“So the men walked down the tracks, holding their lights out before them, calling out…and hearing only the echoes of their own voices. In the dark. In the tunnel. Until, finally, they saw lights and heard voices. But it was only the other volunteers, coming the other way. They met in the middle of the tunnel, deep under the great wide weight of the Fells; and for a long time they stood there, looking at each other. Because there was no sign of the train anywhere. Or the carriages, or the passengers. There were no side tunnels, nowhere the train could have gone.
“All those people saw the train go in; but no-one ever saw it again. Local legends have it that the train isn’t really gone, just lost. Delayed, somewhere. And that one day it will return, thundering out of the tunnel-mouth and into Bradleigh Halt. A ghost train, carrying dead men and women as its cargo, all of them driven mad by all that time away…The train will come back, they say, come home, to announce the end of the world, perhaps.
“There are those who say you can still hear the train travelling at night, sounding its awful whistle as it enters the tunnel on the other side of the Fells; but no-one’s ever heard it here. You can always find someone in a pub, ready to tell you the story for the price of a pint, how they’ve heard steel wheels pounding along tracks that aren’t there any more. That old steam-whistle, like the scream of a soul newly damned to Hell…Cutting off abruptly as it enters the tunnel, going nowhere…”
“But no-one here’s actually seen it?” said Melody, looking up from assembling her equipment.
Laurie shrugged briefly. “Who would want to? Local feeling is, if you can see it, then it can see you. And it’s never good to attract the attention of something from the dark side.”
“So that’s why we’re here,” said Happy. “A late-running train. How very unusual.”
Laurie gave him a hard look. “Was a time I would have said it was only another tale, for telling on a windy night by a roaring fire. Like Black Shuck, the huge black dog that wanders the back lanes late at night, confronting people and telling them their fortunes—always bad. Or like the local mine-shaft they had to close down because miners working on a new seam heard sounds of someone else digging on the other side. Or maybe the graveyard up the road, so old they’re buried three deep in places; where it’s said the dead rise out of their graves on Midsummer’s Eve, to dance till dawn. There are always stories…and after what’s been seen and heard here, I don’t know what I believe any more.”
He sighed heavily, turning his back on the Ghost Finders to look about him. “The Trust had such plans for this place. A fully refurbished Bradleigh Halt, after all these years. They’d made contact with other steam enthusiasts, made arrangements to have a proper steam train run through. There are still some out there, you know, running private services. My son Howard had it all set up; we were going to have regular excursions coming through…And now, no-one will come here. No-one dares.”
“Don’t give up yet, Mr. Laurie,” said JC. “We’ll sort things out and put them right. That’s what we do.”
“Mostly,” said Happy.
“Don’t think I can’t reach you from here,” said Melody. She consulted her various pieces of equipment, arranged before her in a semi-circle, on a collapsible stand of her own design, and seemed pleased enough. Sensors and scanners, computers and monitors, and more than a few things that only made sense to her. Laurie looked it all over with a sceptical eye. Melody stared him down. “This isn’t as much as I’m used to, Mr. Laurie, but this was all I could fit into the boot of the taxi. More will follow, if necessary.”
“All very shiny and impressive, I’m sure, miss,” said Laurie. “But I can’t guarantee you how much of it’ll work here.”
“I don’t need to rely on your local power supply,” Melody said easily. “My babies have their own generator.”
“There’s a sentence you won’t hear very often,” said Happy. He strode across to the Waiting Room door, pushed it wide open, and looked inside. Shadows looked back at him, quiet and unmoving. Happy sneered at them, shut the door carefully, and looked back at Laurie.
“So what are we waiting for? What’s going to happen? Is it going to involve ectoplasm? Because if it does, I’ll put my heavy coat on. Messy stuff…”
“It’s the small things you notice, at first,” said Laurie. “You’ll see. The doors here don’t like to stay closed. Or open. Any of them.”
