The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1)

by Robert Wilde

  “Officially, someone stole the construct and ran off with it. In practice, I believe the Construct was occupied by a spirit and then decamped, because something squeezed my men’s heads right off their shoulders.”

  “Eugh,” Pohl said.

  “I’d rather we didn’t have to show you the heads, so if you’re okay imagining?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Good, so let’s get the machine on and get listening, I want Doctor James to give me a full briefing.”

  The machine was placed down and switched on.

  “James, it’s Peters, can you hear me?”

  There was silence at first, and then came a pair of noises. One sounded like a human being’s spirit had been thrown through an industrial fan, and the wet shreds lumped back together. It was tormented, fragmented, it was horrific to listen to. And there were also clicks, strange, bizarre clacking noises.

  “What’s happened?” Peters asked, then he realised everyone else was looking at Dee.

  “Dee? What is it?”

  “We’ve listened to a hundred souls, but only heard this once before. This damage, this clicking. We heard it where my Dad died.”

  “And what killed him?”

  “I don’t know. I can never remember.”

  Peters looked back at the machine. “So he’s damaged, he’s been screwed up?”

  “That’s what we believe has happened” Joe informed him.

  “But a Construct is physical, it can’t do that?”

  “Indeed.”

  “So what’s the clicking noise?”

  “We don’t know, I’ve ruled out interference, so something is making it.”

  Peters put a hand to his chin. “Like a code or something?”

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “Could be.”

  “Just here and with your father. Right, I’ve got a plan.”

  Dee grinned, “that’s why you’re in charge of all this.”

  “If this is a code, the Array will be able to break it in record time. That’s what we’ve been developing it to do. And we need to get a head start if we’re to get that Construct back. Come on.”

  Peters walked very quickly, and the others rushed to keep up. Clearly someone had been on physical training courses. Soon they were in the Array, which looked identical to last time, so no less unsettling.

  “Hello,” Peters said to the system, “I need you to crack the code we’re about to give you. Then Peters opened his left hand to reveal a recording device, and plugged it into the machine with cables already there.

  “There are multiple conversations present,” the Array said.

  “We’re interested in the clicking sounds. What do they mean?”

  “How long does this take?” Nazir asked.

  “As long as it takes sadly. Time for coffee.”

  “This isn’t a code,” the Array said.

  “What? You’ve only just got it?”

  “It’s a language. This is something speaking.”

  “Something?”

  “It isn’t any language I can currently find access to, but it fits all the criteria we would expect of a language.”

  “But you can translate it?”

  “I can, but that would take time.”

  “This is what we’re asking you do to.”

  “I know,” and the quartet were intrigued to see a massive computer grow petulant, “but I have discovered something more immediate.”

  “Go on,” Peters commanded.

  “The other conversations on this stick relate the language to the death of Mr Nettleship. In the files of MI5…”

  “You’ve been accessing the files of MI5?”

  “Yes, but in these minutes I have only entered a fragment, and I have found a link. There is a site, recently flagged up as interesting by a grey project, which is connected to Nettleships' death. There is a military and MI5 presence at the site.”

  Dee stepped forward and asked urgently “what sort of site, what’s there?”

  “I don’t know, but I would be able to arrange false passes for you to visit.”

  “We have to go there, Peters, you have to take us there!”

  “Okay Dee, okay, I will, I will. Please, Array, arrange things. But one question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are we likely to need firearms?”

  “An exemplary precaution” the machine confirmed.

  “I suppose you lot are going to want guns as well.”

  “Ideally.”

  “And can any of you use a gun?”

  “I can,” Nazir said. There was a moment of connection between he and Peters, and then the latter nodded.

  The site they were driving to, at considerable speed in two cars, was near the site of Dee’s father’s death, and she made them take the detour to get there. As they parked up, Peters in his vehicle, the rest in Dee’s, she was breathing heavily, clearly labouring under anxiety.

  “Dee, do you want to do this?” Pohl asked.

  “Yes, yes, I have to know.”

  “Know what?” Peters asked, coming over.

  “If my hunch is right. Turn it on Joe.”

  The machine sprang into life, and there came the tortured remains of Dee’s father. She winced, looked in physical pain, but was soon able to say “listen, listen, do you hear it!”

  “Err, no?” Peters replied.

  “Exactly. The clicking noise has gone. Whatever it is, it’s moved on.”

  “Do you think it’s the same one from my lab?” Peters asked.

  “Maybe, maybe.” As Dee clearly wanted to leave now, the group moved on.

  Both cars pulled to a halt on the edge of Moorland, and a huddle formed in between them. A cordon of bored looking soldiers could be seen in the distance, and whatever they were there for was beyond the crest of the hill.

  “I want you to let me do the talking. All the talking. Keep it on the low low.”

  “We get the idea,” Dee sighed.

  “Okay, and if anyone asks, then you’re allowed to talk, and you’re with me, send everyone to me.”

  They turned and marched along the moor, picking their way carefully as there was no path, and they came to a soldier.

