Lazarus reached in, flipped it open, saw his own name on the screen. Dad hasn’t taken his phone with him, he thought. And in that moment he felt awfully, terribly alone.
Frustration and anger grabbed him. Lazarus snapped the phone shut and threw it across the lounge. It clattered against the wall, dropped to the floor. He put his hands to his head, pulled at his hair. He felt like he was going insane.
His own phone trilled into the moment.
‘Dad? Dad! Is that you?’
Of course it wasn’t, he thought. How could it be?
It was Craig.
‘What the hell happened to you?’
Lazarus wasn’t about to explain. ‘Get over here now,’ he said. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’
7 Bloody Footprints
‘Well?’
For the past five minutes, Craig had stared at the damage to the living room, mouth open, voice stilled.
At last he looked back at Lazarus. ‘You found the living room like that this morning?’
Lazarus nodded.
‘And you’re sure someone didn’t break in and do the place while you were asleep?’
‘I think I’d have heard, don’t you?’
Craig nodded and said, ‘Now I’m only asking this because we need to be sure, but …’ He paused.
‘What?’ said Lazarus.
‘Did you do it?’
Lazarus stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Just making sure,’ said Craig, holding his hands up in defense. ‘People do the weirdest stuff. And I’m your friend and what’s in there doesn’t make any sense at all. You could’ve done it and blanked it from your mind or something. What you said you saw, it’s all pretty nuts, isn’t it?’
‘I didn’t make it up,’ protested Lazarus. ‘It was real.’
When Craig had arrived, Lazarus hadn’t given him a chance to speak. Instead, he’d just opened the front door and said, ‘Shut up and follow me.’ He’d warned Craig about what was in the living room, laid it on real thick, but Craig, despite his best efforts, hadn’t really believed a word of it. That was until he’d walked into the room and seen it for himself.
Craig pushed his glasses up over his forehead and stared at the room, mouth open, speechless. For a few moments he seemed frozen to the spot, then eventually he walked slowly in.
Lazarus watched Craig as he looked from the bloody footprints on the floor to the smashed bookcase then back at him, his right hand involuntarily scratching his head. His fingers got tangled in the mop of red hair that seemed to burst from his head like it was desperate to escape.
Craig eventually said, ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘What can I do?’ shrugged Lazarus. ‘I guess I’d better call the police or something. All that blood …’
‘The police?’ said Craig, his voice almost rising an octave. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Look around you!’ snapped Lazarus. ‘There’s blood everywhere! The police need to know!’
‘And when you tell them what happened, what then?’ demanded Craig. ‘How are you going to explain those creatures you think you saw? How are you going to describe this Red bloke?’
‘What choice do I have?’ Lazarus knew he was shouting, but he didn’t care. At that moment it was the only thing that made him feel better.
‘They’ll see this and think you’ve dragged someone back here and chainsawed them to pieces,’ said Craig. ‘They’ll lock you up first and ask questions later!’
Lazarus was grasping at anything to explain what had happened, something reasonable, something tangible. ‘Perhaps I did make some of it up. Perhaps that was the only way for my brain to deal with what happened.’
‘Seems a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?’ said Craig.
‘The whole thing is far-fetched!’ Lazarus snapped. ‘A guy with no skin? Killer octopuses falling out of the air? It’s insane!’
‘Strictly speaking, it’s octopi,’ said Craig. ‘Not octopuses.’
‘Shut up!’ snarled Lazarus.
‘OK,’ shrugged Craig, ‘but you can’t call the police. Seriously, dude. That would be way stupid. And what about all that stuff this Red guy spoke about?’
‘What – the whole the Dead are coming thing? Hell?’
‘Exactly that,’ said Craig. ‘You’ll just sound like a horror-freak teenager who’s been smoking too much wacky tobacco.’
‘So what about Dad leaving his mobile here?’
‘What about it?’ Craig replied.
