Ghost of a Dream (11 page)

“Right,” said Happy. “I mean, if that was Kim, why did she disappear again? Why didn’t she stay?”

“Maybe she couldn’t,” said Melody.

“It was her,” said JC. “I’d know my Kim anywhere. Why didn’t she stay? Who knows why the dead do what the dead do?”

“Hey!” said a new voice. “Are you the experts from London?”

They all looked around to see a middle-aged man in workman’s overalls and sensible shoes hurrying down the platform towards them. He held an old-fashioned storm lantern out before him and smiled at the Ghost Finders in an agreeable enough way.

“Sorry I’m late; I got held up. Hope you haven’t been here on your own too long. It’s not a comfortable place here, once it gets dark.”

“Who are you?” said JC.

“I’m Howard Laurie, representing the Bradleigh Preservation Trust. Seen any ghosts yet, have you?”

“I think you’ll find the station peaceful enough now,” said JC. “You’re Ronald Laurie’s son? He’s very kindly looked after us, in your absence.”

Howard looked at all three of them in turn. “You’ve seen my dad?”

“He’s been very helpful,” said JC.

“Then you’ve seen one ghost at least. My old dad’s been dead these past ten years.”

Why do so many theatres have resident ghosts? After all, ghosts are supposed to be the result of bad places, and the theatre is where we go to enjoy ourselves. But what are plays but voices from the past, memories preserved in amber, ghost images of the way we thought we were…And even if what we see on the stage isn’t real, there are still real triumphs and tragedies, joys and terrors, little deaths and bad-tempered madness going on backstage. All human life is there; and some of it is bound to leave its mark. Players come and go, but some of their lives remain, preserved in the brick and stone, the sawdust and the limelight of old theatres.

Ghosts are still mainly unfinished business; and no-one bears a grudge like an old trouper.

The three Ghost Finders were heading from Leeds to Leicester by train, from the north of England down to the Midlands; and they were travelling in a first-class compartment. It was all very comfortable. The Carnacki Institute had decided sometime back that its operatives in the field could only claim travel expenses for standard-class rail tickets, in the name of efficiency and belt-tightening, and keeping field operatives from getting above themselves. But Happy had finally figured out how to use his telepathy to make the ticket inspector believe he was looking at three first-class tickets. So he punched the air somewhere near the standard tickets, then wandered off to have a nice little sit-down and nurse the pounding headache he’d only recently acquired. Happy grinned broadly, entirely unmoved, put his feet up on the opposite seat, and made a pig of himself with free food and drink from the complimentary trolley. He took one of everything and two if he liked the look of it, and piled it all up on the table before him so he could gloat over it, like offerings to a somewhat shabby god.

“You couldn’t eat and drink all of that if we were travelling all the way to Land’s End,” Melody said sternly from the seat opposite him, studying him over the top of her new briefing file.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Happy, ripping open a packet of Jaffa Cakes and delicately dipping one into his cup of Pepsi. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”

“Because it’s illegal and immoral; and messing with people’s heads is just wrong?” said Melody.

“No…” said Happy. “I’m pretty sure that isn’t it…Ooh, chocolate HobNobs!”

Melody sighed loudly and went back to her briefing file.

Sitting on his own on the other side of the compartment, staring out the window without seeing anything of the scenery racing by, JC ignored them both. He was still thinking about Kim’s unexpected reappearance at Bradleigh Halt. The same questions kept coming back to him, rolling over and over in his head. Why had she chosen to appear to him there, after all this time? Why not before? Because he was in danger…No. He’d been in peril of his life on any number of previous occasions; and she hadn’t shown up for any of those. Had something changed…with her, or with him? Could it be she’d finally broken free from her unknown captors and was waiting for him to come and find her…? So many questions, and not one answer he could trust.

So stick with the cases that came his way, keep himself busy and occupied, and be ready to jump when the opportunity arose.

Happy stuffed his face with junk food, drank fizzy stuff straight from the can, and made a point of looking down his nose at the various smart-suit-and-tie business men sharing the first-class compartment with him. All of them tapping busily away at their laptops and doing their very best not to stare too openly at the strange creature that had invaded their territory.
Work for the Man, monkeyboys!
Happy thought loudly but had enough sense not to say out loud. He sniggered, and turned his attention back to the latest issue of
FHM
magazine.

“The train will be coming into Leicester soon,” said Melody, glaring meaningfully at Happy and JC. “And, for once, it would be nice if we could all arrive knowing why we were there.”

“She’s going into lecture mode,” Happy said to JC. “Indulge her. She’ll only make a fuss otherwise, and I can feel one of my heads coming on. Try and keep it down to a précis, Melody, there’s a dear. Some of us have important eating and drinking to be getting on with. Or important existential brooding, in JC’s case.”

“Go ahead, Melody,” JC said courteously, not looking around. “Distract me. I could use something else to think about.”

“We’ve been called in to investigate a suspected haunting at the old Haybarn Theatre, in the city of Leicester,” said Melody.

She looked around to see if any of the business men were paying attention…but they all gave every appearance of being absorbed in their work. Possibly in self-defence.

“Ooh, the theatre!” said Happy, unexpectedly. “Does that mean we’ll get free tickets for the shows?”

Melody actually lowered her file to get a better look at him. “Since when have you ever been interested in going to the theatre?”

“Take your freebies where you can find them, that’s what I say,” Happy said complacently.

“Well, unless we can sort this mess out, it doesn’t look like there’s going to be any more shows at the Haybarn,” said Melody, returning to her file. “Says here, the place was shut down twenty years ago. It was about to be
restored and reopened…But recently there’s been a series of unnatural happenings. The workmen have downed tools and scattered, and restoration has ground to a halt.”

“This is all starting to sound depressingly familiar,” said JC.

“There’s no way this case could turn out as complicated as Bradleigh Halt,” said Melody.

“God, I hope not,” said Happy. “I mean: Ghost Callers, trains full of insane souls, and people wandering around with sawn-off heads…Why can’t things be simple, now and again?”

“Quiet in the stalls,” said Melody. “Keep the noise down and pay attention; or after all this is over, I won’t take you back to our hotel room and play medical experiments with you.”

“Far too much information,” said JC, shuddering genteelly. He turned around to look at Melody, doing his best to appear professional and interested. “What kind of unnatural happenings are we talking about here, Melody? Actual ghosts, with names and histories and legends?”

“No actual visitors from the spirit realms, as far as I can see,” said Melody. “Only voices, glimpses, bad feelings…all the usual atmospherics. General unease and a certain amount of What Was That?”

Happy frowned. “Why have we been called in for such a minor haunting? I thought we were officially an A team now? Not that I am in any way keen on throwing myself into danger; but I’m damned if I’m giving up on the danger money. It’s not the principle of the thing, you understand; it’s the money, every time.”

“Apparently,” said Melody, in that particular tone of
voice that meant she suspected much but could prove little, “a homeless guy found his way into the Haybarn and was discovered there the next day, quite dead. Possibly frightened to death. The workmen and restorers have refused point-blank to go back into the building, until Something Is Done…”

Happy sighed heavily. “That still doesn’t explain why we…”

“The Boss is sending us in as a personal favour for an old friend,” said JC.

“Wish she’d do one for us,” growled Happy. “Like approving my expense claims without laughing in my face.”

“Dear Catherine Latimer, our revered Boss and leader of us all, spoke to me personally about this,” said JC, and the other two immediately gave him their full attention. JC smiled faintly. “I was phoning in a preliminary report on what had gone down at Bradleigh Halt, when she broke in. Which is a bit like going to confessional and having God herself butt in. She said some very nice things about how we’d handled the mission, which should have been a warning in itself. The Boss has never been one for honeyed words when a whip and a chair are so much more effective. She said that she wants us on this case precisely because we did such a good job at Bradleigh. Which, of course, suggests to me that there must be a hell of a lot more to this theatre haunting than we are being told.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” said Happy. He glowered at the food piled up before him and pushed it away, his appetite gone. For the moment.

“I have to wonder,” said JC, “whether Catherine Latimer, her own bad self, is deliberately keeping us busy and occupied with one case after another, so we won’t go off on our own to look for Kim.”

There was a pause then as JC looked meaningfully at Happy and Melody, and they both looked at each other so they wouldn’t have to look at him. None of them had to say anything. They’d already talked themselves hoarse on the subject and knew exactly what the others thought and believed. None of them was ready to give up their various positions.

“The Boss says she’s got all her best people investigating the infiltration of the Carnacki Institute,” Melody said finally.

“She
says
…” Happy said darkly.

“No,” JC said immediately. “We have to trust the Boss in that, at least. Or we’re completely on our own.”

“When you spoke to her,” Melody said carefully, “did you happen to mention seeing Kim at Bradleigh Halt?”

“No,” said JC.

“So we don’t trust her that much…” said Happy.

“When we’ve got anything worth telling her, then I’ll tell her,” said JC. “One sighting doesn’t make a summer.”

“Or one swallow make an orgy,” said Melody.

“Who knows?” said Happy. “If Kim really is your guardian angel now, guardian ghost, whatever…Maybe she’ll turn up again, at the theatre.”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Melody. “Usually to us.”

She carried on reading aloud from the briefing file, and
the others pretended to listen to her. Happy leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, the better to concentrate.

A very modern taxi took the Ghost Finders straight from the railway station to the Haybarn Theatre, situated right in the middle of the city centre. It was a grey, overcast day, with lowering clouds and the threat of thunder. The taxi had Thank You For Not Smoking signs plastered all over the interior, along with half a dozen little pine-tree deodorant things, and the interior still smelled like something large and unpleasant had recently been very ill in it. The driver had a great deal to say about the immigration situation, none of it helpful, and ignored all attempts to shut him up, including
Please shut up or I will have to kill you
from Happy, who then had to be physically restrained by Melody and JC.