Ghost of a Dream

THREE HANGING ABOUT IN THE LOBBY, WAITING FOR THE SHOW TO START

Why do so many theatres have resident ghosts? After all, ghosts are supposed to be the result of bad places, and the theatre is where we go to enjoy ourselves. But what are plays but voices from the past, memories preserved in amber, ghost images of the way we thought we were…And even if what we see on the stage isn’t real, there are still real triumphs and tragedies, joys and terrors, little deaths and bad-tempered madness going on backstage. All human life is there; and some of it is bound to leave its mark. Players come and go, but some of their lives remain, preserved in the brick and stone, the sawdust and the limelight of old theatres.

Ghosts are still mainly unfinished business; and no-one bears a grudge like an old trouper.

The three Ghost Finders were heading from Leeds to Leicester by train, from the north of England down to the Midlands; and they were travelling in a first-class compartment. It was all very comfortable. The Carnacki Institute had decided sometime back that its operatives in the field could only claim travel expenses for standard-class rail tickets, in the name of efficiency and belt-tightening, and keeping field operatives from getting above themselves. But Happy had finally figured out how to use his telepathy to make the ticket inspector believe he was looking at three first-class tickets. So he punched the air somewhere near the standard tickets, then wandered off to have a nice little sit-down and nurse the pounding headache he’d only recently acquired. Happy grinned broadly, entirely unmoved, put his feet up on the opposite seat, and made a pig of himself with free food and drink from the complimentary trolley. He took one of everything and two if he liked the look of it, and piled it all up on the table before him so he could gloat over it, like offerings to a somewhat shabby god.

“You couldn’t eat and drink all of that if we were travelling all the way to Land’s End,” Melody said sternly from the seat opposite him, studying him over the top of her new briefing file.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Happy, ripping open a packet of Jaffa Cakes and delicately dipping one into his cup of Pepsi. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”

“Because it’s illegal and immoral; and messing with people’s heads is just wrong?” said Melody.

“No…” said Happy. “I’m pretty sure that isn’t it…Ooh, chocolate HobNobs!”

Melody sighed loudly and went back to her briefing file.

Sitting on his own on the other side of the compartment, staring out the window without seeing anything of the scenery racing by, JC ignored them both. He was still thinking about Kim’s unexpected reappearance at Bradleigh Halt. The same questions kept coming back to him, rolling over and over in his head. Why had she chosen to appear to him there, after all this time? Why not before? Because he was in danger…No. He’d been in peril of his life on any number of previous occasions; and she hadn’t shown up for any of those. Had something changed…with her, or with him? Could it be she’d finally broken free from her unknown captors and was waiting for him to come and find her…? So many questions, and not one answer he could trust.

So stick with the cases that came his way, keep himself busy and occupied, and be ready to jump when the opportunity arose.

Happy stuffed his face with junk food, drank fizzy stuff straight from the can, and made a point of looking down his nose at the various smart-suit-and-tie business men sharing the first-class compartment with him. All of them tapping busily away at their laptops and doing their very best not to stare too openly at the strange creature that had invaded their territory. Work for the Man, monkeyboys! Happy thought loudly but had enough sense not to say out loud. He sniggered, and turned his attention back to the latest issue of FHM magazine.

“The train will be coming into Leicester soon,” said Melody, glaring meaningfully at Happy and JC. “And, for once, it would be nice if we could all arrive knowing why we were there.”

“She’s going into lecture mode,” Happy said to JC. “Indulge her. She’ll only make a fuss otherwise, and I can feel one of my heads coming on. Try and keep it down to a précis, Melody, there’s a dear. Some of us have important eating and drinking to be getting on with. Or important existential brooding, in JC’s case.”

“Go ahead, Melody,” JC said courteously, not looking around. “Distract me. I could use something else to think about.”

“We’ve been called in to investigate a suspected haunting at the old Haybarn Theatre, in the city of Leicester,” said Melody.

She looked around to see if any of the business men were paying attention…but they all gave every appearance of being absorbed in their work. Possibly in self-defence.

“Ooh, the theatre!” said Happy, unexpectedly. “Does that mean we’ll get free tickets for the shows?”

Melody actually lowered her file to get a better look at him. “Since when have you ever been interested in going to the theatre?”

“Take your freebies where you can find them, that’s what I say,” Happy said complacently.

“Well, unless we can sort this mess out, it doesn’t look like there’s going to be any more shows at the Haybarn,” said Melody, returning to her file. “Says here, the place was shut down twenty years ago. It was about to be restored and reopened…But recently there’s been a series of unnatural happenings. The workmen have downed tools and scattered, and restoration has ground to a halt.”

“This is all starting to sound depressingly familiar,” said JC.

“There’s no way this case could turn out as complicated as Bradleigh Halt,” said Melody.

“God, I hope not,” said Happy. “I mean: Ghost Callers, trains full of insane souls, and people wandering around with sawn-off heads…Why can’t things be simple, now and again?”

“Quiet in the stalls,” said Melody. “Keep the noise down and pay attention; or after all this is over, I won’t take you back to our hotel room and play medical experiments with you.”

“Far too much information,” said JC, shuddering genteelly. He turned around to look at Melody, doing his best to appear professional and interested. “What kind of unnatural happenings are we talking about here, Melody? Actual ghosts, with names and histories and legends?”