  “Hello, Peters, from the Fieldworks Supervisory Committee.”

  “Never heard of it,” said the soldier as he looked at the document Peters handed him.

  “With all due respect, that’s kind of the point,” Peters replied calmly.

  “Oh, yeah, okay, go on.”

  Peters nodded, and the group thread their way up to the crest and looked over. All were expecting something different, but an archaeological dig wasn’t exactly topping their lists. But men with beards and spades were carefully unearthing something which was hidden under the ground, and as they watched the beards gathered, looked at what seemed to be a blue metal panel uncovered from the soil, and were pointing at an even smaller panel.

  “Excuse me,” Peters said to a man in a grey suit watching on the edge of the dig. “What update can you give me?”

  “Oh, it’s one of their ships alright. Must have crashed here the night of the incident, but we didn’t realised because we were clearing all that shit up. Hey are you new?”

  “Yes,” lied Peters.

  “Ah, well I’m very old. I’m Stevens.”

  “Please to meet you Stevens.”

  “So when you say ship, you mean, err…”

  “From outer space, yeah. Be interesting to see if there’s any corpses in this one like last time.”

  “And last time you mean…”

  “Twenty years ago. This things been in the ground all that time.”

  Peters heard a thump and a cry behind him and turned to see Dee lying on the ground.

  “She fainted,” Joe cried as he knelt down beside her.

  “She looks familiar,” Stevens said.

  “Have you made any breakthroughs in their language?” Peters asked, desperate to squeeze out what he could.

  “Language, well,
we have the samples of writing, but, oh, are you working out how to speak to them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Peters,” Joe hissed.

  “I better go look after my research assistant.”

  Joe and Nazir carried an unconscious Dee to a car Peters brought up to the site, laid her on the back seat, and drove to hospital immediately. She was breathing, twitching, and Pohl was with her to make sure she was closely monitored. They got halfway before Dee moaned, coughed, and opened her eyes.

  “Are you alright?” Pohl asked.

  “I..I… yes, yes I’m fine.”

  “You collapsed,” Joe said concerned as he turned a corner. “You must be sick or something?”

  “No, I’m not sick, not sick at all.”

  “Then what is it? Why did you faint?”

  “Because I remember,” and her face was torn between relief and horror. “Oh Jesus, I remember that night, my father.”

  “Shit, really?” Nazir said turning round to smile and squeeze her hand.

  “Seeing that spaceship, it broke it all open.”

  “Then tell us!”

  “Peters needs to hear this.”

  The two cars pulled into a layby, and as Nazir bought coffee and hot dogs for everyone they gathered in a huddle. Then Dee held court on her past.

  “We were driving along, and there was a huge explosion, fire in the woods. Dad thought something had gone off, a gas canister or something, and ran to help. I waited, and waited, and then he yanked open the door. He told me, then, that he’d found a spaceship that had crashed, that he’d found a dying alien clicking his last, and that he’d come back to call help. And then…” she choked up, but forced it out, “he was shot. Not by an alien, but by a man in a grey suit.”

  “A human?”

  “Yes. He shot my father, who died next to me, and the man pointed the pistol at me. Then he argued with someone else. Argued and said he wasn’t killing a child no matter what they wanted, and they could cover this up some other way.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I blacked out and locked it all away.”

  “Fuck,” Nazir said, and the others thought it appropriate.

  They stood there for a few moments, digesting it, and then spoke their conclusions out loud.

  “There really are aliens,” Joe said.

  “The government killed my Dad.”

  “Alien ghosts have a Construct and we’ve no idea what they’re going to do with it.”

  “Fuckity fuck fuck,” Nazir added.

  “Right, look, I need to go back to the lab and see how our search is getting on,” Peters felt someone needed to be told, but who? “I think you all deserve some sleep, certainly Dee does.”

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “No, but you were affected enough to collapse. Go home, and write me a report in as much detail as possible so I can look into this.”

  “We’re being given the cold shoulder,” Joe said, feeling he was a good judge of that happening.

  “Yes. This is getting interdepartmental, and big. I need to consult my own team. But stay on the other end of a phone, okay?”

  They murmured agreement.

  The group drove off, but fifteen minutes later Joe looked in the rear view mirror and grimaced.

  “We’re being followed,” he announced.

  “Ah you sure?” Pohl asked wearily. The adrenaline had worn off, and the group just wanted to go back and get Dee some rest.

  “A red car, been going wherever we go.”

  “What do you mean wherever?” Nazir asked, having identified the vehicle.

  “I’ve done a complete loop of this estate, and it’s still there. Either it’s very lost or it’s following us.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Shall I put my foot down and lose it?”

  “No,” Pohl said quickly, “if they have our car they’ll know where we live, no sense in killing ourselves to end up back at home and obvious.”

  “Then we don’t go home,” Dee announced.

  “What?”

  “We lose them and we hunker down somewhere else and tell Peters what’s up. We’re not walking back home and into a trap.”

  “Are you sure,” Pohl said and rather unnecessarily took Dee’s temperature by laying a hand on the woman’s forehead.

