A Spectre in the Stones

by John Kitchen

  Lloyd looked at them, his eyes questioning and his antennae twitching. “Where you going tomorrow, then?” he asked, and Justin was looking really pleased.

  “I’m doing a dig up in Shropshire with one of my old professors and some of the third-year students,” he said. “It’s like, all this stuff has made me do a bit of a rethink and I’m going to take your advice. I’m going back to university.”

  Rudi’s face beamed. “That’s fantastic,” he said, but Lloyd was stunned.

  “You starting straight away?” he said. “You leaving Sarson Hall now?”

  Justin smiled. “Not till the autumn.”

  “What about this dig, then?”

  “It’s only for a week,” Justin said.

  But even that was a thump below the belt. “Don’t get me wrong nor nothing, Justin, man,” he said. “And I’m pleased and everything, especially about you going back to university, but say something big crops up down at Sarson Hall next week while you’re away?”

  “I’ll give you my mobile number,” Justin said. “Anything big and we can talk it through on the phone.”

  Jenny put an arm around his shoulder. “And if it’s that big, Lloyd, I’m sure James will be only too pleased to come down at the weekend and help you sort it.”

  “Is James on this dig too?” asked Lloyd.

  James shook his head. “No. I’ve got commitments back at university.”

  But Lloyd was blown sideways.

  Even if nothing cropped up with the ghost – a whole week without having Justin there – it was like, the rope that kept him at his moorings had been severed, and for the whole week he would be left adrift.

  Justin did his best to reassure him, but Lloyd couldn’t get on top of it.

  He half-hoped everything would grind to a halt for the week, but the other half of him fought against that. He was caught up with the pace of things and any obstacle that threatened to frustrate his progress bugged him.

  He had Justin’s mobile number along with all the reassurance he could dish out. “I’ll keep my phone on,” he said. “All the time, so, any problems and you can get through to me straightaway.” Then he looked, with what was meant to ease Lloyd’s anxiety, and added, “I don’t expect there will be anything big, though.”

  “We haven’t gone a week without something big yet,” Lloyd said. “I mean, all we found so far has happened in three weeks.”

  “Yes, but the big stuff – we’ve found out most of that at weekends, and I’ll be back by then. How about I come in on Saturday, first thing, and we go into Brookley – get a drink at Costa or something and we’ll talk through anything that’s come up.”

  Lloyd looked doubtful, but he didn’t want to put too much pressure on Justin. No matter which way you looked at it, Justin was a great guy and this was a big thing for him. He wanted it to be good, so he just smiled and set his mind on braving out the week.

  “That’ll be okay, man,” he said. “You go off and do this dig and have a great time. That’s what we want, isn’t that right, Rudi?”

  Rudi nodded. “It’ll be fantastic,” he said. “And it’s brilliant that you’re going back to university. It’s like Lloyd said, you’re wasted in this place.”

  But, as Justin’s van disappeared down the drive, there was a gaping hole, and the thick silence of Sarson Hall enveloped Lloyd again.

  He didn’t see Caitlin until she showed up for the sleepwalking, but she didn’t seem over-stressed. There was all the gentle coercion and soft touches and he reassured himself that, no matter what had gone on the previous night, tonight she was going to be okay.

  He was nervous in the North Wing though because, with Justin gone, discovery would be an even bigger problem. For the first time, he was hoping the Beaker man wouldn’t show and, as he headed into the cellar, he could sense, although the paranormal disruption was there, it was all tired stuff – and the spectre didn’t turn up. The spirals just melted back into the floor.

  He also made it back to the bedroom without getting caught and, as he sank into bed, he clung to the hope that this would be the pattern for the rest of the week.

  Next morning, at school, he was summoned to Mrs Cherry’s office. She was perched behind her desk, and her bloated face was ripe for the picking. She had piggy eyes. He hadn’t noticed that before.

  “Well, Lloyd Lewis,” she said. “I must say, you are a dark horse.”

  “You saying I’m black, or what?” he said.