They all looked back at the main door they’d come in through, giving out onto the platform. It stood wide open, spilling bright electric light out into the evening. They all studied the door carefully for a long moment. Nothing happened. And then Happy frowned suddenly.
“Wait a minute…I shut that door behind me when we came in. Didn’t I?”
None of the others had an answer for him, one way or the other. Happy scowled, strode quickly over to the open door, and slammed it shut. Then he backed quickly away from it to rejoin the others, not taking his eyes off the door all the way. It didn’t move.
“Look at the Waiting Room door,” said Laurie.
They all turned, and looked. The door was standing all the way open. Happy swore softly.
“Okay; I know I shut that one a moment ago. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though. Could be the door isn’t hung right, or the floor’s off at an angle…”
“No,” said Laurie. “That’s not it.”
JC strode unhurriedly over to the Waiting Room door, studied it for a moment, and produced a small wooden wedge from an inside pocket. He forced it into place under the bottom of the door, stepped back to look over his work, then went to the open main door and did the same thing with a second wooden wedge. He smiled cheerfully across at the others.
“That should hold it,” he said. “The simple answers are always the best.”
“Might work,” said Laurie. “Might not. The Trust volunteers tried that as well, at first. Because it was small things, to begin with. Small, disturbing things. But if it were as easy as that to deal with, we wouldn’t have needed you…There. See?”
They all looked around sharply, as the single naked light bulb overhead began to go out, the harsh electric light dimming, bit by bit, as though it had to come from further and further away. The light went out of the room, and the shadows pressed forward. The bulb went out, then the only light in the long room was the late-evening light, spilling through the new glass windows and the wedged-open door.
“You can replace the bulb, if you like,” said Laurie. “It won’t make any difference. It’ll keep going out. Any bulb, in any room, anywhere in the station…My son Howard helped install the new lights, and the new wiring; nothing wrong with any of it. It seems that there’s something here that doesn’t like the light.”
Melody snorted loudly, hit some switches on her display, and half a dozen small floods kicked in, blazing light from her instrument stand. Not enough to fill the whole room but more than enough to force the shadows back where they belonged. Melody smiled triumphantly at Laurie, then, one by one, the floodlights began to fade out, too. Melody swore harshly, her fingers stabbing at the keyboards set out before her, bringing all the power in her generator to bear. The floods stopped fading, but they didn’t regain their former brilliance, either. Melody’s eyes darted back and forth before she finally nodded, reluctantly.
“Nothing on the sensors, nothing on the scanners—short- or long-range. All of my tech is specially protected from Outside influence; but something’s got to them. I’ve never had my lights go out on me. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“Will the lights stay on?” said Happy.
“They will if they know what’s good for them,” said Melody.
“What readings are you getting?” said JC. “Anything useful, or even interesting?”
“I’m getting electromagnetic fluctuations, other-dimensional energy spikes, and really strange barometric pressures,” said Melody, her eyes darting from one monitor screen to another.
“If you don’t know, say so,” sai
d Happy.
Melody stuck out her tongue at him. “The readings are clear. However, I don’t know enough about local conditions to make sense of them. Yet.”
Laurie managed another of his small smiles, for JC. “Been together long, have they, those two?”
“You can tell?” said JC.
“Oh aye,” said Laurie. “I was married, once. But I got over it.” He looked about him. “Your machines are impressive, but you’ll do better with candles. The Trust laid a stock in—over there.”
He nodded to a small cupboard, set to one side. JC moved across, opened it, and brought out a dozen large candles, each in its own separate holder. JC set them about the room at regular intervals, lighting them one at a time with his Zippo. He didn’t smoke any more, but he liked to have something in his life he could depend on. He came back to join the others, looked about him, and nodded, pleased at the gentle, golden warmth the candlelight added to the room. Soft as butter, golden as buttercups.
“Keep an eye on the candles,” said Laurie. “They have a tendency to go out. When it’s most inconvenient.”
And then he broke off and looked hard at JC. Around the edges of JC’s heavy, dark sunglasses, a bright light was shining, sharp and distinct.