  “Yes.”

  “Joe isn’t exactly a combat trained driver,” Nazir point out with an ‘I’m sorry’ mouthed to Joe.

  “Lose them Joe, just don’t get us killed.”

  Smiling, about to relive the boyhood dream of millions of men, albeit very few who loved science kits, Joe tapped at the sat nav and thought of a route. Then he put his foot down and sped away.

  The tailing car followed, immediately speeding up, and Joe knew he was right. So the thing to do was to aim for a dense collection of roads, buildings and turnings in which one car could quickly lose sight of the other, and then make a break for it. This seemed far more likely than racing to a railway crossing and getting the pursuers stuck behind a heavy goods lorry, and there was a target within range.

  Dee’s car sped up, to the limits of its experience, and Dee said a silent prayer that Tom would make it through the test. Then Joe was at the target site, the car was turning and turning through an old British Gas site being converted into residential housing. Some of the twists were on the limit, and Joe would admit he wasn’t on control for it all, but soon the car burst out of the entrance and went back the way they’d come. The other car wasn’t behind them, and as they pushed and went over a hill they all nervously watched out the rear window. However, soon Nazir was able to conclude “you did it.”

  They were clear.

  Maquire was sat at his desk consuming a doughnut, which he’d initially refused because it made him a total fucking cliché, but which he’d given in to when it was left on his desk and the smell began to creep into his nose. He half thought the new D.C. who bought it in was sweet on him, which was nice, but he wasn’t his type. And then he discovered the chocolate centre and decided maybe bisexuality was interesting after all. Would certainly distract him from Dee, who was no doubt out getting herself killed, because that’s what her group normally did.

  There was a knocking and Bear came in.

  “Got something for you,” the big man said, flopping onto a chair then adding “you’re eating a fucking doughnut?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re making us all look silly.”

  “No one can see it. Anyway, what have you got?”

  “A series of thefts. An importer and supplier of high end electronics has called in, someone broke in and drove off with a van full of their stuff. We’ve sent a team down, and no one can find the security guard.”

  “Inside job?”

  “No. Then this came in, a firm which works on servicing and installing generators, electrical systems, not household stuff but ‘we’ll set up your factory’ stuff. Had a load of stuff missing…”

  “Driven off in a van?”

  “You got it. Next we have a firm who make very expensive communications systems..”

  “Not iPhones.”

  “No, satellites and stuff.”

  “So a series of incredibly expensive kit has been nicked from the surrounding area.”

  “Oh yes, and people are missing at every scene.”

  “So either they’ve all teamed up, or they’re all abducted with the gear?”

  “Yeah. Or dead in the van.”

  “And you brought me this for a reason didn’t you.”

  “Yeah, it sounds like weird shit. That’s your realm.”

  “Thank you for your confidence. It might be worth placing a call with my local experts on dodgy electronics.”

  “Yeah, you do that. I’m going back to an old fashioned rape and a pizza.”

  “Now who’s making us look bad!”

  Maguire picked up his phone and rang Dee.

  “Hi,” came a tired and spaced out voice.

 
“It’s me.”

  “Yeah, I know.” What had been going on?

  “I suppose you’re running from bad guys.”

  “We’re hiding from the MI5 branch who hide the existence of aliens from us.”

  “No need to be sarcastic.”

  “What? I’m…okay, go on, what have you got.”

  “I don’t need the machine at the moment, but something you might be interested in. Someone is stealing equipment, such as generators, electrical systems, satellite dishes and things. I don’t know who or what for, but it sounds like the sort of daft thing you’d look into.

  “Yeah, it does. It really does, thanks, have you got the details?”

  “Yes, I’m emailing them to you now.”

  “Thanks. Erm, how have you been?”

  “Busy. You?”

  “I,” and she realised it wasn’t the place to remind him she’d remembered. “I’m doing okay. Interesting times!”

  “Yes. I better go, bye.”

  Dee logged into her emails on Nazir’s laptop and passed it around so they could all see the thefts.

  “Does Maguire think something technical is going on?” Joe said from the front seat, unable to see and driving blind into territory they’d never been before.

  “He thinks exactly that. And here was I thinking we’re the go to people for ghosts and the supernatural, and our reputation is as seekers of scientific skullduggery.”

  “Write that down for your web series.”

  Dee tried to mask her surprise, “I am not writing a web series Joe.”

  “Why do you keep making notes about it then?”

  “Have you been looking in my book?”

  “You leave it open laying around.”

  “I leave my knickers on the bedroom floor, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to sniff them.”

  “Well that got dark quickly,” Nazir commented.

  “Sorry, sorry, I’m still in shock.” Her phone rang. “Unknown number. What are the chances it’s MI5.”

  “At the moment, odds on.”

  “Hello, Dee Nettleship.”

  “Hello Dulcimer,” came a digital voice.

  “That’s, err, I’ve heard you before.”

  “I’m the Array.”

  “Oh, of course, yes, what does Peters want?”