Ghost of a Smile (5 page)

“An entirely worthy intention,” said JC, getting in quickly before Melody could stop sputtering long enough to say something unhelpful. “Unfortunately . . . not all ghosts want peace. Some have to be pacified.”

Suddenly, without any warning, the whole building was shaking with the deafening sounds of machines working filling the air. Huge machines slamming and grinding, overpowering. The floor vibrated heavily, shaking everyone with the brutal power and motion of unseen machinery. They all put their hands to their ears, but it wasn't the kind of sound they could keep out. The roar of the machines filled the whole factory floor, filled their heads, and rattled their bones. Susan grabbed onto her grandfather's arm with both hands, to hold him steady. They all looked around them, Tiley waving his lantern with a shaking hand; but there was nothing to see anywhere.

“I know this noise!” said Tiley, leaning in close and shouting to be heard over the din. “Though I haven't heard it in years. This is what it sounded like on the factory floor, when all the machines were working at once. It made me deaf for a week when I first started! No ear protectors in my day . . . But they pulled all the machines out of here when they shut the place down!”

The sound stopped abruptly, and Tiley shouted his last few words into an echoing silence. The air was still, the building was steady, and the floor was calm and certain again, as though nothing had happened. But there was still something . . . in the dark, out beyond the light.

“Can you feel that?” said Happy, stepping forward reluctantly. “There's a definite presence here . . .”

“Of course there is!” snapped Tiley. “And you and your young friends have upset it, with your modern scientific attitudes! You people need to get out of here. You're making things worse. Leave me to get on with my work.”

“We can't do that,” said JC.

“Why not?” said Susan. “Who are you, really? And don't give me that professionals bullshit. Who wears sunglasses at night, in a deserted building? You're not from any of the official ghost-hunting groups, like FOG and PIS.”

“Fog and
what
?” said Happy.

“Friends of Ghosts, and Paranormal Investigation Society,” said Tiley. He stabbed an accusing finger at JC. “You're journalists, aren't you? Bloody tabloids!”

“No,” said JC. “We're really not interested in publicity. The horror of ghosts, for most people, is that they're beyond all the usual methods of control. People feel helpless before them, terrified by the unknown, not knowing how to cope. But we are from the Carnacki Institute, and we know what to do with ghosts.”

“Like what?” said Tiley.

“Whatever's necessary,” said JC.

Again, there was something in his voice that seemed to reach the old man and calm him down. JC gave him his full attention.

“What was it like, Mr. Tiley, working here, back in the day? Was it a bad place, back then?”

“Not really,” said Tiley. “Hard work, but steady. Regular work that you could rely on, year in and year out. And that meant a lot, back when I was a young man. I spent most of my working life here, man and boy.”

“I don't know how you can be sentimental about it, Gramps,” said Susan.

“It was work you could depend on,” Tiley repeated. “And we were all grateful. Nothing much to show for it, mind. We just made parts, for other machines. We never made anything complete.”

“Ah, interesting,” said JC. “No sense of closure. Could be significant.”

He walked slowly out across the great expanse of open space, head cocked to one side, as though listening. “Huge machines, heavy machinery, working endlessly, doing the same things over and over, tended by people doing the same things, over and over. For decades . . . A ritual, impressing itself on Time and Space, digging psychic grooves into the surroundings . . .”

“Hold on,” said Melody. “Are you suggesting that this place is haunted by the ghosts of heavy machinery?”

“Think about it,” said Happy. “If a man were to walk through the space where the machines manifested . . . they'd tear him apart.” And then he stopped and shook his head slowly.

“No. Sorry, JC, but very definitely no. I told you, I sensed emotions—raw and harsh and wild.”

“You're all talking nonsense,” Tiley said firmly. “Ghosts are the restless spirits of departed people. That's it. I've read all the books, and I believe what's needed here is a lay exorcism.”

“Not a bad idea,” said JC, walking back to join the others. “But first, I think we should hold a séance. Summon up all the players, so to speak, so we can get a good look at them. Get some idea of what this is all about. I'll say it again. Albert Winter didn't just die here. There was more to it than that. There was purpose, and intent, to his death.”

“We don't have a medium,” said Tiley, concentrating on the one thing that made sense to him.

“Actually we do,” said JC. “A medium is a link between the worlds of the living and the dead. And there is one member of my little team who fits the bill perfectly. Kim, dear, come forward and make yourself known, would you?”

Kim came floating out of the shadows, smiling brightly, only hovering an inch or so above the dusty floor. She allowed herself to become semi-transparent, to make it clear what she was. Graham Tiley and his grand-daughter stared at her with open mouths. Susan actually fell back a step, and Tiley had to grab her to steady her. They huddled close together, for mutual support. Kim stopped a tactful distance away and gave them both her most charming smile.

“Hi,” she said. “My name is Kim, and I'm a ghost. Please. Don't be afraid. I don't bite. I'm part of the team.”

Of the two, Graham Tiley seemed the most affected. He breathed heavily, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Kim. He looked like he would have turned and run if Susan hadn't been holding on to him. He finally closed his mouth with a snap, swallowed hard, and nodded slowly to Kim.

“Dear God . . . All these years, looking for ghosts and spirits, for some actual sign that the soul survives . . . but I never saw anything. Not even sure I really believed, deep down . . . But here you are. I was right all along. You're a ghost. I can tell, I can feel it . . . Oh my dear, are you trapped here? Is something holding you to this world?”

“Yes,” Kim said happily. “JC, my love, my very dear. Isn't he wonderful?”

“Get away from her, Gramps,” whispered Susan. “Don't talk to her. She can't . . . She can't be . . .”

“I'm not worthy of her,” said JC. “But believe me when I tell you, no-one is holding Kim anywhere against her wishes.”

“Like to see anybody try,” said Kim.

“How did you . . . die?” said Susan.

“I was murdered,” said Kim. “But JC avenged me.”

“You never believed,” Graham Tiley said to Susan, a slow smile coming to his lips. “Don't worry; I always knew you were here to keep me company. So, a real live . . . real dead ghost. Right before us. What do you think of your old gramps now, eh, Susan? Not so daft in the head after all?”

“We should get out of here,” said Susan. “We shouldn't be here. This isn't right! It isn't natural!”

“It's only a ghost!” said Tiley. “A person, with the body removed. Get a grip on yourself, child, and stop embarrassing me. Talk nicely to the young lady ghost. She looks to be about your age.”

“What do you say to a ghost?” demanded Susan. “Hi, nice to meet you, how's your ectoplasm? Give me a break, Gramps, my whole world has just been turned upside down and inside out, and the pieces have fallen all over the carpet. You talk to her. I'm going to find a corner and mumble quietly to myself.”

“Youngsters today,” said Tiley. “No stamina.” He smiled at Kim. “It is nice to meet you, young lady. Are you sure there's nothing keeping you from passing on? I'd be happy to help . . .”

“The only thing keeping me here is my JC,” said Kim. “And I wouldn't be parted from him for all the worlds that may be. I had to die to find true love, and I won't give it up now.”

“Well, well,” said Tiley. “My first real encounter with a spirit. Not at all what I'd expected, but still, most exhilarating! Pardon me for asking, my dear, but if you're a ghost, why can't you speak to whatever ghosts might be haunting this place?”

“Doesn't work that way, I'm afraid,” said Kim. “There are all kinds of ghosts, and all kinds of hauntings.”

“But you can act as a medium, help us make contact with what's happening here?”

“I don't see why not,” said JC. “Kim has a foot in both worlds, the living and the dead. What better medium could there be?”

“You have such wonderful ideas,” said Kim. “Let me see what I can do.”

“Hold it, hold it!” said Melody, rushing over to her equipment. “I want to record everything that happens! If only so I can clear myself of all responsibility if it all goes pear-shaped in a hurry.”