“Dear God, man,” said Laurie. “What happened to your eyes?”
“Laser surgery,” said JC. “I’m suing. Don’t worry about it.”
“JC,” said Happy. “Look at the main door.”
They all looked. The door JC had so carefully wedged open was now closed. The wedge lay alone on the floor, some distance away. JC studied the situation for a moment, then strode across the room, yanked the door with one hand, and pushed it all the way open. He then retrieved the wedge and forced it back into place, using all his strength. He studied the wedge, breathing hard, and knelt to check that the wedge was as securely positioned as he thought it was, testing it with his bare hand. He nodded, satisfied that he’d have a job getting it out again without the assistance of a hammer and chisel. He stood up, brushed himself down a bit fussily, and smiled easily at the others as he came back to rejoin them.
“Didn’t bang it in properly, the first time,” he said. “So, Mr. Laurie, doors that don’t like to stay open or closed, lights that don’t like to stay on. What else can we expect?”
“It gets cold,” said Laurie. “Cold, for no reason. Cold as the grave.”
“No central heating here?” said Happy.
“Remember where you are, lad,” said Laurie. “They didn’t have such things, back in the day. Didn’t believe in them. My old dad always said central heating made you soft. And who’s to say he was wrong? There’s a decent-sized fire-place if you need one in the Waiting Room. And an authentic paraffin stove, in the Ticket Office. Not much fuel in it. So don’t waste it. Never know when you might need it.”
“Hold everything.” Melody looked quickly from one set of readings to another. “Something here, or very near here, is interfering with my equipment. My short-range sensors keep locking onto something, then losing it for no good reason. There’s something here with us, JC. Can’t tell you what it is yet, but it’s weird and powerful and very slippery…”
And then Happy cried out—a sudden, shocked sound. They all turned to look at him. He was pointing with a trembling hand at a small mirror hanging on the far wall. It was an ordinary, everyday mirror; in a straightforward ornamental frame. Afterwards, no-one could be sure exactly what they saw there, only that there was a face in the mirror, watching them. And it wasn’t the face of anyone in the room. The image disappeared the moment they all rushed forward to look at it, and by the time they all got there, the reflection showed only their own faces, looking back at them with wide eyes and shocked, startled expressions. At what they’d seen, or thought they’d seen. It took the Ghost Finders a moment to realise Laurie wasn’t there with them. They looked back; and he was standing right where he had been. He nodded slightly and shrugged one shoulder, as if to say, What did you expect?
JC very firmly turned the mirror over, to face the wall, then looked thoughtfully at Laurie.
“This isn’t the first time that’s happened, is it? You’ve seen this before?”
“Aye. Everyone has, who’s spent any time here. Someone is always watching us. But don’t ask me who.”
“What did you see in the mirror?” said Melody. “Who did you see?”
“Once,” Laurie said slowly, “I thought I saw myself; as I might look after I’d been dead and in the ground for a good few years.”
“It’s mind-games,” JC said briskly. “Everything we’ve encountered so far has been nothing but supernatural parlour tricks, designed to scare us off. Whatever’s here can’t be that powerful, or it wouldn’t need tricks. It’d simply kill us, or throw us out of here. But it hasn’t because it can’t. That’s why it’s hiding from us.”
“It?” said Laurie, pointedly.
“Oh, there’s always an It,” said Happy.
“Details,” said JC, advancing purposefully on Laurie. “I need details, on everything that’s happened here. Tell me about the experiences of the other volunteers, Mr. Laurie. The time has come to tell the tale, supernatural warts and all.”