‘Well where is he?’ Lazarus demanded. ‘Why did he leave it? Where’s he gone? What about all that stuff about Dad being a Keeper?’
‘I don’t mean to be out of order,’ said Craig, ‘but we’re talking about your dad here, right? The guy who advises on security in the day and plays with old timepieces at night? The guy who never speaks to you? The guy whose idea of a good night out is to stay in and mend the chime on a cuckoo clock?’
Lazarus opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came to mind, so he shut it again. Speaking to Craig about it all had simply confirmed one thing: he was going insane.
Lazarus looked at his friend. ‘So what do you suggest?’
‘You’re not going to like it,’ warned Craig.
‘I don’t like you,’ said Lazarus, ‘but we’ve hung out together for far too long now to do anything about it.’
Craig wandered over to look at the bloody rings drawn on the mirror and Lazarus wondered if Craig had ever been uptight about anything. No matter what happened in his life, he seemed to take it all with the same ah-whatever attitude. If the world was about to end, Craig would have a positive spin on it and dodge out for doughnuts before the final conflagration.
‘I know some people,’ said Craig. ‘They might be able to help.’
Lazarus knew straight away where this was going and he didn’t want to be any part of it.
‘No way. You’re not on about that local ghost freaks group you’ve joined, are you?’
‘It’s paranormal investigators,’ said Craig, with the emphasis on paranormal. ‘And they’re not freaks.’
‘They let you join.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Craig.
Lazarus shook his head. ‘You’re not being serious. I don’t believe in any of that stuff. You know that. It’s all just over-active imaginations and people’s brains playing tricks on them. Dead’s dead, man. Anything else is just wishful thinking and weirdos on Most Haunted scaring each other in the dark.’
‘That doesn’t explain your living room,’ pointed out Craig. ‘You really think any of this is because you’ve got an over-active imagination?’
Lazarus said nothing. He didn’t want anyone else finding out about this. Certainly not those idiots Craig took seriously.
‘And they’re not weirdos,’ said Craig. ‘They’re just normal people who think there’s more to paranormal stuff than ghost stories round a camp fire.’
‘Nutjobs,’ said Lazarus.
‘You’re the one with the visions of the Dead and a living room covered in blood,’ said Craig.
Lazarus knew Craig had a point, but he still wasn’t happy. Telling his best mate all about the night before was hard enough. But having a bunch of strangers walk in and start doing ouija boards and stuff? That was too much for anyone to deal with.
‘But what if I did do all this myself?’ said Lazarus, even if he didn’t actually believe it. ‘What if I had a doozy of a nightmare, did this, and then knocked myself out? Maybe I just don’t remember it?’
‘I’m guessing,’ said Craig, ‘that you’d remember where the blood came from.’
Lazarus didn’t reply and instead walked over to the living room window. The world looked normal out there. But that just made the state of the living room seem even more stark.
‘Look,’ said Craig, giving a shrug, ‘why not just see what happens? If it comes to nothing, go to the police. But give it a go. What have you got to lose?’
Lazarus turned bac
k from the window. ‘You’re loving this aren’t you?’ he said bitterly.
Craig smiled and shrugged. ‘They’re OK people. Some are a bit weird – that comes with the territory – but a few are pretty normal.’
‘For Ghostbusters,’ muttered Lazarus. ‘So who you gonna call?’
Craig laughed at the movie reference. He left the room and was back from the hallway in a second, his battered leather satchel in his arms.
‘That really is the worst bag ever,’ said Lazarus, attempting to cling on to some sense of normality. If it was just the two of them messing around then he could almost tell himself that nothing had changed, life was just as it always was. Dull. Boring. A case of living through school until it was time to leave. He remembered Craig’s invite for a few days kicking around at his parents’ motor home. That conversation seemed like days ago, weeks almost. ‘You look like an idiot with it, like you’re just starting school or something.’