  “Dark horse,” she said. “It means you come up with the unexpected, as you well know.”

  “So long as you aren’t referring to me being black – because, if you are, that’s racist.”

  “I’m referring to the matter of you and Craig Donovan. I would have spoken to you on Friday, but I had the police in for most of the day.”

  It was difficult to gauge her. It sounded as if she was trying to give him credit for something – but it wasn’t coming out like that.

  “I suppose I should congratulate you for uncovering what has turned out to be a rather nasty drugs operation,” she said. But there was still a flavour of spite in her voice and he stared at her.

  “That wasn’t no sweat, man. I don’t have no dealings with drugs. That’s what killed my mother.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

  “Yeah. Whatever.” He shrugged and continued staring, blanking her, because he knew that got up her nose.

  “I really think you have a problem, Lloyd,” she said at last. “Miss Webb putting you in for extra maths and now the unveiling of the drugs. It’s a great pity these obviously good points are obviated by your truculent manner.”

  “Yeah, well,” he said. “It’s like this, isn’t it, Mrs Cherry, ma’am. People don’t show me no respect, and I don’t have to show them no respect.”

  “Don’t you think respect has to be earned?” she said. She was turning towards beetroot again. He always had that effect on her and, most of the time, it gave him satisfaction. But he was painfully aware he’d got to tread carefully this week. The last thing he wanted was trouble with Dave – not with Justin away. But he couldn’t help himself and he couldn’t let her get away with that.

  “Yeah, right,” he said. “Like you said, it’s got to be earned. It’s two-way traffic, isn’t that right?”

  “Well?” She leaned back in her chair, waiting. He decided that, leaning back made her look even more like a barrel and he couldn’t figure why she always wore flowery dresses that were shaped like tents.

  “Like I said, it’s two-way traffic,” he persisted. And she let out a withering sigh.

  “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you identify the boys you passed the drugs to,” she said.

  It was the way she said it that made him dig his heels in.

  “If the police want me to, then that’s okay with me,” he said. He gave her the famous Gallic shrug.

  “It isn’t a matter of the police wanting you to, Lloyd; it’s a matter of internal school discipline,” she said.

  “No, it isn’t, Mrs Cherry.” By this time he’d had enough. “Them kids took drugs. That’s against the law, okay? If the police want to talk to them, then I got to identify them, but I aren’t going to queer the police’s pitch by telling you first.” He turned for the door and looked back in a way calculated to do things to her blood pressure. “Is that it, then?”

  Mrs Cherry emitted one more explosive sigh and waved a limp hand in the direction of the door. “Just go,” she said. He hoped he hadn’t gone too far – but he couldn’t help it; that woman got so deep under his skin.

  He knew she and Dave were thick, and he half-expected to be called to Dave’s office when they got back, but Dave was still keeping a low profile.

  The antagonism with the other kids about him grassing on Craig hadn’t gone, though – and now there was no escape. For the first time since he’d been at Sarson Hall, the route to the garden and Justin had been cut off.

  That night, when he went
to the North Wing, he was doubly cautious – and, he had to admit, he couldn’t wait for the week to end.

  Caitlin was already going down the stairs when he arrived.

  He steered her back to her room, but this time, as they reached the top of the stairs, she manoeuvred herself so she was walking beside him and he felt her arm slip around his waist – and that surprised him because it was like she wasn’t sleepwalking anymore. Her eyelids were still heavy and her eyelashes hooded her eyes in a semblance of sleep, but there was a half smile and he wasn’t convinced she was totally unaware of what she was doing. And that idea excited him. All the ritualistic caresses, the touching lips, the soft kisses and the semiconscious looks – they would take on a new significance if she knew what was happening.

  He was thinking about this as he made his way down the stairs, but not for long. When he got through the cellar door, things were going on that drove any thoughts of Caitlin out of his head.

