Obediah nodded. ‘That’s not labour. That’s a holiday.’
The toddler, the Girl With No Name, meanwhile, was to have her own room, a replica nursery, with one cot, one faded blanket and one dirty old teddy bear.
‘The room’s been rigged so that whenever the ghost train enters it, creepy lullaby music will play through the speakers. The punters are going to love it,’ Crawler told Scanlon.
The girl began to cry.
The train made an abrupt turn and led us down a few more corridors, before slamming through a pair of saloon-bar doors, which swung behind us. The room we were in was very bare, with an elevated plinth and a bucket with silver spears inside.
‘This is Isolde’s room, a special place for a bit of role play,’ said Crawler. ‘The spears will be for the customers to throw at it. It has to stand on that plinth and dodge them, while growling and getting angry. If any spears actually hit it, it must pretend to die.’
He’d turned Isolde into a dartboard.
‘How am I going to explain any of that to her?’ said Scanlon, anxiously glancing at the exhibit in question, who was busy picking fleas out of her braids and flicking them away.
Crawler shrugged. ‘It will get the idea eventually, I expect.’
Vanessa’s room was what looked like one big meeting room, with a large desk in the middle. Around the desk sat three male dummies, wearing grey suits and red ties.
‘Oh, I feel right at home,’ said Vanessa.
‘I want the squashed woman to sit here for a while, staring at the pie charts and profit graphs on the wall with a confused look on her face, like she can’t understand it,’ said Crawler.
Vanessa stared at the pie chart. ‘I think the calculations on the graphs are ever so slightly off,’ she whispered to Scanlon. ‘I may be wrong, of course, but—’
‘Then it will ask if anyone wants something from the vending machine. Then it excuses itself and walks to this …’ he gestured at the snack dispenser by the wall, ‘and tries to get something out of it. I’ve rigged the machine up so it will collapse on her sixty seconds after the ghost train comes in. And then I want proper death throes, right? Nice and loud. Give it some welly.’
I looked around the room. And then a delighted gasp began to ripple out of me.
‘I’ve just realised,’ I shouted gleefully, ‘the flaw to all of this.’ And I began to laugh.
Within a minute or two, the other ghosts around me were giggling too, uncertain of the joke but swept up in my bleak amusement.
Isolde’s mud-smeared face broke into a smile and she clapped her hand on my back so hard that I nearly slipped out of the ghost train, which made us all laugh even more.
‘Ha ha,’ I gasped. ‘Heeee hee.’
‘Ho ho,’ went the others. ‘Teee hee.’
Even the little Girl With No Name stopped crying and began to gurgle happily.
From the front, Scanlon watched the six of us laughing with a look of yearning and loneliness. Once or twice his lips even stretched away from his teeth, before snapping back into place.
‘What’s happening?’ snapped Crawler, as if aware we had become distracted.
‘The ghosts – well, they’re laughing.’
‘Laughing?’ said Crawler. ‘Why?’
Theo and Obediah and Vanessa shrugged and promptly fell about in hysterics again.
I crowed, spluttering through my laughter: ‘Because he’s got worms for brains.’
Scanlon hesitated. ‘Frankie says you haven’t thought this through.’
‘And why’s that?’ Crawler said very softly.
‘Because no one will be able to see us. Who’s going to pay money to visit a haunted house if they can’t see the ghosts?’ I jumped up and down on the spot again, thrilled to have got one over on the odious Crawler at last.
After a moment, Isolde began to jump on the spot too, shouting unintelligible words, giving me respectful glances as if she thought I was enacting some kind of war dance.
‘All of this …’ I swept my arms around, ‘has been a colossal waste of time. His plan is flawed. It’s cracked. It’s doomed to fail.’
Scanlon turned to his father, and repeated what I’d said.
‘Ah,’ said Crawler, but to my surprise, he grinned. ‘Yes. There is that.’ He smiled approvingly. ‘Well spotted.’
Everyone’s chuckles died down, and they shot confused looks between me and Crawler.
From somewhere within the deep caverns of the ramshackle building, there came a loud, booming thud.