“No actual visitors from the spirit realms, as far as I can see,” said Melody. “Only voices, glimpses, bad feelings…all the usual atmospherics. General unease and a certain amount of What Was That?”

Happy frowned. “Why have we been called in for such a minor haunting? I thought we were officially an A team now? Not that I am in any way keen on throwing myself into danger; but I’m damned if I’m giving up on the danger money. It’s not the principle of the thing, you understand; it’s the money, every time.”

“Apparently,” said Melody, in that particular tone of voice that meant she suspected much but could prove little, “a homeless guy found his way into the Haybarn and was discovered there the next day, quite dead. Possibly frightened to death. The workmen and restorers have refused point-blank to go back into the building, until Something Is Done…”

Happy sighed heavily. “That still doesn’t explain why we…”

“The Boss is sending us in as a personal favour for an old friend,” said JC.

“Wish she’d do one for us,” growled Happy. “Like approving my expense claims without laughing in my face.”

“Dear Catherine Latimer, our revered Boss and leader of us all, spoke to me personally about this,” said JC, and the other two immediately gave him their full attention. JC smiled faintly. “I was phoning in a preliminary report on what had gone down at Bradleigh Halt, when she broke in. Which is a bit like going to confessional and having God herself butt in. She said some very nice things about how we’d handled the mission, which should have been a warning in itself. The Boss has never been one for honeyed words when a whip and a chair are so much more effective. She said that she wants us on this case precisely because we did such a good job at Bradleigh. Which, of course, suggests to me that there must be a hell of a lot more to this theatre haunting than we are being told.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” said Happy. He glowered at the food piled up before him and pushed it away, his appetite gone. For the moment.

“I have to wonder,” said JC, “whether Catherine Latimer, her own bad self, is deliberately keeping us busy and occupied with one case after another, so we won’t go off on our own to look for Kim.”

There was a pause then as JC looked meaningfully at Happy and Melody, and they both looked at each other so they wouldn’t have to look at him. None of them had to say anything. They’d already talked themselves hoarse on the subject and knew exactly what the others thought and believed. None of them was ready to give up their various positions.

“The Boss says she’s got all her best people investigating the infiltration of the Carnacki Institute,” Melody said finally.

“She says…” Happy said darkly.

“No,” JC said immediately. “We have to trust the Boss in that, at least. Or we’re completely on our own.”

“When you spoke to her,” Melody said carefully, “did you happen to mention seeing Kim at Bradleigh Halt?”

“No,” said JC.

“So we don’t trust her that much…” said Happy.

“When we’ve got anything worth telling her, then I’ll tell her,” said JC. “One sighting doesn’t make a summer.”

“Or one swallow make an orgy,” said Melody.

“Who knows?” said Happy. “If Kim really is your guardian angel now, guardian ghost, whatever…Maybe she’ll turn up again, at the theatre.”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Melody. “Usually to us.”

She carried on reading aloud from the briefing file, and the others pretended to listen to her. Happy leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, the better to concentrate.

A very modern taxi took the Ghost Finders straight from the railway station to the Haybarn Theatre, situated right in the middle of the city centre. It was a grey, overcast day, with lowering clouds and the threat of thunder. The taxi had Thank You For Not Smoking signs plastered all over the interior, along with half a dozen little pine-tree deodorant things, and the interior still smelled like something large and unpleasant had recently been very ill in it. The driver had a great deal to say about the immigration situation, none of it helpful, and ignored all attempts to shut him up, including Please shut up or I will have to kill you from Happy, who then had to be physically restrained by Melody and JC.

When the taxi finally arrived at its destination, Happy volunteered to pay the driver. He fumbled crumpled notes and assorted change from his pockets while Melody hauled her precious scientific equipment out of the taxi’s boot, and JC wandered over to stare thoughtfully at the exterior of the Haybarn Theatre. Happy slapped a bunch of well-worn notes into the driver’s hand and carefully added the right amount of change. The driver looked at his hand, then glared at Happy.

“What? No tip?”

“Okay,” said Happy. “Here’s a tip. Wash your mind out with soap, and try to at least slow down for the red lights. Now piss off sharpish, or I’ll set my girl-friend on you.”

“I heard that!” said Melody, slamming the taxi’s boot shut with unnecessary force. “Don’t make me come over there!”

“See what I mean?” said Happy, smiling calmly at the driver.

The taxi departed at speed. Happy wandered over to watch Melody load her assorted high tech on the collapsible trolley.

“Is that it?” he said, after a while.

“The rest of my equipment, all the really important stuff, that I specially ordered in advance, is apparently en route in a separate van,” said Melody. “Under armed guard. For insurance reasons.”

“I’m sure it’ll all turn up,” said Happy. “Eventually…”

“They’re not fooling me!” Melody said loudly. “They’re trying to see how little tech I can work with! I cannot be expected to do deep research on dead things with such limited resources! I’d have better luck catching ghosts by running after them with a bloody-big enchanted butterfly-net!”

“I think I saw one of those in the Boss’s office, one time,” said JC, not looking around. “On the wall, behind her desk, right next to the enchanted grenade-launcher.”

“I wish I thought you were joking,” said Happy.