JC nodded for Happy to go keep Melody company, and the telepath moved quickly over to join her—and watch her back. Once Melody was immersed in recording something, she often became blind to more immediate dangers. And Happy also knew that JC wanted him to observe everything telepathically, from a safe distance. Just in case. Kim drifted quietly out across the open factory floor, not even bothering to walk, as she concentrated on the matter at hand. She faded away some more as she gave less thought to her manifestation and more to what JC wanted of her.

Everyone looked round sharply. Nothing obvious had changed, but the sense of presence, or someone or something watching from the darkness, was suddenly that much stronger. Tiley called Susan back to him, and they huddled together, holding each other's hands. Melody bent over her instruments, rapt at what her sensors were picking up. Happy bit down hard on his lower lip, concentrating on his mental shields. All around the factory, the shadows were longer and deeper and darker. The quality of what light remained seemed subtly debased, stained, even bruised. Tension coiled on the air, gradually growing tighter. And JC . . . watched it all with an easy grin, like a ringmaster at his own private circus.

“Anything, Kim?” he said.

“Something, JC,” said the ghost. “There's so much information in this place. Layers and levels, some recent and some old . . . some very old. Wait, I think I've made contact . . .”

And the machinery returned. The whole factory floor was suddenly blazing with light and packed with huge machines, all of them working, constantly moving, deafeningly loud. Parts rose and fell, other parts slammed together, and a work-force of hundreds moved around them, operating machines, darting back and forth, picking things up and conveying them away. It was terribly loud and unmistakably present, but still, somehow . . . distant. As though separated from this Time by some unimaginable direction. JC moved in close beside Tiley, so he could shout in his ear.

“This is the top layer of the stone tape, a recording, playing back. Past events soaked into their surroundings, emerging again in the Present. What you're seeing is a vision, a portrayal of what used to be here. A true vision, of real events, but not real now. We can see it but not affect it.”

Graham Tiley shook his head numbly. “I remember this . . . I know these people! Men I worked with, men I knew . . . Faces I haven't thought of in years, and old friends long dead . . . Am I in there, somewhere? They all look so young! I want to go to them, and talk to them, warn them of things that are going to happen . . .”

“But you can't,” said JC. “Because they're not really here. If you walked among them, they couldn't see you . . . You'd be a ghost to them. An image, out of Time.”

“Some of them are going to die young,” said Tiley. “Some are going to be maimed, and killed, stupid accidents that could so easily be prevented. And I can't help them. The Past can be cruel, sometimes.”

And then the huge machines, and all the work-force tending them, began to slowly fade away. The sound went first, the thunder of the machines growing steadily quieter, as though receding into the distance. Then the image itself grew thin and insubstantial and was gone. The top layer of the stone tape disappeared, as something else moved forward to take its place. New images began to form, out of the Past.

“It's the next layer of the stone tape,” JC said to Graham. “The level below, from deeper in the Past. Pushing aside the more recent image to make itself known.”

“It's rising,” said Kim. Her gaze was far away, and her voice didn't sound entirely human. “Forcing the more recent Past aside. JC,
Something's coming
. . .”

“Who?” said JC, quietly but firmly. “Tell me, Kim. Who is it that's coming?”

“Living things, old things, summoned things,” said Kim, not even looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on something only she could see. “Power. Old power. Harnessed power . . . blood and death, set to unnatural purpose . . . Something very old was called up here, to do terrible things . . . and it's still here!”

“Summoned?” said JC. “What was summoned up, Kim? And who summoned it? Why?”

“Retribution,” said Kim.

JC stepped forward and took off his sunglasses. Tiley and Susan both cried out as they saw why he wore them. Something had happened to JC on a previous case. Trapped on a hell train, surrounded by demons, fighting for his life and for Kim, when all seemed lost, Something had reached down from the Higher Dimensions and touched JC briefly. Giving him the strength he needed to save them both. Much of that strength was gone now, but his eyes still shone like the sun, glowing with a strange brilliance. JC saw the world very clearly now; and when he needed to, he could See a great many things that were usually hidden from the living. All the secrets and wonders of the invisible world.