‘It’s my writer’s bag,’ said Craig, opening it dramatically and ignoring the mocking tone in Lazarus’s voice. ‘Helps me focus on the fact that writing is what I want to do with my life. Contains everything I need: pens, notebooks, laptop, Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook… And check this out!’
Lazarus took the book that Craig slipped out from his bag. He wasn’t exactly impressed. ‘Haunted Somerset? Oooh, creepy…’
Craig nodded. ‘Loads of stuff in there,’ he said, pulling out his phone and keying up the contacts list. ‘Really interesting.’
‘You don’t have them in your contacts, do you?’ asked Lazarus in disbelief.
Craig nodded and smiled, then started a conversation with whoever answered.
While Craig was talking Lazarus flicked through the book and wasn’t convinced it was interesting at all. It seemed to be nothing more than a few blurry black and white photographs and some ‘apparently true’ stories by ‘first-hand witnesses’.
He looked back at Craig, who was still on the phone, and handed the book back. It was going to take more than that to convince him a world existed beyond the grave.
Craig hung up.
‘So?’ said Lazarus. ‘Who’ve you just told about all this?’
‘I’ haven’t told anyone anything,’ said Craig. ‘That was Clair Vine.’
‘Her real name or one she uses to make sure she sounds really weird?’
Craig shook his head and said, ‘You’ll like her, I promise. She’s one of the younger members of the group and seems pretty with it.’
‘But what did you tell her? I don’t want everyone in town knowing about this!’
‘I know that, you idiot,’ said Craig. ‘I’ve just said that I had a friend who wanted to know more about the group and if she’d be happy to come round for a chat.’
‘Forgive me if I don’t get all excited,’ said Lazarus.
Craig didn’t reply.
8 Shattered Glass
Half an hour later the doorbell rang. Lazarus and Craig had left the living room and gone through to the kitchen for a drink and a bite. Lazarus wasn’t even hungry, he thought, as they leant against the cupboards, chatting about nothing. But it did a little to take his mind off whatever it was that was going on. Trouble was, getting Red – who or whatever he was, his voice, his smell, his face – out of his head was next to impossible.
‘That’ll be her,’ said Craig.
‘Do I need to get any candles and incense?’ joked Lazarus. ‘Spooks love all that hippy nonsense, don’t they?’
‘Just go get the door,’ said Craig throwing a packet of biscuits at Lazarus’s head.
Lazarus caught the biscuits. ‘You phoned her,’ he said, ‘so you can go get her. This is all your idea.’
He wasn’t sure, now that someone had actually turned up, that he wanted to go through with this at all.
‘But she’s come to see you,’ said Craig.
‘Then you’d better hurry up then, huh?’
Craig put down his almost empty mug. ‘Remember she didn’t have to come. And I know you don’t believe any of all this, but just give it a chance, alright? It’s not like we’ve been able to come up with a rational explanation, is it?’
Lazarus nodded. ‘I’ll see you in the living room.’
They walked out of kitchen and down the hall. At the living room door Craig turned right, heading for the front door. Lazarus went to push open the door to the living room, but hesitated. The cracks around the doorframe made the walls look like shattered glass. They must’ve happened when I was thrown out of the room, he thought, remembering the sound the door made when it slammed shut, like it was about to fly off its hinges. Something deep down was telling him that what was on the other side was more than just a nightmare, but the rational side of him was trying to ignore it. Lazarus knew if he walked in there, the something-deep-down would win out.
He turned away from the living room and joined Craig at the front door, just as he was opening it. He blinked. The person now standing in front of him wasn’t exactly like the image he’d created in his mind.
‘This is Clair Vine,’ said Craig. ‘Clair, this is—’
‘Lazarus,’ said Clair and she reached out her hand. ‘Hi!’