He and Melody moved forward to stand on either side of JC, and they all took their time studying the exterior face of the Haybarn Theatre. None of them was particularly impressed. Time and the weather had not been kind to the brick and stone though it was surprisingly free of graffiti. Unlike most of the surrounding office buildings. Apart from the Haybarn’s name, still spelled out in cold grey neon tubing, above the closed main doors, there was nothing obvious to mark the old building as a theatre. All the colour and glamour had been stripped away long ago, and now it looked like any other old-fashioned building, silent and unoccupied.

“Has this place really been empty for twenty years?” JC said finally. “I mean, this is prime location, if nothing else. Right in the middle of the business section. The land alone must be worth a fortune…”

“Maybe the building has a reputation, as a bad place,” said Happy. “Last thing a developer wants is a poltergeist running wild in the lanes of his supermarket. Or restless spirits grinning out of the changing-room mirrors in a women’s fashion outlet.”

“There’s no mention of anything like that in the briefing files,” said Melody. “No trouble at all until the renovations started. Are you picking up anything yet, Happy? Any bad vibrations?”

“There’s a curry house not far away,” said Happy.

“You can’t be hungry already, not after everything you stuffed down yourself on the train!”

“Working for the Carnacki Institute is like serving in the Army,” Happy said solemnly. “Eat when you can, sleep where you can, because you never know when you might get another chance…” He sniffed loudly. “I’m not getting anything from this building, which is a bit odd. I mean, this place has to be at least a century old. I should be getting something…”

Melody looked at JC. “Do you have any idea who this important friend of Catherine Latimer’s might be, the one we’re doing this for?”

“She didn’t say anything,” said JC. “But then, she never does.”

“Are we supposed to go in through the front doors, or should we go round the back and enter through the stage door?” said Happy.

“Hell with that,” JC said firmly. “I do not use the back door. Except sometimes as an exit in times of high peril.”

Melody moved forward and tried the front doors. They both opened easily before her. “Not even locked,” she said. “That can’t be right. Not in this day and age.”

“Someone is expecting us,” said Happy.

“A sign from Above!” JC said merrily. “Inwards and onwards, my children! Danger and excitement await us!”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’d been at my pills,” said Happy.

“We are going in!” said JC.

“You first,” said Happy.

“Of course!” said JC.

“Hold it,” said Melody, and it was a measure of their professionalism that both men stopped immediately and looked at her.

“What?” said Happy. “What?”

“We’re supposed to wait here,” said Melody. “Because we’re being joined by the two actor-producers responsible for renovating this place.”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Happy. “Passengers! Why are we going to put up with these civilians, exactly?”

“Because they know the history of this theatre,” Melody said patiently. “And, they know all about the haunting. If it is a haunting and not a bunch of grown men jumping at shadows. I blame those Most Haunted shows on television.”

Happy looked innocently at JC. “Do we really have to put up with this? You know they’re going to get in the way and make the job ten times harder.”

“Yes, we do have to put up with them,” said JC. “The Boss said so. And you don’t say no to the Boss if you like having your organs on the inside. In fact, she was most insistent about making these actors a part of our investigation. Do try and keep them alive.”

“You try,” Melody said immediately. “I am going to be busy trying to follow electromagnetic fluctuations and orgone spikes with an old barometer and a bent penny.”

JC looked at Happy, who shrugged briefly. “She’s suffering from equipment withdrawal.”

“Ah, to hell with this,” said JC. “I am not standing around here waiting for thespians to turn up. The traffic’s deafening, the air’s so polluted you could shake hands with it, and the rain’s coming on. Besides, I don’t wait for anyone. It’s bad for the reputation. I am going in. Tally ho, Ghost Finders!”

He barged straight through the main doors and disappeared inside. Happy and Melody looked at each other and shrugged pretty much simultaneously. Happy held a door open, and Melody hauled her trolley full of equipment up the raised steps and into the theatre.

JC was already striding round and round the oversized lobby, head held high, looking at everything with keen interest. His ice-cream white suit seemed almost to glow in the gloom. JC lurched abruptly to a halt, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, looking and listening and sniffing the air, getting a feel for the place. The lobby was big enough to be impressive without being imposing, made to hold crowds waiting for the curtain to go up; but it was dim and dusty now, with more than its fair share of shadows. All the windows were boarded up.

Melody hauled her trolley into the exact centre of the lobby, looked briefly around her, sniffed loudly when nothing immediately dangerous presented itself, and began assembling her various bits and pieces. Happy stood alone, some distance away from the others, looking cautiously about him. The lobby floor was bare, and so were the walls. Though there were a few large empty wooden frames, here and there, that had presumably once held bright and gaudy posters, advertising past triumphs and tragedies. The lobby looked…depersonalised, anonymous. As though all the glamour and character and history had been deliberately removed, long ago. Several doors led off from the lobby, going who knew where because all the signs and directions were gone. All the doors were very firmly closed.

Everything seemed peaceful enough; but Happy wasn’t fooled. There was a definite air of…something. An atmosphere of something not easily named.

JC moved quickly from one door to another, opening each one in turn and shouting a cheerful Hello! into the gloom beyond. But there was never any response. JC shut each door firmly, in turn, just in case. He finally came back to join Melody and Happy, rubbing his hands briskly together. Happy pointed out the Ticket Office, which had been boarded shut.

“There’s something very sad about that,” he said. “A real sense that the party is over; everyone get your coats and go home.”

“Softy,” said Melody, not unkindly, not even looking up from fitting her various bits of tech together and hitting them if they didn’t cooperate fast enough for her liking.

