by Lucy Banks
“Oh, you poor thing,” Pamela said, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. “Of course. This is just all too much for you, isn’t it? Especially given what you’ve gone through recently.”
“It is a bit,” Kester said, fighting the urge to sniff. He was feeling oddly emotional, and worryingly close to tears. It was most unlike him, but then, this day had been quite unlike any other he’d ever known. He supposed an unusual reaction was only to be expected.
“Why don’t you just stay one more night and come out with us tomorrow?” Dr Ribero suggested. There was a strident ring to his tone, a stony obstinacy, that suggested he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Come out with you tomorrow?” Kester said, blinking in confusion. “What’s happening tomorrow?”
“Oh, it’s the woodland job tomorrow, isn’t it? I completely forgot about that one,” Mike said, before he chortled. “Well, it’s certainly an interesting job to bring Kester along on.”
“Wait a minute, is this another supernatural thing?” Kester said, stuttering slightly. No way, he thought. I can’t believe they’d even think there was a remote possibility that I’d want to join them.
“Well, of course it’s a supernatural thing!” Serena said, confirming his fears. “What else would it be?” She shook her head, folding her thin arms in a neat concertina across her relatively flat chest.
“No,” Kester said firmly. “Not a chance. Thank you anyway.” He moved with greater urgency towards the door.
“This one isn’t a frightening job,” Dr Ribero continued, stepping nimbly around him and blocking his path. “It’s unusual, but not at all scary. I promise you. You will love it.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“It’s just a small, little, lost ghost. Nothing at all to be bothered by.”
Kester shook his head with disbelief. “You said that the Bean Si was nothing to be bothered by, and that was the most awful thing I’ve ever had the misfotune to see. Why would I want to see anything else?”
Pamela coughed. “Well, this one might make you feel a bit less negative about spirits. It’s honestly not scary at all. Just a tiny little spirit that’s lost its way. It’s quite sad really. We’ve found where it’s hiding, now we just need to help him home.”
Kester paused. There was something about the image of a lost little ghost that moved him slightly. But only slightly. After all, it was still a ghost at the end of the day. And he didn’t much relish the idea of hanging around in a wood, actively seeking one out. However, judging by the faces surrounding him, they weren’t going to let the subject drop. And in spite of everything, there was a tiny part of him that was just a little bit curious.
“If I do come,” he began, “can I go home after that?”
Dr Ribero tweaked his moustache between his thumb and finger, pulling it into a point with a flourish. “If you still want to,” he said slowly. “Yes, yes, absolutely. We are not trying to make you stay against your wishes, no. Of course not.”
“No, that’s definitely not what we’re trying to do,” Mike added. His amused expression suggested the exact opposite.
“I’m sure you can easily change your train times,” Pamela said. “And if you do want to stay longer, the offer to sleep at my place is still there.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Kester said quietly, giving up all hope of getting out of it. “Do you want me to come here tomorrow then?” If I really must, he added silently.
“No, we’ll pick you up in the van,” Mike said. “What B&B are you at?”
Kester gave him the address, then laughed. “Is it like the Scooby Doo van?”
Dr Ribero glared at him. “It is nothing like the Scooby Doo van. That is a cartoon, yes? No, it is not like that. We are a serious company, not a joke. Thank you.”
Kester cleared his throat. “Okay.” He resisted the urge to laugh again, aware that there was a slight note of hysteria to it. “So, shall I wait outside?”
“Yep, wait out on the street at around six o’clock,” Mike said.
“Six in the morning?” Kester squeaked. He never normally got out of bed until at least gone nine.
“Yeah, think you can manage to wake up at that time?” Serena said with the vaguest hint of a sneer.
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” he snapped, though privately thought exactly the opposite. His only consolation was that, as he wouldn’t be able to sleep, thanks to the banshee, he would probably be awake anyway. Whether or not he’d be functioning properly as a human being would be another matter entirely.
“And maybe you’ll see that door again,” Dr Ribero added, finally moving out of the way to allow him to pass.
“Door?” Kester repeated with a blank look, his attention focused on the office exit, which was now unblocked and presenting a tempting passage out into the normal world.
“The door, the spirit door,” the doctor repeated impatiently.
“The one you saw behind the Bean Si,” Pamela added.
“Oh, was that what it was?” he asked, without much real enthusiasm. He had reached the point of being beyond caring. Now, all that filled his mind was thoughts of getting out of here, out into the afternoon sunshine, where things were normal, and ghosts simply didn’t exist.
“Yes, very interesting you should see it, very interesting indeed,” Dr Ribero muttered thoughtfully. Shaking himself like a dog coming in from the rain, he gestured grandly towards the exit. “But we can discuss it more tomorrow. I can see that you are tired and overwrought. You go now. Get some sleep. Recover. Big day tomorrow.”
Kester smiled weakly, already regretting his decision to agree to join them. What was I thinking? he wondered as he scuffled from the office, closing the door with great relief behind him. What on earth was I thinking?
In the pitch blackness of the upper hallway, he shuddered suddenly. Visions of the Bean Si, its plumes of evil-smelling smoke, suddenly came to mind with horrible clarity. Who knows what other creatures are lurking in the darkness with me? he thought, then wished he hadn’t. He staggered in the direction of the staircase, cursing when his knee made sharp contact with the bannister. Images of monsters, ready to pounce, propelled him into the dim light of the downstairs corridor.
As he emerged on to the dusty, aged alleyway, he didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved to see the daylight.
Chapter 5: The Misplaced Ghost
True to Mike’s word, the van rolled up outside Kester’s B&B at exactly six o’clock. Apart from a solitary pigeon, roosting on the lamppost opposite, the street was entirely deserted. If he hadn’t been so tired, Kester might have enjoyed the serenity of the summer’s morning; the sun was easing up over the distant hills and bathing the fields with soft amber light. As it was, he hardly noticed any of it, and focused instead on how cross he was at having to be out at this ridiculous hour.
“You look bloody awful,” Mike said jovially, as Kester clambered into the passenger seat next to Miss Wellbeloved. The suspension groaned under the additional weight, like an asthmatic pensioner, and Kester shifted in the seat, worrying that it would collapse under him. “Rough night’s sleep?”
“Just a bit.” Kester grimaced. He wished he’d had time to get some breakfast. Preferably something sweet, like a pain au chocolat and a mug of steaming hot cocoa, like his mother used to make. The prospect of coping with the day ahead, without even the tiniest bit of granulated sugar to push him through, was not an attractive one.
“I hope you weren’t scared last night,” said Pamela, leaning over from the backseat. She patted his shoulder, finishing with a grasp of his elbow. “Any nightmares?” She looked sickeningly fresh and alert, given the early hour.
“I didn’t get much sleep,” Kester replied wearily. His eyes felt as though someone had stuffed them with grit, then sanded them down for good measure.
“Ah, bu
t tonight, you will sleep like a baby,” Dr Ribero announced grandly from the backseat. “You will be so worn out by today, you will not be able to stop yourself. You will see.”
Oh great, thought Kester resentfully. So whatever we’re doing today not only involves the supernatural, but it’s going to involve physical exertion too. It felt like the world’s worst combination—his two most hated things. The unexpected and sport.
Pamela squawked as the van bounced over a speedbump with a protesting creak. “I wish you’d book this thing in for a service,” she complained. “Every time it goes over a bump, it feels like the bottom’s about to fall out.”
“Well, it does have to cope with rather a heavy load, doesn’t it,” drawled Serena, who was curled up in the other corner.
“Was that a jibe about my weight?”
“Of course not,” Serena said, in a voice that implied exactly the opposite.
“Well, not all of us can be blessed with the figures of stick insects,” Pamela replied, poking her in the ribs. “And at least I’ve got breasts.”
“No question of that,” Serena agreed, with a wry look at Pamela’s voluminous bosom.
“Ladies, ladies, it’s too early in the morning for that sort of talk,” Mike said, changing up a gear. “I’m a red-blooded man, after all.” The van crunched under his abrasive handling.
“Oh Mike, you are funny,” Pamela tittered. Serena snorted, shutting her eyes.
“Would you like a quinoa and hemp bar?” Miss Wellbeloved offered, rummaging around in her handbag. “They’re exceptionally good at providing you with slow-release energy.”
Kester didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about, but nodded anyway. The mention of the word “bar” implied some sort of snack product, which hopefully might have a chocolate coating, or at the very least, a peanut or two. He was disappointed to be delivered a thin slab of something distinctly homemade, which looked about the same colour as wallpaper paste. Upon nibbling it, he realised it tasted like wallpaper paste too, but he nibbled through it nonetheless. At least it was food, albeit not terribly edible.
“So, did you manage to get any sleep last night?” Mike asked, roaring the van up into another gear and narrowly missing the kerb. “Or were thoughts of banshees keeping you awake?”
Kester pulled a face. He thought he might have dozed off for an hour or so at one point, but mostly, he’d been plagued by images of the horrible creature he’d seen the day before. It went without saying that he had left the light on all night. “I might have had a bit of sleep,” he replied curtly. “Not much though.”
“Everyone is frightened the first time they see something supernatural,” Pamela consoled. “It’s a very normal reaction, don’t worry.”
“Yeah, I absolutely wet myself when I first saw a spirit,” Mike interrupted.
“He means that literally,” Serena added. “I’d like to clarify that when I first saw a spirit, I was only a child, and I wasn’t frightened at all.”
“That’s because you frightened it instead.” Mike swung round the bend, throwing them around like ragdolls. “It probably took one look at you and fled back to the spirit world at top speed.”
“Shut up, Mike.”
Pamela tapped Kester on the back. “You do get used to it, after a while.”
“What, spirits or Serena’s constant snide comments?” Mike asked. Serena delivered a glare of pure fury, before rolling over and feigning sleep.
“I’m not sure I want to get used to it,” Kester replied. “I think I was quite happy not knowing any of it existed, actually.”
“Ah well, mate, too late for that now. Might as well adjust to the idea,” Mike said, with a cheerful nod. “Some spirits are alright actually. I got challenged to a drinking contest by one in Ireland once. That was a night and a half, I can tell you.”
“How on earth do you have a drinking contest with a ghost?” Kester said, eyes widening.
Mike laughed. “Well, let’s just say he drank me under the table. Unfair advantage really, given he could float above the table instead. But there we go.”
“You’ll swiftly realise,” Serena added, opening her eyes again, “that Mike seizes any opportunity to be drunk under the table. We might as well set up a permanent residence for him underneath a pub table, actually.”
“Whereas Serena will sip one little thimble-full of vodka, go a bit cross-eyed, start spouting ancient Greek philosophy, and pass out in the nearest corner,” Mike replied merrily.
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that night,” Pamela laughed. “That was funny. Especially when she threw up all over that poor man’s shoes.”
“Yes, well I think it’s been much exaggerated over the years,” Serena snarled.
“Oh of course, of course,” Pamela replied. “No truth in it at all, eh?” She winked at the other girl, who glowered in response.
“Where are we actually driving to?” Kester asked, scanning outside for clues. In the mellow grey gloom of the morning, he could see that they were leaving the city, and heading out on to a quieter road, flanked by the occasional thatched cottage. The vast Devonshire countryside rolled ahead of them, like a giant green carpet that someone had flung across the landscape as a casual afterthought.
“We’re off to an estate, just a few miles from here,” Miss Wellbeloved said. “Thorngrove Manor. Well, the woodlands next to Thorngrove Manor, to be precise.”
“Why did we need to leave so early then?” Kester asked.
“All spirits have their own natural rhythms,” Miss Wellbeloved replied. “Times at which they are active. This one is in completely the wrong time zone, so is most active early in the morning, until about nine.”
“What on earth do you mean, ‘wrong time zone’?” Kester asked.
“Didn’t we say?” Miss Wellbeloved peered into the windscreen mirror, smoothing her hair. “It’s a Japanese spirit. Completely dislocated, poor thing. Hasn’t got a clue where it is, and it’s wandering round causing all sorts of problems on the estate.”
“A Japanese spirit?” Kester repeated. “What? I didn’t even realise ghosts could have a nationality.”
“Of course they can!” Dr Ribero declared loudly. “Just like you and me, yes? It is the same for them.”
“Well, that’s simplifying things a bit,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted firmly. “Spirits live in the spirit world, but have links here, as you’ve already experienced. They link with specific places in our world, but this one had managed to get itself completely muddled, and has ended up in the wrong country. Now it can’t get back, and as you can imagine, that’s making him rather miserable.”
“I suppose that’s a little bit sad,” Kester said thoughtfully. “How do you know it’s miserable?”
“Because it won’t stop bloody crying,” Mike retorted. “It’s putting the toffs right off their shooting parties. Every time they head out to bag some pheasants, they find the birds have flown off, because they’re scared by this ghost. Quite funny really, when you think about it.”
“Anyway,” Miss Wellbeloved continued, ignoring Mike. “The owner of the property is an MP, so as you can imagine, he’s not too pleased. Hence we’ve been called in to sort things out.”
“Yeah, he’s a right fat prat,” Mike laughed. “Looks a bit like a blow-up dingy with an angry little red face at the top.”
Miss Wellbeloved sighed. “Anyway,” she continued. “We’re the nearest agency, so we got the job. It caused us a bit of a headache at first, because we couldn’t find the spirit, but once we’d worked out where it was and when it appeared, it made things a lot easier.”
“So, will you just be sending it back to its, er, what do you call it? Its spirit home?”
“No, we can’t just send it back right away,” Serena cut in scathingly, as though staggered by his stupidity at suggesting such a thing. “You need
to be able to access the spirit world, which very few people can do.”
“Okay,” Kester said, “what do you do with them then?”
“We gather the spirit into a storage receptacle,” Miss Wellbeloved explained.
“A water bottle,” Mike added helpfully.
“And then,” Miss Wellbeloved continued, forging ahead in spite of the interruption, “we take it back to our premises for safe storage.”
“So we stuff ’em in a cupboard, basically.”
“Yes, Mike, thank you very much,” she snapped. “We put them in our secure, locked cupboard. Then we take them to the spirit depot once a month, in London.”
“The what?” Kester said, more confused by the minute. Images of a busy sorting depot, stuffed to the brim with loud, terrifying ghosts, filled his head, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or feel utterly depressed that such a thing might actually exist.
“It’s just a drop off point, run by Infinite Enterprises, where all ghosts are taken and delivered safely back into their own world,” Mike said. “It’s me who normally gets saddled with the spirit run. Bit of a boring job really.”
“Infinite Enterprises are quite important then, are they?” Kester asked. Mike snorted and refused to reply.
“They’re the only people with the facilities to open spirit doors manually,” Serena clarified. “It’s cutting-edge technology. Costs a fortune. Which is precisely why we don’t have it.”
“Which is why people who can open spirit doors are so valuable,” Ribero muttered. “They’re a lot cheaper.” Miss Wellbeloved looked over her shoulder, shooting him a look.
They sat in silence for a while. The sun gradually filtered colour through the landscape, and the pastel blue hue of the sky hinted at another bright, cloudless day. In spite of his tiredness, Kester enjoyed the sight of the rolling hills in the distance, turning from milk-grey to green under the caress of the sun. Back in Cambridge, there wasn’t much in the way of hills. Here, there was a wildness that made him think of ancient times, before mankind had trampled all over the planet and urbanised it into an endless succession of cities and towns.