‘Right on time,’ Crawler said conspiratorially, checking his watch. ‘You’re going to love this bit.’
He raised his voice. ‘Door’s open,’ he shouted out into the corridor. ‘Do come in.’
THE MAN THAT put his head round the door had bloodshot eyes and greasy stubble. ‘Found you,’ he said fondly to Crawler. ‘What is this place?’
He weaved towards us as uncertainly as if he was an apprentice sailor.
‘He’s been at the Geneva,’ whispered Obediah, miming putting something to his lips and gulping from it.
Crawler unfolded himself from the front seat and walked over to the stranger, who stood in the gloom swaying, with a sleepy smile on his face. With a smooth, practised movement, Crawler reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small glass bottle.
‘Taxi drive comfortable for you, Will?’ Crawler asked, as he began to shake the phial in his hands.
‘Tenty tenty,’ said the man. ‘Why am I here again?’
Crawler clamped his arm around the man’s shoulder as if to steady him, although his grip was so tight the man almost winced. ‘You agreed to take part in a demonstration for me.’
‘Did I?’ asked the man.
Crawler nodded.
‘What’s that then?’
‘All I want you to do, dear man, is some counting. I want you to count, then take a sip of something, then count again. Think you can handle that?’
The man’s rubbery face contorted with silent laughter as if Crawler had said the funniest thing in the world.
‘Well, I reckon I’ll be pretty good at the middle part,’ he said eventually. ‘And as long as the numbers aren’t too high, I ’spect I can manage the counting as well.’
Holding him firmly by the shoulders, Crawler spun the man slowly around the room.
‘Look carefully,’ he said. ‘Don’t rush it. How many people can you see?’
The man called Will laughed again, then made a great show of counting on his fingers. ‘Well, there’s me. One. Then you. Two. Plus your son on a funny little train over there – all right, lad – three.’ Will beamed stupidly up into Crawler’s face. ‘Three people.’
‘Very good,’ said Crawler. ‘Clever chap.’
‘Is it the drinking part now?’ asked Will eagerly.
‘Of course,’ said Crawler lightly, almost as if he’d forgotten. ‘No flies on you, are there?’ And he casually dropped the glass bottle into the man’s outstretched hand. ‘There it is.’
Will held the bottle up to his face with shaking fingers. His voice stumbled as he read the words aloud. ‘Proparanol, hemlock, ricin. What’s all that then, mate? Some type of special brew?’ he said, licking his lips.
‘Just a little cocktail I’ve dreamt up,’ replied Crawler lightly.
‘Moonshine, eh?’ said Will, unscrewing the top with deftly hands.
‘I call it Ghoul Aid,’ said Crawler. ‘It allows you to see all sorts of fascinating things. Tailor-made. Years of research. Down the hatch now, there’s a good man.’
‘It would be an honour.’ With a practised flick of his wrist, Will took a huge gulp in one swift movement.
Me and the other ghosts gave each other a look.
‘Whoo-hooo!’ Will shrieked, gasping for air and panting quickly. ‘Yeee-hah! That will put hairs on your chest, and no mistake! Wow, Crawler, what on earth is in that?’
‘Three types of poison.’
‘Tent udder!’ shouted W
ill, slapping his thighs. ‘I should say so! Only the best! Poison!’ He laughed again, then tipped the rest of the bottle down his mouth before going through the whole gasping and panting thing again.
All the while, Crawler watched him very intently, like a cat observing a wounded bird. Soon, Will began to rub his chest, before hitting it gently with his hand, as if to dislodge a pain that had started there.
His foolish grin became less sure, and a furrow of worry appeared between his eyebrows. ‘Seriously, Crawler, what was in that cocktail? I don’t … feel so good. My heart’s gone funny.’
‘I told you,’ said Crawler. ‘Three types of poison. One to slow your heart rate right down, to the brink of it stopping, and two to slow your organs down, to bring you to the point of certain death.’
Will frowned. ‘You’ve … poisoned me?’
Crawler nodded. ‘Indeed.’
‘You’re …’ Will’s lips trembled, ‘killing me?’
‘That’s murther,’ said Obediah, shocked.
‘Murder,’ I murmured. ‘That’s what we call it now.’