“Is that really all you’re going to use?” JC said innocently because he liked to live dangerously.

Melody slammed down a sciencey thing and glared at him. “This is deliberate!” she said fiercely. “It’s all part of downsizing; if they prove I can do the job with a minimum of equipment, then that’s all they’ll let me have.”

“So what are you going to do?” said Happy. “Deliberately sabotage a mission to prove the accountants wrong?”

“Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me,” growled Melody.

“I think I’ll go and hide somewhere safe until you’re in a better mood,” said Happy.

“We’re not going to be here that long,” said Melody.

While the two of them were preoccupied, JC spotted a door on the far wall that he would have sworn hadn’t been there a moment earlier. He moved slowly over to stand before it. He looked the door up and down, and it looked like all the other doors. He reached out very carefully, very cautiously, and tried the door handle. It turned easily under his hand, almost invitingly, and he pushed the door open. It swung weightlessly back before him, revealing a deep, dark gloom.

“JC?” The voice came from deep inside the gloom; and he recognised it immediately.

“Yes, Kim,” he said. “I’m here.”

He stepped forward into the dark, and there was Kim, standing right before him. Glowing so brightly, she threw back the gloom. JC stood very still, careful not to do anything that might frighten her away. His breath caught in his throat, and he could feel his heart hammering painfully fast in his chest.

“Kim?” he said. “Is it really you?”

She smiled at him, her eyes shining. She was hovering a few inches above the floor, rising and falling slowly. She looked like she wanted to say something; but she didn’t.

“What are you doing here, Kim?” said JC. “Am I in danger again? Are you? How did you get away…? Or, is someone still holding you?”

She didn’t respond to any of his questions, but her gaze never wavered, fixed entirely on him.

“Please…” said JC. “Tell me who’s got you, where you are, and I will come and get you! I will!”

She smiled sadly at him. JC reached out to her, and she backed away from him, drifting slowly down the endless, dark corridor. JC started forward after her, only to slam face-first into the wall before him. The door was gone, with no trace left behind to show it had ever been there. JC beat at the wall with his fist, once, then tiredly leaned forward to rest his forehead against the cold, implacable surface. He took a deep breath, stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and turned away from the wall to find Melody and Happy both staring at him.

“I saw Kim again,” he said.

Happy and Melody looked quickly around the empty lobby, then back at JC, who shrugged briefly.

“I’m not picking up anything,” Happy said carefully. “If a ghost had manifested here, even popped in for a moment, I’m sure I would have sensed it.”

“Nothing on my instruments, either,” said Melody. “Are you sure you saw…something?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” said JC. “It was Kim. I saw her. Spoke to her…”

He turned away from what he saw in their faces, his back stiff and straight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Happy moved over to stand with Melody at her instrument panels. Lights came and went on her monitor screens, signifying nothing.

“She was there, at the railway station,” Happy said tentatively.

“Was she?” Melody said quietly. “The image we saw looked like her, but it never said a word; and normally you can’t get a word in edge-ways with ghost girl. It’ll take more than a brief look-alike image to convince me. So I have to wonder if someone is playing mind-games. With us in general, and JC in particular. Showing him what he wants to see, to distract him from what’s really important.”

“Oh great,” said Happy. “Fantastic. That’s all I need, something else to be paranoid about.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not as paranoid as you used to be, sweetie,” said Melody. “There really are dangerous forces in the universe out to get you.”

“Life was so much simpler when I was merely mentally ill and chemically deranged,” said Happy, glumly. “Now every case we go into feels like a trap.”

“That’s situation normal where the Ghost Finders are concerned,” said Melody.

“I want danger money,” said Happy.

“We are getting danger money.”

“I want more danger money.”

“It’s nice to want things,” Molly said briskly. “I saw the sweetest French Maid outfit in an Anne Summer’s, the other day.”

“I told you,” said Happy. “I’m not wearing it.”

“You can be very unadventurous sometimes,” said Melody.

They looked across at JC, on the far side of the lobby. His head was bowed, and he was frowning, lost in thought. He might have been a thousand miles away. Unreachable. Happy shrugged, uneasily.

“Do we know where the homeless guy died?” he said. “Was it here? Because I’m not picking up anything to suggest a recent death, natural or otherwise. In fact, I’m not picking up anything. Just…dead air.”

“Ho ho ho,” said Melody, concentrating on her instrument readouts. “Telepath humour. It’s all in the mind.”

Happy scowled, moved away, and lowered his mental shields, slowly and methodically opening himself up to his surroundings. Nothing happened until he was completely open and defenceless; and then everything hit him at once. The lobby was suddenly packed full of people, men and women, from all times and fashions, milling back and forth, overlapping and passing through each other. Memories, ghosts, of all the people who’d ever been in the theatre lobby. A hundred thousand audiences, all of them talking at once, a terrible clamour of raised voices from out of the Past, filling Happy’s head to bursting. He clapped both hands to his ears, a practiced psychological trick to keep voices outside his head; but it didn’t help. There were too many of them, layer upon layer of people pressed upon people…Voices determined to be heard.