  Immediately he knew that it was going to be bad news; there was a tension in the place. He could feel it the moment he set foot on the first of the descending steps. The forty-watt bulb was spitting, giving off the effect of ghoulish disco lights and, behind him, the door slammed vehemently. The smell of must and age was stifling, and he knew the Beaker man was going to show again.

  As he reached the cellar, the spirals of dust were whipping themselves into a frenzy and their vigour sent chills through him. They were merging too quickly, and then… there was the luminosity, like green slime in the stones, and the form of a crouched creature, long bearded with wisps of hair escaping from its woollen helmet. The apparition was wearing its long robe, and its age-old eyes were darting about the room. It rose from its crouched position almost immediately and began moving towards him.

  Great gasping sighs of nothingness filled the place and Lloyd stepped back. But, straightaway, the spectre held out a hand in a gesture of welcome, and it nodded its head, muttering words – and those eyes, mirroring ageless time, probed him.

  “How you doing, old man?” Lloyd said. He felt some sort of greeting was necessary and the spectre ejected a long sigh that faded into oblivion.

  “You want me to tell you what I’ve been up to?” he said. He breathed as deeply as the fetid air would allow and then proceeded. “Well, we done the dowsing – all out towards Brookley Henge. We done that last Saturday. We got the professor down from London and he thinks like I do. Them ley lines is all over the place from here to Brookley. We reckon they’re being pulled apart because of what the Tudors done, building Sarson Hall with stones from your circle.”

  The Beaker man raised his head and let out another sigh.

  “And you was dead excited when I said about that mound, isn’t that right?”

  The reaction to that was the same as before. The apparition broke into a barrage of words, gesticulating with its arms, and once again Lloyd was convinced the mound had some huge significance.

  “We dug a bit of that up,” he said. “Me, Rudi and Justin, and it was like, there’s trimmings there, isn’t that right? From when they cut the stones to build the hall?”

  All the time, the Beaker man was getting more agitated, gabbling away and prancing around. Lloyd almost laughed. “You best calm down, old man, or you’ll give yourself a heart attack.” He looked at the gesticulating spectre, pale green and translucent, whirling around. It was almost like one of its own spirals. “Trouble is,” Lloyd said.

  “I can’t figure what you’re getting so excited about. Is there something else in that mound?”

  When he said that, the creature stopped suddenly. The eyes pierced through him and, in one swoop, it leant towards the dust and drew something on the ground. This time it was a line and, at the end of the line, two clearly defined circles, one inside the other, then another line shooting off at a tangent from the circles – with an arrow – pointing… The sketch melted almost as soon as it had been drawn, but Lloyd had seen, and he gasped.

  “Draw that again,” he said, and once more, the creature stooped. It drew the straight line, this time moving a finger up and down it vigorously, and then two circles, and the arrow pointing off.

  “I got it,” Lloyd whispered. “I got what you’re saying, man.”

  There was a thrill pulsing through him, because the moment the spectre had drawn the first picture, he understood, and the second drawing reinforced his conviction. “That is so clever and it’s simple too; I should have thought of that myself.”

  The ghost stood up then and its look encompassed every centimetre of Lloyd’s being. After that it uttered a sigh. It was a sigh beginning with relief and fading into the deepest tranquillity and, with the sigh, the creature faded, leaving the dust to settle while the forty-watt bulb returned to a long, steady glow.

  And Lloyd could hardly believe it.

  He knew.

  He knew exactly what he had to do to bring this manic disruption to an end.

  It would be a big job. He’d need Justin and he’d need the professor – most likely with a team of helpers. It couldn’t be done till Saturday, when Justin got back and the professor was free. It would need some advanced organising too; he’d have to phone Justin in the morning. But… this weekend, one way or another, he would see the curse lifted from Sarson Hall – and the Beaker man would be able to rest in peace at last.

  He clambered back up the stairs. His head was whirling, and he pushed through the fire door into the main wing.

  Then he stopped.

  The landing light was on and, standing by the door of his bedroom, with his arms folded and a look of delinquent triumph on his face, was Dave Trafford.