IN THE DARK, cold room, Crawler cocked his head to one side and regarded the dying man.
‘I’m not killing you. I’m bringing you to the brink of death, in order to enhance your viewing pleasure. Now, let’s go back to the counting. Last bit of the experiment. I think you’ll find it very interesting.’
‘No, no,’ shouted Will, lunging towards the door. ‘I’m not going to do any counting. I must get help. I’m dying! Got to call the ambulance – my heart …’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ snapped Crawler. ‘I won’t let you die, I assure you. I have an antidote right here …’ he patted his other coat pocket, ‘which will render the poisons useless and pull you back from fundamentally expiring. Once I decide it’s time. But now you’re going to do your last bit of counting, as agreed.’
Will slumped in the doorway, looking yearningly out towards the corridor. He allowed Crawler to guide him back into the room, walking with small, shuffling movements. His skin had turned a horrible greyish, purple colour. He looked like a dying jellyfish.
‘Now, count again. Tell me how many people are in this room,’ demanded Crawler.
With a bleary, confused face, Will counted aloud with slurred words. ‘Me – one. You – two. Your son …’ There was a pause, while he struggled with the calculations. ‘Three.’ And then his eyes widened. ‘Wait. Wait. What? Who are you?’
‘What can you see?’ Crawler’s voice was taut. ‘Tell me.’
Will’s face swelled with fear. ‘A girl … in ripped clothes – it looks like she’s wet herself. Four. A big woman – tall – with plaits. Five. Two little bo—’ He gasped again and rubbed his chest. ‘Two little boys, all – wrong an’ … blood. An’ a tiny dirty toddler … er, eight.’
The looks he gave us were full of fear. ‘And a woman – funny dent in her chest – nine.’
‘Yes!’ shouted Crawler, dancing around the room in triumph. ‘Bingo! Jackpot! All those years of experiments have paid off!’
‘But who are they?’ whispered Will, as his body trembled like a cold dog. ‘What are they doing here? Where did they come from?’
‘I will explain everything to you another time,’ said Crawler, giving Will a blister pack containing two pills. ‘For a price. Come back when you’re better and you can see the whole show. Now, take your medicine – on me. You’re welcome. You’ll vomit for a few days, but that will go, and I expect you’ll be raring to come back and see this lot properly. Off you go now. Taxi waiting right outside to take you back to the caravan park.’
Will limped out, casting a fascinated glance over his shoulder at us.
There was a stunned silence once he’d gone, then Crawler smirked triumphantly in my general direction. ‘Hopefully that deals with your, er, concern.’
Scanlon swallowed. ‘But,’ he said slowly, ‘do you seriously think that people – ordinary people – are going to willingly take poison so they nearly die just so they can see a couple of ghosts?’
‘Yes,’ said Crawler matter-of-factly. ‘I do. I know people. Look at Will. He did.’
‘But he’s one of the most stupid people at the caravan park,’ Scanlon said. ‘And you made him. Not everyone is like that.’
Crawler looked at his son. ‘Never underestimate mankind’s desire,’ he said, with eyes that seemed suddenly hollow, ‘for escape. Most of humanity poisons itself every day with all sorts of rubbish. Some people will take absolutely anything if it promises them even ten minutes of entertainment or comfort. Most people really are happiest when they just have something to stare at. My stuff will allow them to do that.’
‘B-but … even if you’re right and they do all take it, won’t they get bored? All they’ll see will be some sad-looking dead people,’ Scanlon said.
‘No they won’t. They’ll see the only ghost ride in the world with real ghosts. And they’ll see proof of eternal life. Bored? Not a chance. Once word gets out, they’ll be fighting each other to be the first in line. They’ll open their wallets and tell me to help myself. And they won’t be able to get that poison down their throats quick enough. Because …’ Crawler smirked, ‘they’ll see a show they’ll never forget.
Scanlon fell silent.
Crawler’s gaze settled somewhere a few centimetres short of my face.
‘Now then, Frances,’ he said. ‘Time to see your room, I think.’