And slowly, one by one, then in small groups, heads turned to look at him. Faces focused on him, becoming aware of his presence. They could see Happy because they weren’t memories, they were dead. Ghosts of people who’d died in the lobby, or the theatre, or returned there because it had special memories for them. They drifted slowly, implacably, towards Happy, passing inexorably through all the other presences in their way. Drawn to him like moths, to the bright light of his living soul. Happy looked about him desperately, but everywhere he looked there were more, coming right at him, their dead faces distorted by an awful, endless hunger.

Happy slammed down all his shields at once, forcing his mental defences back into place, until every last bit of his telepathy was shut down and he was as blind to the world as everyone else. Until he couldn’t have seen a ghost even if it walked right up to him and glared into his face. Or, at least, he hoped so. He stood very still, breathing hard. He could feel cold sweat on his face. When he finally lowered his hands, they shook violently. Happy looked quickly around the lobby. JC was still wrapped up in himself, but Melody was looking at him steadily. She came out from behind her instruments, walked over to Happy, and put her arms around him. She held him close, while he hung on to her like a drowning man. She patted his back gently, giving him the warmth of her body to drive out the cold of the dead. Giving him her steady presence to anchor him in the world again.

“Bad one?” she said, her voice carefully calm and neutral.

“Bad enough,” he said, when he could find his voice. “My own fault. I should have known better than to lower my guard in a place bound to be soaked in people and memories. Still…”

“Yes?” said Melody.

Happy took his arms away from her, and she immediately let go of him and stepped back. Beyond a certain point, Happy didn’t like to be fussed over.

“That…didn’t just happen,” said Happy. “That felt much more like an ambush. Which means we’re not alone here. Someone, or Something, targeted me.”

Melody studied his face carefully. “You need some of your little chemical helpers, don’t you?”

“No,” said Happy. “I’m stronger than that, now. I don’t need them. You showed me that.”

“But you still want them,” said Melody.

“Oh, God, yes, I want them,” said Happy. “Luckily, I want you more.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” said Melody. “I really wish it was true.”

And then they looked round sharply, as the main doors slammed open and their theatrical guests arrived. A man and a woman, both well into their forties, both clearly fighting for every inch, both of them that little bit too deliberately glamorous. Because they felt it was expected of them. They stopped directly inside the doors, realised they had an audience, and immediately fell into flattering publicity poses without even realising they were doing it. There was a pause, as everyone looked at everyone else, then JC strode briskly forward to stand with Happy and Melody, to present a unified front in the face of civilian outsiders. The two actors looked the Ghost Finders over and gave no impression of being in any way impressed.

“Are you the…experts?” said the woman, in a rich clear voice.

JC gave them both his best professional smile. “We are, indeed, the experts. Allow me to introduce your team for tonight. I am JC Chance, ghost finder extraordinaire, exorcist without portfolio, and leader of the pack. Despite everything I can do to get out of it. The short sulky thing on my left is Happy Jack Palmer; team telepath, portable psychic, and general pain in the arse. Feel free to ignore him or throw things. We do. Finally, this sweet and very dangerous young lady is Melody Chambers, geek girl nerd technician and Take That fan. Don’t get too close, she bites. Do not be fooled by the way we look; we are in fact very experienced and very efficient.”

“So…ghosts don’t scare you?” said the man, in a mellifluous, carrying voice.

JC grinned. “Hell no…ghosts are scared of us.”

“I’m not sure whether that makes me feel any safer, or not,” said the woman.

“Lot of people say that,” said Happy.

“Only because they know us,” said Melody.

“I’m Benjamin Darke,” said the man, a bit grandly. “And this is my wife, Elizabeth de Fries.”

They both stood a little taller, clearly expecting to be recognised. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, Benjamin announced their names again, a little louder and more distinctly, as though that might make a difference.

“Oh come on!” said Elizabeth. “You must have heard of us! We’ve been jobbing actors for twenty years now! We’ve been in everything, both stage and screen!”

“Exactly!” said Benjamin. “We’ve done everything, from soaps to period dramas, police procedurals to sitcoms! I was in a Doctor Who and she was in a Sherlock Holmes! Recently!”

“Sorry,” said JC. “We’re usually out working, of an evening. Our business is with the dead, not the living.”

Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other. Their shoulders slumped, and they stood more closely together, as though they could only depend on each other.

Benjamin Darke was tall and stocky, with a certain physical presence. He dressed well, if not actually expensively, with a smart sweater and slacks under a navy blue blazer, and a white silk cravat at his throat. He carried himself with a certain youthful vigour, through sheer force of will, and long stage training showed in his every disciplined movement. He was still handsome, in a severe sort of way, though middle age had clearly got a grip on him. His receding hair was suspiciously jet-black. He smiled a lot, a bright, professional smile that probably fooled most people.

Elizabeth de Fries was short and well-made, showing off her perfectly preserved figure in a carefully cut pale blue dress and very high heels. Up close she was clearly into her forties, but with the right makeup and camera lens, she could still knock ten years off that. She had a pleasantly pretty face under a mop of tight blonde curls, and sparkling blue eyes. She still had charm, as opposed to Benjamin’s practiced presence.

And then Happy had to go and spoil it all by walking right up to them and prodding them both hard in the chest with his forefinger. Benjamin’s eyes widened, and Elizabeth let out a brief squeak of surprise. Happy looked them both over carefully, nodded quickly, and went back to JC and Melody. The two actors looked at each other, then at JC and Melody for an explanation. They didn’t get one. JC tried hard to look solemn. Melody didn’t even try.

