by Lucy Banks
“Would anyone like another quinoa and hemp bar?” Miss Wellbeloved offered, pulling the Tupperware pot out of her bag.
“No.” The response was unanimous.
“We’re here now, anyway,” Mike said, swinging through an imposing wrought iron gate. “Not bad timing, either. That’s the perks of driving early.”
They started to jiggle around like pebbles as the van rattled up the extensive driveway. Kester quickly grabbed on to the side of the door for support, mainly to save himself the embarrassment of rolling into Miss Wellbeloved’s lap.
“Rather impressive house,” he said.
“I’ll say. Landed bloody gentry,” Mike grumbled. “All the privileges a title can bring.”
The estate loomed ahead—a giant stone behemoth squatting in the midst of some exceptionally neatly landscaped gardens. It spoke volumes about its owner: important, imposing, and rather self-satisfied.
“I’m not really dressed for meeting anyone important,” Kester said nervously.
“Oh, these lot aren’t important,” Mike said with a growl. “Just because they got born with a silver spoon stuck firmly up their—”
“Yes, thank you, Mike,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted. She turned to Kester, observing his faded t-shirt with an appraising eye. “You’ll do fine,” she concluded. “They’ll just presume you’re here to tidy up afterwards or something.”
“Oh great,” Kester mumbled. He knew he should have worn his shirt.
He stumbled out onto the driveway, scratching his head in dismay. What am I about to let myself in for? he wondered, looking over at the woodland in the distance, a silhouette of treetops huddled behind an expanse of immaculate lawn. Is there really another ghost, lurking somewhere in those trees? Even if it was only a small, sobbing spirit, he wasn’t really sure he was in the mood to meet it.
A door slammed, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked over to see a portly figure marching down the stone stairs to greet them. His stomach was only just contained by his dressing gown, which threatened to come loose with every forceful step.
“Oh, here we go,” Serena muttered. “Here comes Lord Flab-gut now,”
“Flanburgh, not Flab-gut, and don’t be so rude,” Miss Wellbeloved hissed. Pamela giggled.
“Aha, so you’re here,” the man declared, as he pulled slowly to a stop, like a steam train creaking into a station. His strident tones startled a gull roosting on the roof above, sending it flapping into the sky. “Well, I’m glad you’ve come. The whole situation is becoming quite unmanageable.”
“What has happened?” Dr Ribero said, striding over to take charge of the situation. “No threatening behaviour, I hope?”
“Oh no, no, nothing of that sort,” Lord Flanburgh said, tightening his dressing gown. “It’s just the crying. It’s such a god-awful nuisance. I shall be glad to be rid of it. It’s quite ruined my shooting season; I can tell you. Not to mention all the mud it’s produced. Loud, messy little bugger, it really is.”
Mike snorted, and quickly turned it into a cough.
Lord Flanburgh eyed him suspiciously before continuing. “No, that ruddy thing has been exceptional trouble, and obviously having to keep everything hush hush has been rather tricky. I was worried that a few of the lads on the shoot might run off to the press, and we couldn’t have that now, could we?” He gave a meaningful nod, a gesture ruined by the fact that he could only tilt his head slightly, due to the size of his double chin.
“Well, we are here now, and we will have this spirit gone within an hour or so, okay?” Dr Ribero said, rubbing his hands together. “This is not a difficult case, now we know where the little chap is hiding.”
Lord Flanburgh chortled. “I’d hardly call it a little chap. Little monster more like. Ruddy odd creature. Glad to be shot of it, sir, glad to be shot of it. Still, as the wife said, at least it wasn’t in the house. That never would have done. Ruining all our Queen Anne furniture. Doesn’t even bear thinking about.”
“Shall we get started then?” Miss Wellbeloved said, looking at her watch. “We don’t want to lose our opportunity.”
“Quite so, yes. Do carry on. Do what needs to be done to get the little blighter gone, won’t you?”
Ribero nodded graciously. “Ah yes. The little ‘blighter’ will be out of your wood in no time at all, yes? Now, if you will excuse us, your Lordship.”
Lord Flanburgh gave his stomach a reflective pat. Kester suspected he might be contemplating his breakfast, which would be a lot better than a quinoa and hemp bar. “Yes, good luck to you,” he concluded, then spun on his heel and headed back towards the house.
“He is a strange man,” Dr Ribero whispered, as they watched the elephantine figure wobble back into the house.
“A fat bastard more like,” Mike muttered. This time, no one disagreed with him.
“Right, shall we get going?” Serena said. “Mike, why don’t you go and get the kit?”
“Why do I have to go and get the kit?” Mike grumbled. “You’ve got hands, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but you’re always going on about your rippling muscles,” Serena retorted. “Time to put them to work.” She stalked off in the direction of the woods without a backward glance. Pamela scuttled after her eagerly. Miss Wellbeloved looked at Dr Ribero, sighed, and followed suit. Kester saw no other option but to scurry after them, heart pounding. He was anxious about what he was about to see, but oddly excited too. In fact, in spite of his tiredness, he felt more awake than he had done in weeks, months perhaps. It was all rather exhilarating, despite his deep-seated fear of what lay ahead.
The trees were much larger than they’d looked from a distance. Great oaks hulked above them, weighed down with bumpy leaves, and tall birches towered like elderly men, reaching haphazardly to the sky. Walking through their trunks, he suddenly felt rather small and awed, much like he often felt when entering a cathedral. The air was still. Strangely still, in fact. He couldn’t detect a single bird chirruping, in spite of the fact that it was early morning. It was as though someone had pressed the mute button, draining the wood of all noise.
“Quiet, isn’t it?” Mike chimed, out of breath from running to catch up.
“Why is it so silent?” Kester asked, looking nervously over his shoulder. He half-expected to see ghosts leaping out from behind every tree.
“Animals generally don’t like spirits,” Miss Wellbeloved explained. “If a spirit takes up residence, you can be sure that most of the animals will have moved out within a day or so. There’s something about the supernatural that sets their teeth on edge.”
Much like me, Kester thought. I really can’t say I blame them.
“How much further do we have to go?” he asked.
“It’s quite a way in,” Pamela explained. She was already beginning to pant a bit. “Probably another twenty minutes’ walk?”
As it turned out, twenty minutes was more like three-quarters of an hour. The wood was far larger than he had realised, and part of the journey was a steep uphill climb. Soon, despite the coolness of the morning air, Kester had worked up a sweat, and was struggling to catch his breath. He was heartily relieved he hadn’t worn his smart shirt after all.
“So, when did you first get into all of this?” he asked Pamela, as much to break the eerie silence as anything else.
“What, you mean when did I join the agency?”
He nodded.
“Well, I always knew I wasn’t normal,” she said, patting the perspiration off her cheeks. Her frizzy hair was pasted down against her forehead, forming a round helmet of sweat. “I used to pick up on spirits all the time when I was little. My parents were terrified. Luckily, I eventually met the right people, who guided me in the direction of Ribero’s agency.”
“Then you realised there were other people like you?”
She grinned. “That’s right. It�
�s comforting to know you’re not alone.”
“And what was my mum like?”
Pamela paused, glancing over at Miss Wellbeloved. She looked uncomfortable. “Your mum was a very gentle, sweet-natured person,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And of course, celebrated across the country, because of her unique talents.”
“I was also highlighted as a great talent when I joined the agency,” Serena interrupted, sidling up behind them. She was still wearing stilettoes, but seemed unfazed about trampling through the woods in them. Maybe she even wears them to bed, Kester thought, irritated by her presence. He’d wanted to hear more about his mother.
“Were you?” he asked, without much enthusiasm.
“Yes. I’m young, but I’ve already got a reputation as one of the best extinguishers in the country.” She looked upwards, her green eyes twinkling in the mottled sunlight. “Put it like this. I take no prisoners. I’m not down with this woolly, softly-softly approach. I get rid of spirits and I don’t mess around.”
“You know Jennifer doesn’t like you talking like that,” Pamela reminded her.
“No, I don’t.” Miss Wellbeloved looked over her shoulder, giving Serena a warning look. “Spirits have every much right to be respected as you do.”
“Aha, we are very nearly there,” Dr Ribero announced, as they started to clamber downhill along a narrow path.
“How can you tell?” puffed Kester, marginally peeved to see that Dr Ribero didn’t appear remotely tired after the brisk walk. For an older man, he really is in good shape, he thought enviously, noting his father’s flat stomach underneath the white shirt. He looked down at his own quivering paunch and frowned.
“Can you not hear it?” Dr Ribero whispered, halting him with a gentle press of the hand. “Listen.”
Kester paused. Sure enough, as his ears adjusted once more to the silence, he could detect a faint noise floating on the still air. A whispery, but undeniably clear sob. The hairs on his neck promptly stood on end.
“My goodness,” he breathed, astonished. “It sounds like a human crying.”
“Not so much when you get up close,” Dr Ribero said. “Then you can hear the difference. You will see.”
I’m not sure I want to see, Kester thought, feeling suddenly cold. The madness of the situation hit him with sudden, brutal force. This time yesterday, he hadn’t even believed in ghosts. Now, here he was, out searching for one in the middle of nowhere, with a group of people that he scarcely even knew. What on earth has happened to my life? he thought with bewilderment. And how do I get back to being normal again?
“Come on, let’s get on with it,” Serena grumbled. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, I could do with a full English breakfast right now,” Mike said, yawning. “Sausages, bacon, couple loaves of toast, that’d do me nicely.”
They pressed forward, wrestling with the increasingly tangled undergrowth. The crying increased in volume. As they got closer, Kester could detect a distinct difference to the sobbing. It sounded hollow, like an echo through a tunnel, with a wispy after-note that hung in the air, vibrating to nothing. The nearer they got, the more Kester wished he could retreat again. Pamela noticed his discomfort and gave his arm a squeeze.
“Honestly, it’s fine, love,” she whispered. “Nothing to be scared of.”
“Okay,” he squeaked, wishing he could believe her. He felt utterly terrified.
Kester pressed after them, through a thicket of particularly dense foliage, trying not to sting his arms on the nettles. All the while, the crying became louder and more insistent, combined with another sound that he couldn’t quite identify. A grainy, rhythmic noise, like gravel being thrown against a wall. What was it? It sounded so familiar, yet he couldn’t quite place it. Then, as he stepped into the clearing and saw the cause of the sound, he realised instantly what it was.
“Oh my goodness, it’s raining on him,” he breathed. He tried to speak further, but the sight struck him speechless, his mouth gaping open and shut like a surprised haddock.
Standing alone in the clearing stood a tiny creature, as perfectly formed as a china doll, though he stood no taller than an average sized dog. He, if indeed it was male, was dressed in an impossibly white gown, which glowed with the intensity of a celestial body. Initially, Kester was confused by what appeared to be a huge disc, hovering above the spirit’s head. Then he realised. It was a delicate little parasol. This ghost is carrying an umbrella! he thought incredulously, unsure whether to start laughing or tear out of the woods in horror.
The sound that he had heard was the noise of heavy raindrops falling on the ghost, and the ghost alone. All around the creature’s bare little feet, the ground had turned to thick mud. In fact, the whole clearing was virtually a bog. It was a stark contrast to the parched ground they’d walked on to get here.
“Amefurikozo,” Miss Wellbeloved said, stepping forward. “Koko ni kunasai.”
“What does that mean?” Kester whispered to Serena.
“I haven’t got the foggiest,” Serena replied. “Jennifer’s probably just learnt a few phrases of Japanese to put the spirit at ease.”
“Amefurikozo is its name,” Dr Ribero corrected. “He is a Japanese yokai. A little child spirit. You see?”
Whatever Miss Wellbeloved had said to the ghost, it appeared to have worked. The creature looked up, umbrella tilted like a halo. Two huge, black eyes, empty and knowing as a field mouse, surveyed each of them in turn. Kester couldn’t tell whether it was the result of the crying or the rain, but moisture had started to corrode the spirit’s white cheeks, melting them like candle wax.
“Koko ni kunasai,” Miss Wellbeloved repeated, gesturing to the ghost. “Koko ni kunasai.”
“What are you saying to him now?” Ribero whispered.
“I think I’m asking him to come here, in Japanese,” she replied.
“Hang on, where did you learn the phrase?” Mike asked.
Miss Wellbeloved rolled her eyes. “On the internet, like anyone else would,” she hissed. “Why?”
“Was it a proper website?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you could be saying anything to him, like ‘do you need the toilet’ or ‘your burger’s about to fall out of its bun’ or something like that, couldn’t you? If it’s not a reputable site.”
“Oh do shut up, Mike.”
Serena laughed out loud, and the spirit wailed at the noise, a mournful yowl that swept through the clearing like a bitter breeze. It held its porcelain-pale hands out to ward them off, and glided backwards over the turbulent mud.
“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Miss Wellbeloved said, glaring at them all. “Will you all please be quiet?” She edged towards the trembling ghost, who was sobbing with renewed vigour.
“What a sad creature,” Kester said, touched in spite of himself. He’d never seen such a morose, frightened sight. Although its face, with its billiard ball eyes and colourless features, was horribly unnatural, its inner turmoil was so raw that it was impossible not to be moved.
“Kester,” Dr Ribero whispered, sidling up beside him, quiet as a serpent. “Tell me, do you see this door again?”
“What door?”
“You know, you know,” Ribero spluttered back, poking him in the ribs. “The one you saw with the Bean Si, yes? You remember. It was only yesterday, right? Can you see it now?”
“You mean the weird opening I saw behind the banshee?”
“Yes, of course that is what I mean! Do you see it?”
Kester looked back at the little spirit, who had stopped retreating and was now watching Miss Wellbeloved fearfully, clasping its bird-like hands together in a ball of anxiety. Kester squinted hard, scanning the area for signs of the strange ragged opening he had seen behind the banshee, but he couldn’t see anything. Only trees, a little raincloud, and a lot of mud.
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“No, sorry,” he said finally. “Why do you ask?” It was a curious question. Why does this door thing matter so much to the old man? he wondered. It’s about the fifth time he’s mentioned it, it’s obviously of some importance. I hardly like to tell him I think I imagined it all.
“Hmm, that is strange,” Dr Ribero muttered, clearly disappointed. “Very strange indeed. I would have thought you would have been able to see it again.”
“Could everyone please stop gossiping and help instead?” Miss Wellbeloved whispered, throwing them a filthy look. “I rather feel as though I’m doing all the work here.”
Serena yanked the bag off Mike’s shoulder, nearly pulling him over with it.
“Oi, watch out!” Mike barked, rubbing his arm. Serena rolled her eyes and knelt down, pulling various contraptions out of the bag, until she found what she was looking for. She held the water bottle in the air.
“Are you ready for me to start then?” she asked, tiptoeing closer.
“Not quite,” the older woman replied. “I’m trying telepathic calming, it seems to be having some effect, but we need him a lot more settled than this before we get him into storage. That’s why it really would help if everyone would stop talking. It’s difficult enough to communicate with a foreign spirit as it is.”
“Just let me stuff him in the bottle!” Serena snapped. “Otherwise we’ll be here all day.”
“No, we’ll treat him with the respect he deserves,” Miss Wellbeloved snapped back. “We don’t need another frightened spirit, Serena. Remember the last time.”
Serena groaned theatrically, stuffing her hands into her tight black jeans.
“Watashitachi wa tasukemasu,” Miss Wellbeloved continued, holding her hands out. “Come on, little thing. We’re trying to help you.”
The spirit sniffed in a manner that was uncommonly like a human, wiping its tiny doll nose on its sleeve. It’s actually quite sweet, Kester thought, entranced by its delicate features. He smiled. Perhaps this isn’t so bad after all.