THE GHOST TRAIN resumed its slow chug along the track, through a windowless tunnel that got colder the higher we climbed. Everyone had gone quiet; the shock of Will’s poisoning and the reality of our situation were sinking in. Behind me, Obediah and Theo clutched each other as we clattered through the darkness; the little girl’s eyes grew wide in the gloom, and she whimpered slightly.
It dawned on me then how upside down this whole thing was. As far as I could remember, humans were meant to be frightened of haunted houses. But here, it was the ghosts who were scared, and Crawler seemed completely at home. The whole place seemed to fit him like a second skin.
The train groaned and squeaked on its hinges, and an eerie, discordant organ tune filled the building.
After a while, the train slammed its way with a clatter through a set of double doors, and I found myself in a bedroom that looked eerily familiar.
‘How’d you like it, Frances?’ shouted Crawler from the front. ‘I tried to make it as much as possible like your old room.’
I remembered how much Crawler had stared whenever he’d visited the cottage, how his eyes had seemed to scrape every corner. Now I knew why. He’d been taking notes. It had everything. Same type of bed, same duvet cover, same rug. The bookshelf and desk and curtains were the same. One thing was different though.
On every single wall, hung in different types of frames, were pictures of the sea.
‘Just in case,’ Crawler said, ‘you wanted any motivation.’
I looked around. I felt a fluttering in my chest I couldn’t recognise.
‘Ask your father …’ I tried to keep my voice steady, ‘what he expects me to do in here.’
Scanlon repeated my question to Crawler, who laughed.
‘I want you to wreck it. Over and over. That’s your job. You’re a poltergeist, aren’t you? So act like one.’
Crawler got out of the ghost train and began to open drawers and things.
‘I’ve got it fully stocked for you,’ he explained. ‘There’s linen to rip, pictures to destroy. Feel free to tear the doors off the wardrobe and bash these walls. That mirror there is made of especially brittle Venetian glass that makes a delightful tinkling noise when it breaks, so do try to throw something at that a few times a day.’
I blinked.
‘This is all mine …’ I tried, but failed, to keep the unsettling emotion out of my voice, ‘to smash?’
Scanlon looked at me oddly, and then repeated my question to Crawler, who smiled.
‘All of it. As much as you like. You’
ll never run out of things to destroy. Because at the end of every ride, we’ll clear it all away and replace it with a whole new kit. Endless fun, won’t cost you a penny, and the best thing of all: you’ll have a supportive audience cheering on your every move.’
My thoughts pushed and pulled against each other. I didn’t like Crawler, or what he’d done to me and the others and to Scanlon, but … I had to admit, he’d certainly gone to a lot of effort. And it did look … strangely tempting.
Besides, Crawler had a point. I was a poltergeist, wasn’t I? Over the last few weeks, I’d never felt quite as alive as when I was losing my temper. Also, I was good at it. And let’s face it – what else was I going to do? Back at Sea View, no one welcomed my anger. But Crawler did. Crawler wanted it to walk in through the front door, sit in the best chair, and put its feet up on the coffee table.
Why not just do what he asked? It almost seemed … beautiful. Like easing into a warm bath.
On the other hand, I remembered how he’d trapped me, the sneaky stalking around the cottage. A flame of resistance glowed inside me for a second.
Half-formed words of protest rose and died.
‘I don’t … You can’t make me. I could just walk out of—’ But my voice got feebler every time.
Because, suddenly, there seemed no point in fighting back. Abruptly, I had a clear, matter-of-fact realisation about what my options were. I wasn’t somebody’s daughter. I wasn’t somebody’s sister. I wasn’t Frankie any more. Hadn’t I scraped myself empty, back in that can? Here was my replacement – a simple, straightforward role – and all I had to do to make it permanent was say yes. And then I could throw that old life away, like a snake shedding its skin. A clean start. A fresh slate. Who was I to refuse?
As if he could sense my confusion, Crawler threw a confident smile in my direction. ‘Come on, girl,’ he said. ‘Face it. If you left now, where would you go? Back to smashing light bulbs in a place you’ve grown too big for? You’re better than that, and you know it. Don’t you want to play with your considerable skills? Show off what you can do?’
Storm Page 15