“Just making sure,” said Happy. “After what happened with Roland Laurie…Still can’t believe I didn’t spot him…Don’t get fooled again, that’s my motto.”

“He prodded me in the bosom!” Elizabeth said loudly. “And…he didn’t even say please!”

“I did notice, darling,” said Benjamin.

“Then don’t just stand there, darling, do something!”

“Like what? Go over there and prod him back? I wouldn’t lower myself.”

“You never did have any spine, darling,” said Elizabeth.

And then they all jumped a little and looked around, as the main doors crashed open again as a bright-eyed girl in her late teens came striding in. She stopped, accepted everyone staring at her as her right, and smiled happily about her.

“Hi!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Lissa Parr! It’s Melissa, actually, but everyone calls me Lissa. Sorry I’m a bit late.”

Lissa was a tall, slender brunette, with flat, shoulder-length hair and a heavy dark fringe falling right down to her penciled-on eyebrows. She wore tight blue jeans, and an even tighter white T-shirt, the better to show off her marvellous figure. Happy took a step forward, then stopped when Melody glared at him.

“Are you sure?” he said. “You might thank me, later.”

“You go anywhere near her bosom, and I’ll tie your finger in a knot,” said Melody.

The three actors took it in turns to kiss the air somewhere near each other’s cheeks, then stepped back to look each other over in a professional kind of way. None of them offered to kiss any of the Ghost Finders, which was probably just as well.

Lissa was very pretty, perhaps despite rather than because of all the character in her face. Her lips were very red and very thin, but her constant smile looked real enough. Her eyes were dark and full of humour, with a hell of a lot of blue eye make-up. She still had as if by right what Elizabeth was fighting to hang on to. Which was probably why Elizabeth was the only one not mesmerised by her. The young actress stood happily in her favourite loose-limbed pose, basking in the attention she was still young enough to take for granted. It was clear she’d been taught to stand that way in public if there was even a chance of a photographer…drilled into her until it was second nature; but she still managed it unconsciously and unselfconsciously. She threw in the charm at no extra cost, without even realising she was doing it.

“Sorry,” said JC, and actually sounded like he meant it, “but who are you, exactly? Are you another name we’re supposed to recognise?”

Lissa’s smile slipped for a moment. “You really don’t know me? Damn. I am clearly not getting my money’s worth out of that new publicist. Look, I was in that controversial indie film, Jesus and Satan Go Jogging in the Desert. And that big disaster movie, Werewolf on the Titanic.”

“Oh, I remember that one!” said Happy. “Not even a little bit accurate.”

“We weren’t expecting you until next week, darling,” said Elizabeth, with a hint of chill in her voice. “The theatre isn’t nearly ready yet.”

“You know her?” said JC.

“Of course we know her; we hired her!” said Benjamin. “She’s going to star in our play! As our female lead. But, as Elizabeth was saying…”

Lissa shrugged prettily. “Don’t blame me, sweeties; I got a phone call from my agent, saying drop everything and get straight round to the Haybarn, they need you. So here I am! You are glad to see me, aren’t you?”

“Of course we are, Lissa,” said Benjamin, shooting Elizabeth a quick warning glance. “It’s simply that the renovators have encountered some…unexpected difficulties.”

“Oh, I know all about that, sweetie,” said Lissa. “My agent couldn’t wait to tell me!”

“How very helpful of him,” said Elizabeth. “It would seem word has got out…”

“Ghosts and ghoulies and things that go Booyah! in the night! How terribly thrilling!” Lissa looked at JC and his team with new interest. “Are you the experts?”

“I do wish people would stop using that word, in that particular tone of voice,” said Happy. “Yes, we are quite definitely experts; we are the Ghost Finders! Hauntings a speciality, no spook left unturned. We are very expert! Very!”

“Gosh,” said Lissa, completely unmoved by Happy’s histrionics. “What larks, eh?” She looked around the lobby, and some of her natural exuberance fell away. “Bit of a dump, isn’t it, sweeties?”

“It wasn’t always like this,” said Elizabeth, frostily. “Back in its heyday, the Haybarn was one of the finest theatres in the Midlands. Very smart, very elegant, very fashionable; the most prestigious vehicle for any up-and-coming young actors looking to make their mark. We had critics from all the broadsheets turning up on opening nights.”

“But that was…sometime ago,” said Benjamin. “The Haybarn has been shut down and abandoned for twenty years. It’s going to take a lot of hard work to smarten the old girl up again. And we can’t do that until we can persuade the renovators to return.”

“Why has it been left empty for so long?” said Lissa.

Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other, then at the Ghost Finders. “It was to have been our greatest triumph,” said Benjamin. “The play that would change all our lives.”

“Change everything,” said Elizabeth. “But it all went wrong, so horribly quickly…”

“We were the established leads, back then,” said Benjamin. “Starred in everything the Haybarn put on, took everything in our stride, from classics to modern. The public loved us, the critics thought we could do no wrong. We had the world at our feet, and we thought it would last forever. We wrote a play together, Elizabeth and I: A Working-class Messiah Is Something to Be. Something…very different, very special. We would direct and cover the two supporting leads, and we had one of the major stars of the day committed to the lead. Frankie Hazzard.”

Everyone nodded quickly. They all knew that name.