‘Hi,’ said Lazarus, and couldn’t really think of anything else to add. He’d expected a freak show to turn up at the door. Someone all decked out in bangles and patchwork clothing – all that stupid stuff he hated. Instead, Clair was normal. There was nothing exceptional about her at all. She looked early twenties, had shoulder-length brown hair and sparkly grey eyes, was wearing jeans, sneakers and a hoodie and had a small backpack slung over her shoulder. She didn’t look, thought Lazarus, anything like the kind of person – particularly being a girl – who’d be spending her time as a ghostbuster.
‘Cool house,’ said Clair, looking around her as Craig allowed her to come in. ‘I’m pretty jealous.’
‘Try living here,’ said Lazarus. ‘It’s not cool. It’s freezing.’
‘Adds to the romance, though,’ Clair replied. ‘Who wants a new house? Got no soul those places; this has history. You can feel it.’
‘I guess,’ said Lazarus. To him the place was just a house. And, if he was honest, he couldn’t wait until he was old enough to leave.
Lazarus then looked over at Craig as Clair moved past him into the house, and whispered, ‘Do you actually know her?’
‘Ha ha,’ said Craig, without smiling. ‘Of course I do.’
‘But she’s … normal.’
‘What were you expecting?’ asked Craig. ‘A crystal ball and a black cape?’
Lazarus shrugged. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
He turned to shut the door, but he saw something that made him stop. At the end of the front garden, on the other side of the street, someone in a long and scruffy ankle-length coat, either brown or just really badly stained, was staring at his house.
Lazarus stood for a moment in the shadow of the front door. The person was tall, but Lazarus couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman. He could see dark shoulder-length hair, but that was about it.
Lazarus frowned. Why were they just staring like that? What did they want? He was half tempted to go and find out, but Craig’s voice called from the living room and he went through.
Craig and Clair were sitting on the three-seater sofa. The room was exactly as Lazarus had left it, though thanks to him opening the windows when he’d taken Craig in there earlier that morning, the air wasn’t as rich with the sweet smell of blood. If anything, the smell had pretty much gone, which struck him as odd.
Lazarus sat down on a footrest and looked at Clair and Craig.
Clair gestured at the room with a look and said, ‘And you found it like this?’
Lazarus nodded.
‘Did anyone else hear what happened?’
Lazarus shook his head. ‘Dad’s away on business,’ he said. ‘God knows how I’m going to explain this if I can’t repair that bookshelf or get the blood out.’
‘Tell
me what happened,’ said Clair, and Lazarus could see that although her eyes were wide and bright and open, her face was deadly serious. ‘And I need you to be as clear and detailed as you can, OK? Don’t leave anything out.’
‘Some of it’s a bit nuts,’ said Lazarus, hesitating. ‘I mean, I hardly believe any of it myself.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ insisted Clair. ‘Just tell me.’
When Lazarus had finished, he felt strangely tired, like going back over everything that had happened had exhausted him. He looked over at Craig, who’d busied himself taking notes the whole time Lazarus was talking, and then at Clair. Her eyes hadn’t left him once and their blinking had become almost hypnotic. At first it had felt a bit odd, to speak to this woman he’d never met before about something he couldn’t explain, but as he’d continued talking it had felt as though those eyes were dragging the words from him.
‘Well?’ he asked finally, standing up from the stool to stretch his legs. ‘What do you think? What is it? A poltergeist? A ghost? What? Or am I just mental? Am I about to flip and go out on a murder spree?’ He tried to sound flippant, to act like he didn’t really care. Because if he did care it made things just a little too real.
For a moment, Clair just sat there, holding her Coke can between her hands. Either she’s trying to think up an excuse to run the hell away, thought Lazarus, or she’s just being polite and doesn’t know how to tell me that I’m a lunatic.
At last, Clair looked up.
‘Well?’
‘To be honest, Lazarus, I’ve never heard anything like it.’
‘Thanks,’ Lazarus sighed. ‘That makes me feel so much better.’
‘No, seriously,’ said Clair, sitting forward. ‘It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard! What do you think, Craig?’
The Dead Page 4