  “So,” he said. “We’ve been doing a bit of late-night wandering have we?”

  Lloyd didn’t move. There was no point in trying the “I’ve been to the toilet” stunt, because, as Christine had pointed out, the toilets were at the other end of the building. Besides, Dave knew exactly what was going on. James had told him. He knew about his visits to the cellar.

  “I had to see the ghost, didn’t I?” he said.

  But, as he spoke, he could see the malice in Dave’s face. His lips were tight and he just knew this was going to be a downward journey.

  “I see,” Dave said. “Ghosts, is it? What rubbish you do come up with, Lloyd Lewis. I’ve just about had enough of you. Get down to my office. You’ve been nothing but trouble from the moment you set foot in this place.”

  He pushed him through the office door and closed it firmly behind him.

  “Sit down,” he snapped, and although Lloyd despised the balding blob, the ice-cold tone sent a shiver through him.

  Dave sat behind his desk, the harsh low-energy light giving his face an aura of menace. He mitred his fingers and stared.

  “You know, Lloyd,” he said – and suddenly his voice took on a quiet, lethally controlled tone. “I don’t think you’ve really settled here, have you? It’s been one long grouse after another. First the smell, then unbelievable fantasies about supernatural visions, and winding up children. You’ve shown aggression towards staff and no cooperation at school.”

  Lloyd opened his mouth, but Dave gave that tiny-teethed, simpering smile. “Oh, yes, Lloyd Lewis. You needn’t think your activities at school have passed me by. I’ve heard about this morning and your calculated insolence with Mrs Cherry. Mrs Cherry and I are in constant touch, you know?

  “And then, getting Justin involved in your ridiculous fantasies – and Rudi and Martin. And having the gall to involve outside agencies like Professor Appleyard, to say nothing of the way you take the law into your own hands, flouting rules, going off after lights out and wandering at will about the place. It negates everything we stand for –

  the smooth running of the home, the discipline, the morale, and, quite frankly, I’ve had just about all I can take.”

  He was going to be gated again. He could see it coming, and, more than likely, he’d get put in some room right by the supervisors’ common room so he couldn’t ge
t out.

  But it didn’t matter anymore. He knew how to end all this. He’d phone Justin and, at the weekend, the professor would be down and he was certain Dave wouldn’t stand up against him. He stared defiantly into the rimless glasses. “Yeah?” he said. “And what you going to do about it?”

  A tremor shot down his spine though when he saw Dave lean back in his chair, with his fingers touching his lips and the self-satisfied smirk on his face. There was something coming that he hadn’t seen.

  “As I said, Lloyd Lewis, I somehow feel this place isn’t right for you, so I’m having you moved to another home. I’ve already contacted Robin. He’s making arrangements and he’ll be here to collect you on Friday. I think that will be best for all concerned, don’t you?”

  Lloyd hadn’t realised just how near blind panic was to total blackout. This couldn’t happen. He’d be out before Justin got back. He’d be out before he could defuse the curse. It was vital for him to be here on Saturday for the other kids’ sake, for Caitlin’s sake, for Rudi’s and Martin’s sake, for the sake of the old Beaker man, for the balance of the earth’s forces.

  His basic instinct was to react, to leap up, stung with the whipping force of it – let Dave Trafford know he’d been dealt a crippling blow. But he wasn’t going to do that. No way was he giving that slug the satisfaction.

  “Whatever,” he said. “You’re in control – you get Robin. You move me. See if I care. It won’t be the first time.”

  Dave’s face began to redden. “You’re right, Lloyd Lewis. I am in control, and it’s a great pity you didn’t realise that before.”

  “Like I said, it isn’t no sweat,” Lloyd said. He got up. “That’ll be it then, will it, Mister Trafford?”

  “For the moment,” said Dave. “Now, for goodness’ sake, get back to bed and stay there.”

  The next morning Dave put in an appearance at breakfast and there was a look of triumph on his face.

  Lloyd told Rudi about it. He told him about the ghost and the sketches too – and how he knew what to do.