“Tall, dark, and handsome,” said Melody. “Didn’t half fancy himself. He played that spy, what’s-his-name, in that film; Index Finger, Left Hand.”

“I saw him on a chat show once,” said Happy. “So far up himself he was hanging out his own nostrils.”

“Pushing that unfortunate mental image firmly to one side,” said JC, “perhaps we could concentrate on the matter at hand. What happened? What went wrong?”

“The play crashed and burned,” Elizabeth said flatly. “Didn’t even make two weeks before the theatre shut it down. The critics hated it, and nobody came. The theatre’s owners had sunk considerable funding into it, and they lost all of it. They had no choice but to close the theatre.”

“We were wiped out,” said Benjamin. “Lost everything we had.”

“And, of course, no other theatre would touch us, after that,” said Elizabeth. “The stink of failure clings like leprosy in our profession.”

“Our play was supposed to make everyone’s careers, and make everyone a lot of money,” said Benjamin. “But it didn’t. Not the play’s fault, though…We always said that, didn’t we, darling? Well, after all these years, we have funding again. A chance to reopen the play, right here. The play as it should have been, before Frankie Hazzard got his grubby hands on it and insisted on all those unnecessary rewrites. Our production will reopen the Haybarn, with the very talented Lissa Parr as our female lead.”

“I’m still waiting to hear who’s going to be playing opposite me,” said Lissa, in a pretty, smiling, and very pointed way.

“We’re still in negotiations,” Elizabeth said quickly. “We’re almost there, only a few last details to hammer out with his agent.”

“We can’t name him yet, for obvious reasons,” said Benjamin. “But he is very enthusiastic. Loves the play…”

Happy leaned in close beside Melody. “You think the theatre’s owners could be Catherine Latimer’s old friends?” he said quietly. “And that’s why we’re here?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Melody.

“So!” Lissa said brightly, turning the full force of her charm on JC. “You’re the experts. But what are you, exactly? Spookbusters? Exorcists R Us?”

“No-one’s reported seeing any actual ghosts,” Benjamin said quickly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?”

“It could still all turn out to be nothing,” said Elizabeth.

“Or nothing important, anyway,” said Benjamin.

“What exactly happened?” said JC, and something in his voice stopped Benjamin in mid flow. He looked at his wife.

“The workers we hired to renovate this building, at very expensive rates, were all very vague about what they’d encountered here,” Elizabeth said steadily. “In fact, we couldn’t get a straight answer out of any of them. But every single one of them was out of here inside of twelve hours; and not one of them would agree to set foot inside the building again, no matter how much was offered them, until we’d agreed to Do Something…”

“Oh, that’s us!” JC said cheerfully. “We’re great ones for Doing Something!”

“Suddenly and violently and all over the place,” said Happy.

“But what actually happened here?” Melody insisted. “What did the workers see, or hear…?”

“They’d barely been in here a few hours before the problems started,” said Benjamin, reluctantly. “The men saw and heard…things, though they wouldn’t say what. There was a constant feeling of being watched, apparently, of being observed by unfriendly eyes. Things, tools, would disappear from right under their hands, then reappear somewhere else. Voices, in the dark, saying things…bad things. Someone crying who wouldn’t stop. Someone they could never find calling for help. And a constant sense of someone standing right behind you, close enough to reach out and lay a hand on your shoulder…”

“And then they found the dead tramp,” said Elizabeth. “Right there on the main stage.”

“And that was the end of that,” said Benjamin. “The final straw. No-one would go back in after that.”

“How did he die exactly?” said Melody.

“Heart attack,” Benjamin said carefully. “That’s what the doctor put on the death certificate.”

“It was a reporter from the local paper who claimed that the man died of fright,” said Elizabeth. “Apparently he saw a photo of the tramp’s face…Anyway, that put it on the front page of the local rag. After all, died of fright is a headline. Died of a heart attack is nothing more than filler. Page twelve, if you’re lucky.”

“Still!” Lissa said brightly. “Paranormal encounters, eh? Isn’t it exciting?”

JC, Melody, and Happy all looked at her in a pitying sort of way, which she entirely failed to pick up on.

“We insisted on being here, to oversee your work,” Elizabeth said to JC. “To ensure the theatre’s interests are represented while you work out what’s going on here.”

“What’s really going on?” Benjamin said heavily. “I’m still not convinced by any of this.”

“You sounded pretty convinced a moment ago,” said Happy.

“We need to get this all done and sorted!” Benjamin said stubbornly. “Nothing can be allowed to get in the way of our play’s revival!”

“Nothing,” Elizabeth said flatly. “We’ve waited too long for this.” She looked straight at JC. “You have to get to the bottom of this, Mr. Chance. Before the theatre’s owners lose faith and whip the funding out from under us. Again.”

Lissa looked sharply at Elizabeth and Benjamin. “Is there a problem with the funding? Is there, in fact, some doubt as to whether this play will actually go on? I turned down a really good part in a good film because my agent said this would be a good career move! I can’t afford a mis-step in my career at this point!”

Elizabeth and Benjamin looked fondly at each other. “Doesn’t she remind you of us, at that age?” said Elizabeth.

“Answer the question!” said Lissa, actually stamping one small but perfect foot.

“The funding is in place and perfectly secure,” Benjamin said soothingly. “The play will go on. As soon as the experts here have put everything to rights. Which shouldn’t take too long; right, Mr. Chance?”

“We’re not going to have to get a medium in, are we?” said Elizabeth. “They’re always so expensive…”

“I worked with a medium, once,” said Benjamin. “Doing the knockings for him, banging a pair of tap shoes against the underside of the stage. It was all killing effective…”

“Was that the one who used to do the cold readings?” said Elizabeth. “And then used what he knew to get the more susceptible ones into bed with him, so he could scam their pin numbers…?”

“Does this theatre have a history of ghosts?” asked JC, cutting in firmly.

“Well, of course; every theatre does,” said Benjamin. “But they’re just stories. Something to pass the time backstage, when you’re not on for ages, and give the chorus line something to squeal and giggle about. No-one ever takes them seriously.”

“What stories do you have here?” said Melody, not very patiently.

“There’s the Lady in White,” said Elizabeth. “If you see her drifting around the dressing-rooms on opening night, that’s supposed to guarantee a good run for your show.”

“And then there’s the Headless Panto Dame,” said Benjamin. “Nasty accident with a trap-door, back in the sixties. Traumatised a whole pack of Cub Scouts in the front row.”

“Is she bad luck to see?” said Happy.

“For anyone who sees him, yes,” said Elizabeth.

“But,” said Benjamin, very firmly, “there have never been any…unexplained incidents in the theatre before this. Not one. No nasty business, nothing properly frightening, and certainly never anything bad enough to send dozens of hardened workmen running away from very well-paid work.”

And then they all looked round sharply again as the main doors slammed shut. And there, standing before them, smiling gently, was an old man with stooped shoulders, a long brown overall, and a flat cap perched slightly off skew on his bald head. He looked to be well into his seventies, with a heavily lined face, a weak smile, and a really unfortunate attempt at a moustache. He nodded vaguely to everyone present, regarding them all with pale, watery eyes.

“Sorry about that, ladies and gents; didn’t mean to startle anyone. I’m Old Tom; used to be caretaker here, back in the day. Called out of a well-earned retirement to give a hand with the…current situation.”

Benjamin looked at him suspiciously. “We didn’t hire you.”

“Bless you, no, sir,” said Old Tom, blinking quickly. “The theatre’s owners contacted me personally, asked me to come back and help out. I couldn’t say no, not after they were so good to me, all those years. Spent the best years of my life here, looking after the old place. No-one knows the old Haybarn better than me. Seen them all come and go, I have. The stories I could tell…Anyway. Couldn’t leave the old girl in the hands of strangers. No-one knows the ins and outs of the Haybarn better than me, ladies and gents. Shall I show you around?”

“Hold it,” said JC. “Who are the theatre’s owners?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lovett, sir,” said Old Tom. “The Lovetts have owned the Haybarn for generations.”

“Why didn’t anyone buy the theatre while it was closed?” said Melody.

“Because it was never put up for sale, miss,” said Old Tom. “They’d never sell this old place. Far too much sentimental value. Of course, it helps that the Lovetts aren’t short of a bob or two, if you catch my drift.” Here, Old Tom did his best to wink roguishly. “No; they’ve been waiting for exactly the right time to reopen their theatre again.”

“And the right play,” said Benjamin.

“As you say, sir,” said Old Tom.

“Then lead on,” said JC. “Show us everything there is to see.”

Old Tom gave them all another of his vague smiles and shuffled over to one of the larger doors. It was only then that the others realised that he’d come out still wearing his carpet slippers. They all looked at each other, but no-one felt like saying anything. Old Tom pushed the door open and disappeared through, letting the door slam shut behind him. JC leaned in close to murmur to Happy and Melody.

“No-one said anything to me about a caretaker. Just the actors.”

“Want me to prod him?” said Happy.

“Don’t you dare!” said Elizabeth, who turned out to be a lot closer than any of them had realised. “The last thing we need is the theatre’s owners getting involved, saying we’re not respecting their wishes.”

JC looked at Elizabeth. “My, what big ears you have.”

“All the better for not being left out of things, darling,” said Elizabeth. “I don’t want Old Tom upset. A good caretaker is worth his weight in gold.”

“In oh so many ways,” said Benjamin.

“Would he be likely to know the theatre’s private and personal history?” said JC. “All the tales told out of school, the secrets and scandals?”

There was a brief pause while Elizabeth and Benjamin looked at each other, and something went unspoken between them.

“Caretakers were often spies for the owners, back in the day,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Reporting back on all the gossip, on every little bust-up and whispered confidence. Never let us get away with anything.”

“You think that’s why he’s here now?” said Happy.

“Why else?” said Benjamin. “We didn’t hire him; did we, darling?”

“Never met him before in my life,” said Elizabeth.

JC looked at them sharply. “You don’t know Old Tom personally?”

“Benjamin and I weren’t actually here all that long,” said Elizabeth. “A bit over four years, in all. He could have been before our time.”

“Or, he might be someone from the local press, passing himself off as a caretaker!” said Benjamin. “Looking to see if their story has legs!”

“He did come across a bit Central Casting,” said Elizabeth. “But you know, that might not necessarily be a bad thing, darling. We could use a little useful publicity, to get the theatre’s reopening noticed…If we play this right…”

Old Tom poked his head back through the door. “Is there a problem, ladies and gents?”

“What have you heard about the…current conditions?” said JC.

“The dead tramp and the hauntings?” