougie slouched out of the toilets, heading for the playground, me shadowing his every step. It’d been a funny weekend for the pair of us, a few contentious issues resolved. I’d
agreed
not
to sit over Dougie’s bed any more, and in return he’d promised to throw away his Hulk underpants.

‘I still say this isn’t the right thing to do,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘You’re barking up the wrong tree with Mary. We should be trying to find out who was behind the wheel of the car.’

‘I disagree,’ said Dougie with a shake of his spiky head. ‘If she’s the real deal, she’ll know what’s what. She’ll help you move on.’

‘There you go again, banging on about helping me pass over!’

‘I thought that’s what you wanted?’

‘Mate, you’re proposing killing me all over again!’

‘I’m trying to
help
you, Will,’ he countered.

‘Whatever,’ I grumbled as we continued on our way.

Bloody Mary was a Year Eleven student and known by pretty much everyone in school as
the
resident kook. There were plenty of pupils who were into the alternative scenes, from the gangs of
skate kids and parkour nuts who made the precinct their own after dark, to the maudlin goths who gathered on the park benches. They’d always amused me and Dougie the most: the majority of
them came from well-to-do families and had everything handed to them on a plate. They wouldn’t know stress or real drama if it bit them on their skinny-jeaned bums. It was all image over
substance. I bet
I
had more Cure albums than the lot of them put together! There was surely more to being a
real
goth than wearing stripy oversize jumpers, listening to Green Day and
gushing about Tim Burton movies . . . but Bloody Mary was about to show us the true meaning of the word.

‘Do you really reckon she’s got the sixth sense?’ I asked Dougie as he headed across the yard towards Mary’s hangout.

‘We’ll know soon enough . . .’

‘
I
see dead geeks,’
I whispered as we sloped off behind the bike sheds.

Mary had a smoker’s cough to rival that of a coalminer, and her hacking gave her away before we saw her. A good head taller than Dougie and twice as broad, she cut an imposing figure. Her
trenchcoat made her look like she’d misplaced her U-boat, the long black leather hanging down to her Doc Martens. Purple fingernails gripped a roll-up fag that wept its filthy smoke into the
air around her. A shock of bright red hair exploded from her scalp.

As Dougie advanced she looked up, glowering at my friend as if he’d just thrown a fistful of dog muck in her face. I couldn’t shake David Attenborough’s voice from my head,
imagining my favourite TV naturalist describing a male spider approaching a black widow. Nothing about Bloody Mary was welcoming – a zombie would’ve provided a warmer embrace. I waved
awkwardly, nervously, half expecting her to acknowledge me – she was meant to have ‘the sight’ after all. If she did see me, she paid no attention, her suspicious glare fixed on
poor Dougie.

‘Bloody Mary, isn’t it?’ he asked rather obviously as he leaned awkwardly against the wall. Dougie was playing it as cool as he could, staring off into space, avoiding eye
contact. He probably thought this made him look mysterious and enigmatic. In fact it made him look rude and cocky, and Mary’s face told its own tale. Ordinarily I might have tried to warn him
that he was heading for a beating, but since he was planning on having me exorcised I decided to wait and see how this played out. OK, so perhaps I was slightly evil after all.

‘Do I know you, scrote?’ she asked, blowing smoke at him. The cloud engulfed Dougie, causing him to splutter as he replied, turning at last to the older girl.

‘The name’s Nosebleed,’ he said, his voice breaking just enough to undermine his goth credentials. He was only half lying: Dougie did gain the nickname ‘Nosebleed’
in Year Seven, but that was down to a dizzy spell on The Big One at Blackpool, rather than any great street-fighting prowess. There were cooler ways of earning such a nickname, for sure.

‘Never heard of you.’

Dougie did a slow blink, revealing his dark warpaint.

‘I know you, though,’ he replied nonchalantly, ‘and I know what you can do.’

Again with the glare.