by Sarah Dalton
“It’s not that, Mr. Igor,” I say. “We need your help.”
Lacey steps forward and passes through Igor. His eyes widen and his back straightens. I nod to him as he begins to realise what has happened.
“We’re not alone,” he whispers, staring through me towards the back of the room. He pauses and remains still in contemplation. Then he raps the bar with his knuckle and leans towards the bartender. “Eileen, do you mind if I pop upstairs for a few minutes? These kids need to talk shop.”
“Sure.” She sets down a cleaned glass and picks up a set of keys from behind the bar. “Bring them back when you’re done.”
Igor lifts his hat from the stool, sets it on his head and takes the keys. He winks at her. “I know the drill.”
*
“So, you have a friend with you, then?” Igor says as he lifts his pint to his lips. The Guinness leaves a beer moustache on his upper lip.
I nod. “You can sense her?”
“Of course.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs, his ankle resting on the opposite knee.
We’re sat in the function room above the pub, on fold out chairs set on the wooden floorboards of a dance floor. There’s a stage behind us, the red curtains drawn. I wonder if they have local bands play, or whether they cater for the older crowd, employing pub singers and third rate comedians.
“Did yer think I were a charlatan or summat?” He narrows his eyes. The Yorkshire twang is gruff yet somehow comforting, evoking the tone of the Northern relatives you see around Christmas.
“We came to you for help, remember?” Neil points out.
“Aye, well. You’d be surprised how many folk come to poke fun. You’d think they’d have summat better to do.”
“We’re not like that, Mr. Igor. We need help with a powerful spirit,” I say.
“How powerful?”
“Strong enough to take another life,” I reply.
Igor’s eyes hold mine as he takes a long gulp of Guinness. He’s already put away half a pint while we’ve been upstairs. He smacks his lips and bangs the glass down. “Yer talking crap. There’s no way you’ve seen a murdering ghost.”
“It’s Little Amy,” Neil says.
Igor’s expression seems to lengthen. His jaw goes slack and his eyes widen. The rose coloured tint left on his cheeks by the alcohol fades, washing out his skin and making the shadows beneath his eyes more visible. He goes to stand up, but I put a hand on his.
“It’s true. I’ve seen her. You know it’s true. Someone like you must have noticed the mysterious deaths around here, the way men die on or around Five Moors? I know you’ve noticed. It’s time to stop ignoring it,” I say.
Igor drops back into his seat, leaning forward on the wobbling round table. “Amy’s death didn’t just affect me, or her family, it affected the whole village.” He lifts a hand and half-heartedly rubs his eye socket. “Terrible night, it was. Little lass like that.”
“We know it was tragic,” I say. “But we need to find out if you know how to banish a ghost for good. She’s killing people, Igor. She tried to kill me.” My hand goes to my throat. “I barely survived. It was Lacey, here, who helped.” I gesture to Lacey even though I know he can’t see her.
When Igor starts, I realise Lacey has revealed herself.
“Hi,” she says.
Igor fumbles with his glasses. “You’re a fresh one.”
“If you mean my corpse, it’s not so fresh,” she says.
“I’m sorry. I mean, you’ve not been dead long.”
“63 days 10 minutes and 27 seconds, but who’s counting?” Lacey replies.
I wish I could reach out and squeeze her hand.
“Whatever you want to do to this Little Amy chick, you’re not testing it out on me. Just thought I’d get that out of the way from the beginning,” Lacey says.
Igor lets out a sigh so heavy that it seems to age him. “I’d hoped to put all that behind me. But I suppose it’s time to start again. You see, I used to be in the ghost hunting business. Or rather, ghost extermination business.”
Lacey stares at Igor in horror, and I share a satisfied look with Neil. We did the right thing coming to Igor.
“You exterminate ghosts?” Lacey says.
“I used to,” he corrects. “A long time ago. Ghosts are extraneous spirits in this world, they shouldn’t, by rights, be here, and most of the time they cause problems for those around them. They become bitter, twisted… Oh, sorry lass, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Lacey stares down at the table between us. This time I reach out to try and take her hand, forgetting all about her non-corporeal form, and getting a chill for my efforts.
“We’re not all extraneous,” she says. “I have a purpose. I’m going to stop that Amy chick from taking any more lives. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Igor nods. “Well, all right then. It’s good to have you on board. When you’re taking on a revenge spirit, it’s good to have a team to back you up.”
“Have you ever worked with a ghost before?” I ask.
Igor drains more of his pint and burps into his closed fist. “This’ll be a first. Fifty-two and still having firsts in this world—ain’t that something?”
“So, how does the… umm, ghost extermination work?” Neil asks.
“Can’t talk about it here.” He leans to the side and rummages around in his jeans pocket. After a few moments he pulls out a small card. “Me business card. Yer can get hold of me on that number there.” He points to the number. When I reach out to take the card, he pulls it away, flips it over and takes a pen from a small clip inside his top hat. After scribbling on the back of the card he passes it to me. “That there’s me address and a time. Come to it tomorrow and I’ll explain everything. Wear warm and comfortable clothing.”
Igor stands to leave as I’m examining his card. There’s a picture of half his face, wearing the top hat. Over the top, a bad photo manipulation job has superimposed a skull. Igor – Professional Ghost Tours, it says. It’s almost exactly the same as the leaflet I’d put in my bag during the first ten minutes of arriving in Nettleby. Perhaps I always knew I would be led here.
The next moment, Igor drains his pint and his boots clip across the dance floor, leaving me with Lacey and Neil.
“Well, that was dramatic,” Lacey says.
Chapter Fifteen
We head back down to the pub to find Seth at the bar. His smile broadens when we approach and the first thing he does is ask if I want a drink.
“Watch out for poison,” Lacey says. I flash her a glare.
“Erm, ghost whisperer? You might not want to glare at the entire pub. She is invisible, you know,” Neil says.
I bite my lip. “Yeah, I keep forgetting that.”
“Next time you forget, you might find yourself in some psychiatric ward somewhere,” he continues.
“Not for the first time,” Lacey says. Her eyes flash with wickedness.
I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Seth doesn’t know about my stay in Magdelena yet. At least he can’t hear Lacey. But the thing is, the Lacey I know would never make a cruel remark like that. She has a mischievous sense of humour, and sometimes it cuts close to the bone, but she’s never cruel. I hear the distant ring of warning bells, and Igor’s words haunt me. Do all ghosts become bitter and twisted?
“So, you said something about coming here to get information?” Seth says as he passes me another Coke. “Did you find anything?”
“Yeah, actually we did,” I say.
Neil directs us over to a quiet table in the corner. There are three stools crammed around a small round table. Seth scoots over, sitting so close his knee is against mine. He flashes me a grin and my cheeks warm. Lacey stands around with her hands deep in her hoody pockets, a sullen expression on her face. When Seth smiles at me, she makes a guttural noise in her throat.
It’s Neil who excitedly begins the tale of meeting Igor. But he tells it like Igor spins his ghost stories, waxing lyri
cal about it being his idea, describing Igor’s hat in great detail, even putting on a Yorkshire accent.
“Wait, Igor the ghost tour guy? I know him. Sort of, anyway. He was friends with my dad, a long time ago,” Seth says.
“We might have to tell him what your dad did,” I say. “Is that going to be okay for you?”
Seth runs his thumb up and down the glass in contemplation.
“If it helps Amy get the peace she deserves, then we can tell him.”
Lacey scoffs again. “Shame he didn’t think about that when he watched his dad kill her.”
I try my best not to turn around towards my friend. Neil watches me, narrowing his eyes, picking up on the tension in my body.
