Grosvenor Lane Ghost

by Jeremy Tyrrell

reach Turner at least. Come on, grab the bags and let's get going. We've got some walking to do,” he muttered, checking that the door was locked before hauling a satchel onto his back.

  And that was the end of the night, really. I trailed behind the Professor, dutifully carrying the bags like a porter. I felt less like a scientist, and more like a lost boy. I wanted to explain everything, tell him all that had happened, but I knew that it would do no good. He had that look on his face, that look I knew only too well.

  Employers past had had that look and it meant two things. The first was that the opportunity for discussion was over. The second was that my chance of seeing another pay packet was dropping rapidly.

  We hailed a passing cab just further on. I was dropped off to my home, and bid a rough farewell. The manner of his departure left me thinking that the Professor would have no more to do with me.

  It was unfair, is what it was! Should the Professor have experienced all that I had, should he have felt the icy touch, heard the disembodied voice, seen the hand print in the dust, surely he would have behaved as I had!

  I turned the key to my door and trudged up to my room, not even bothering to clean my face. I was too wound up for that. I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, quite tired, yet quite thoughtful. When the mind has too many unanswered questions, it battles other concerns for dominance.

  I slept fitfully and ate little for breakfast. I think I was hungry, and I most certainly was tired, but my mind was preoccupied running through all that had happened.

  By midday my thoughts had turned to salvaging what was left of my contract with the Professor. He had not said as much, but the silence in the cab ride back home, the stern look on his face, the way he averted his eyes; I was sure my employment was on the rocks.

  Inevitably, I would have to declare to my family with much shame and regret that my tenure with the Professor was over, that I would have to rely upon them once more until I found another, generous benefactor to take in an inexperienced youngster.

  There was a rough knock on the door, followed by another in quick succession.

  “I'm coming, I'm coming!” I huffed, getting up from the kitchen table and shaking the melancholy from my shoulders.

  It would do no good to present myself to whoever was at the door in such a glum state. I may have been unemployed, a failure without prospects, but the world did not need to know it. Forcing what I hoped would pass as a pleasant smile on my lips, I opened the door to find the Professor, biting his lip, hopping from one foot to the other.

  “Professor!” I started, but he pushed passed me and made himself at home in the lounge.

  “You thought you'd take the day off, laddy?” he hooted, dropping a satchel down and poking at a couple of the seats like he might poke at a dead rat.

  “Ah, well, no, but...” I began, utterly lost for words.

  “Ah, well, no, but what? Science doesn't take a holiday, you know? It keeps on, whether we're taking note of it or not. The world, lad, it's still kicking.”

  “Yes, Professor, but...”

  “But what? You're thinking that because you stayed up a little later last night that you could take the next day off?”

  “No, Professor, but...”

  “But what?”

  “It's Saturday, Professor!” I burst.

  His face dropped an inch. He hurriedly checked his watch, put it away and then checked his chronometer. His goatee beard wiggled a little.

  “Oh. Well – So it is,” he accepted, then looked up suddenly, “Never mind that! Never mind that! There's much to be discussed!”

  “Like the terms of my employment, I suppose,” I sighed.

  I had performed a similar routine with many of my former employers. They would dance around the topic, um-ing, ah-ing, unwilling to get to the point, being that my services were no longer necessary. That I would have a bright future, somewhere else, under someone else's watch. That I had much to learn, youth was on my side, and careers were very malleable at my age.

  “What about them?” he asked, confused, “Is there something I need to know?”

  “Uh, no? I mean, that's why you're here, isn't it? To tell me that my contract is to be terminated?”

  “Good Lord! Whatever for?”

  “Well, you know. Last night. I was sure that you were upset with my performance.”

  “You mean when you failed to note important happenings? When you disobeyed my direct orders? When you fell backward upon your rump?”

  I nodded, ashamed, “Yes, Professor.”

  “I see.”

  He pulled on his beard a little, thinking to himself. Evidently I had made a good case for my own termination. In my mind, I kicked myself relentlessly.