“Sounds,” said Laurie. “Voices. Saying…disturbing things. The sound of footsteps, walking up and down the platform; but when you go out and look, there’s never anyone there. Station announcements, over speakers that aren’t there any more, for trains and services that haven’t run in decades. Voices in the room next door, blurred and indistinct, like the words we hear in dreams…They sound like old friends, or dead relatives, desperately trying to reach us, to warn us about something terrible that’s coming. And there’s always this feeling of someone here that shouldn’t be, watching from the shadows, or from just behind you. And you never turn round to look because you know, you just know, there’s nobody there…or at least nobody you’d want to see. I’ve spent years in this place, and never once felt threatened or in any danger, until now…The last volunteer to leave said he was convinced there was always someone sneaking up behind him, looking over his shoulder…”
By now Happy was trying to look in so many different directions at once that he was turning round and round in circles. He was breathing heavily, his eyes painfully wide. He realised that the others were looking at him and stopped abruptly. He took out a handkerchief, wiped the sweat from his face, and smiled weakly. Then he put the handkerchief away, marched over to the nearest wall, and put his back to it, arms folded defiantly across his chest.
“I’m fine!” he said loudly. “Fine and dandy, oh yes! And no, I’m not picking up anything. Which is odd, because I should be getting something by now. So I can only assume that whatever particular It is haunting this place, it’s pretty damned powerful. And I’d really like to get the hell out of here before It turns up and shouts Boo! in my face. Please pretty please.”
Laurie looked at Happy, then at JC. “I thought you people were supposed to be experts.”
“Oh, we are,” said Melody, not looking up from her instruments. “But then, there’s experts, then there’s experts.”
“You have to make allowances for Happy,” said JC. “Because if you don’t, he sulks. Or gives you ulcers from the sheer frustration of trying to keep up with his many and various mood swings. Happy is a sensitive soul, and not nearly as heavily medicated as he used to be. Feel free to hit him. We do.”
“At least I’ve got enough sense not to hang about in places where I’m clearly not welcome,” said Happy.
“Then you are very definitely in the wrong business,” JC said cheerfully. “Now quiet down and be a brave little ghost finder, and there shall be Jaffa Cakes for tea. Go on, Mr. Laurie, I’m still listening. What else has happened?”
“Isn’t what I’ve told you enough?” said Laurie.
“Information is ammunition,” JC said solemnly. “Which we can use to kick the arse of our paranormal enemy. Ghosts deal in uncertainty. Things we see out of the cor
ners of our eyes, come and gone in a moment, are always going to be more frightening than some blurry shape in a doorway, not even solid enough to rattle its chains.”
“Most of what I’m telling you is only stories,” said Laurie. “Things the volunteers talked about, among themselves. Some did say they’d seen, or at least glimpsed, a figure. Never up close, and none of them saw it clearly, but they were all very sure they’d seen something. And some of them said it wasn’t human. As such.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said JC. “You ever see this figure yourself?”
“I might have glimpsed it, from time to time,” Laurie said reluctantly. “An old-fashioned type, tall and thin, dressed like a gentleman from my grandfather’s time.”
“And you never thought to mention this before?” said Melody, sharply.
“You stick around this place long enough, and your senses will start playing tricks on you, too,” said Laurie. “But if I did see what I thought I saw…there was something wrong with its head. Like maybe…part of the head was missing.”
JC considered this. “Does this…disfigured figure fit in with any of the local legends?”
“No,” Laurie said firmly. “This is something new. Something else. Even if it does have its roots in the past.”
They all suddenly stopped where they were and shivered violently. The temperature in the room had plummeted in a moment. Their breaths steamed heavily on the still air, and they all hugged themselves against the sudden, bitter cold. Great whorls of hoarfrost spread slowly across the walls, like massive fingerprints. Frost and even solid ice formed on Melody’s instrument panels and monitor screens. She frantically wiped it away with her sleeves, but it came back again. The room was so cold now, it burned exposed faces and hands and seared the lungs that breathed it in. Of them all, Laurie seemed the least affected. Probably because he was northern, one of those hardened souls who claim not to feel the cold and only put a vest on when there’s an actual blizzard outside. Melody fired up the heating elements in her support system, scraping the frost off her sensor screens with her fingers, so she could make out the new readings.
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