“When are you going to wake up, Mares?” Lacey continues. “He’s not a good guy. He might not have killed Amy, but he stood and watched a terrible crime without doing anything about it. And now he’s carried on living his life without a single thought about getting justice for that little girl. Dead people have rights, too, you know. It’s not all about the living.”
“Lacey!”
Seth and Neil both turn towards me. Neil’s pint is halfway between the table and his lips.
“Um, everything okay?” Seth asks.
I shake my head. “No, not really. I’m… I’m sorry, I have to go.”
In my haste to get out of there, my stool tips over and I receive a hard stare from a man in tweed, and a tut from a woman in pearls. I trip over my feet dashing through the pub.
When the cold air of evening hits my skin, tears prick at my eyes. What is going on? Lacey hates me now? Why else would she taunt me like that?
A heavy weight presses down on my shoulders. I’m tired of the grey tinge that death leaves on my life, like a cigarette burn on a photograph, growing and consuming everything in its path. I’m surrounded by ghosts, and ghouls, and monsters. I’m half in this world with the other half being dragged to hell, or whatever exists after life. I feel like half a person. I think of the worried expressions on my parents’ faces when they realise I have no friends. It’s because I cloak myself in death and ghosts. I don’t live with the living.
“Mary?”
I turn back to the pub doorway. Seth stands hesitantly, the door half open in his hands. Him stood half in the pub and half out of it seems so much like how I feel. And, in some ways, he is exactly like me. Seth believes he will die in a few days. He doesn’t belong here, either. The barrier he maintains when he’s near me isn’t just a gentlemanly distance; he’s protecting himself, too.
“Take me away from here,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I cross that distance between us and put my hands in his. “Yes.”
*
Seth’s car is unexpected. You would think that a twenty year old mechanic would have some souped up boy-racer car, with a spoiler and alloys, but he drives a sensible Ford. It’s even a newish one. I don’t know much about cars, but it looks like the sort of thing a mum drives when she goes to pick up her young children from nursery.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks.
It’s not quite sunset yet. I rest my head against the window and watch the moors fly past. Seth drives somewhere between safe and fast. He skims the corners and revs the engine when he changes gear. The juxtaposition is him in summation: comfortable and dependable, but somehow dangerous and dark.
“Anywhere.”
“What happened in the pub? It’s Lacey, isn’t it?”
I tap my fingers against the glass of the window, avoiding Seth’s concerned expression.
“Is she here now?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I lean into the window as he takes another corner. “Mary, is it about me? I don’t want to come between you and your… umm, friend.”
“Ghost friend,” I say. “You can say it. She’s dead. She’s a ghost. She shouldn’t even be here, but…”
But what? What’s the but?
“You can’t say goodbye to each other,” Seth finishes for me. “You love each other. I know how that feels.”
“You do?” I ask.
Seth lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been holding something back. What with everything going on, I wasn’t sure whether to even mention it. Earlier, when you asked why I’d never told my mum about what I saw that night, well, there’s a reason.” He flicks on the indicator and turns off the main road.
“What is it?” I ask. My skin prickles. What if I made a mistake getting in the car with this guy? Another secret? Another lie?
“I need to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
He turns to look at me, taking his eyes off the road for an uncomfortable length of time. “Do you trust me?”
“Why are you asking me that?” I say.
“Because I need to know if I can trust you, and I guess it would be easier to trust you if you trust me.” He turns back to the road.
I hesitate. “That’s not fair. Trust is built up over time. I’ve known you a few days.”
“More than that,” he says calmly. “We’ve been through things together, shared more than most people share in a lifetime. I’ve held your life in my hands. I pulled you to safety on the Ferris wheel. I jumped with you when you told me to jump. That moment was worth a thousand days.”
His quiet voice sends shivers up and down my bare arms and legs. “I know. I trusted you then. My first instinct was to trust you. But…”
“You don’t trust your instincts, so you don’t trust me,” he says with a sigh.
“No, that’s not true. I’ve always trusted my instincts. I rely on them more than anything.”
“More than your ghost friend?” Seth raises an eyebrow at me.
“I… I don’t know.” I’d never thought about it like that. Lacey has always been a support to me. “This is the first time we’ve disagreed about anything. We’ve been through a lot.”
“Tell me about it, I want to know,” Seth says.
“All right. But, you’re not allowed to judge me. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Lacey and I were in a psychiatric hospital together…” I started, and then I told him the entire story. I told him about the strange monsters I saw at school and how they gave me messages. I told him about meeting Lacey for the first time, seeing this mess of blond hair and black eyeliner peeking over the top of her hoody. I told him about Mo, who put his faith in me even when he didn’t understand me, and about the boy who screamed and was silenced by a killer.
And then I told him what I needed to tell someone but couldn’t. I told him about Dr. Gethen, and about the way he taunted me. I told him about the night in the abandoned ward when he chased me and I crawled through the vents to get out. I told him about how I made a decision, a decision to face my fears, to face the prospect of death and stop Gethen claiming more victims. Finally, I told him how Lacey sacrificed herself for me, and how she’s been with me as a ghost ever since.
“At Lacey’s funeral, her mum slapped me,” I say. “She said I was a bad influence on her little girl, and that I’d forced her into that abandoned ward as some sort of game. Lacey stood right next to me, seeming so solid and yet so invisible at the same time. She laughed and said: ‘Pay no attention to that crack-addled bint. She wants to blame you so she doesn’t have to blame herself.’”
“She’s right. You shouldn’t blame yourself. None of it is your fault.”
“Lacey had this hollow look in her eyes all the way through the funeral,” I continue. “She kept joking, pointing out girls she’d had a crush on at school, the members of her family who had been in jail. That kind of thing. But she had this hollow look…” I shake my head. “It went away for a while, but sometimes it comes back. I worry that she’s changing.”
“She died. You can’t go through death without changing at least a little bit.”
“But what if you change completel
y? What if my friend isn’t my friend, anymore?” There, I said it. I finally said the words that have been beneath the surface of our friendship since Lacey’s funeral. The joking around, the energy, the girl I once knew still exists, but it has also changed. There are times when her jokes are cruel and bitter.
“You have to trust your instincts,” he says. The car turns into a car park. I hadn’t even noticed the journey while we were talking. “Like you are now. There’s no way you would tell me all that if you didn’t trust me.”
The sign next to the car park says Nettleby Royal Hospital. Why would Seth bring me to a hospital?
He parks the car and pulls up the handbrake. The door clunks open. It’s drizzling, so I put on my jacket as I close the car door. An empty crisp packet blows across the tarmac.
“What are we doing here?” I say.
Before we move towards the multi-story, multi-building hospital (why are they always so big and stretched out, like a microcosm of a dystopian underground city?), he turns to me and says, “I know this is a bit weird, taking a girl I like to a hospital. But I think it might help you understand me a little better.” He jams his hands in his jeans pockets and looks away. “I mean, I hope so.”
The drizzle becomes a shower, so we hurry towards the grey building. There are fresh coats of green paint around windows and door frames; it makes me think of the way undertakers put make-up on corpses. I keep my eyes on Seth as we enter the building and are hit by the stale, hot air I’m so familiar with. I watch him instead of seeing the sterile white walls and empty stares of patients. He knows where he’s going. He nods to one or two nurses. He squirts anti-septic serum into his hands and backs through double doors without breaking a step.
We reach a ward that seems even quieter than most. As soon as we’re through the door, a short, middle-aged woman waves to Seth and then fixes him a disapproving look. She puts her hands on her hips like a mother in the playground.
“It’s not visiting hours, you know,” she says.
“Ten minutes, Fatima. We won’t stay long, I promise.”
The woman glances at me and then back at Seth. A small smile plays on her lips. “All right. Ten minutes and then you’re out of here. I’m not getting a disciplinary for you, mister.” She waggles her finger at him, but I can tell she’s not really mad.