  “Hmm. Learning! That's what it comes down to! You make mistakes. I make mistakes. We all do! It's how we learn! But enough of this!” he cried as he looked about the lounge room with an air of dissatisfaction, “This won't do, not at all. No, this is not a proper environment for a scientific discussion. Besides, all of my materials are back at the laboratory.”

  “Oh.”

  “I need you at the laboratory, post haste!”

  So sure was I that I would have been ushering him from the door, hat in hand, apologising and nodding, that I was completely unprepared. In fact, I was dumbstruck.

  “Oh.”

  “Well, don't just stand there like a bass, lad, get to the cab! It's waiting outside! Come on, get a move on!”

  My legs were moving before my brain had a chance to catch up. The Professor nattered on about this and that on the way, important things, I am sure, of which I should have taken note, but my stomach was still running two feet behind the hansom, and my brain another two feet behind that!

  At the laboratory, I used the time taken for the Professor to unlock the various doors leading off from the passages of his abode to bring the situation back under control. Up to this point, my mind was a blur. Now that I had a little breathing space, I became calmer.

  Some of the words that he had spoken on the journey trickled back from my auditory memory.

  “Exciting... water... conclusion,” he had said, “Amazing... incompetence... are you listening?”

  “Yes, Professor,” I blurted.

  He turned around, key in hand, “Eh?”

  “I, ah. I was listening.”

  “I'm not so sure that you are, unless that outburst was in response to a voice you only just heard,” he said, peering at me closely through his circular glasses, “Are you feeling alright? Are you hearing voices even now?”

  “Hearing voices? No, Professor, only yours.”

  “Because if you are that could alter the outcome of the experiment greatly. Your recording of the voice within your ear relies on your being of sound mind and body,” he said, looking at me closer, “And you do appear a little off-colour.”

  “I'm fine, Professor. I must confess that I was a little worked up over last night.”

  He turned the last key and swung the door open, “Hmm. I can imagine.”

  Revelation

  The Professor announced, “It's the water, you see.”

  “I'm afraid I don't.”

  “Water! You know what water is, don't you?”

  “Um. Yes,” I said, altogether unsure of my answer, “But I thought that you said that it was about the light.”

  “Yes, yes! That's my end hypothesis, lad! The reaction and interaction with light is what I hope to demonstrate or at least provide reasonable grounds for further investigations. Well, actually interaction with matter might have to come before that, but overall I'm glad you were paying attention,” he said gruffly, annoyed that I should have interrupted his run, “But that's all the way over there, in the future. We're over here, at the start, and we need, first of all, to investigate causality between the environment and the activity of our subjects.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “But back to water! Why water? Why not water! It's the stuff of life. Remove water, y
ou remove life; this is unquestionable. By symmetry, add water, you add life. Hmm. I need an example...”

  The Professor took a book out from his shelf and flipped through with his fingers before pointing to any entry. I looked at it, surprised.

  “Yeast?”

  “Yeast!” he cried, turning the book back to himself, “It's not the best example, I am sure, for there are other nematodes and seeds that would suit as better examples, but this is one with which you are familiar, yes?”

  “Yes, Professor. I once worked at a bakery.”

  “Then you'll know all about it! Yeast, you see, is a living organism. We know this, because it grows and multiplies. It thrives, you know, on your skin, in bread, in beer! Beer!”

  With that, he darted from the room, coming back with a bottle and two glasses. He seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood. Certainly much more chipper than I suspected he might have been, given my poor performance. He poured out the brew and handed me a glass, complete with a crisp, frothing head.

  “Cheers!” he said.

  “Cheers,” I replied uncertainly, “Is this standard for a laboratory?”

  “Um. No. No, laddy, but, like you mentioned, it's Saturday, and, what's more, I think a celebration is in order. And, um, it's part of the demonstration,” he said hurriedly, “The yeast, you see, can lie dormant when dehydrated, sitting happily in a state of nullity for years on end, only to spring back into life when a drop of water touches it!”

  “I see.”

  “Tell me, how long can a man live without water?”

  “Not long, I would imagine.”

  “But how long? Days at most. Yes? Without food he might survive even a month, who knows, but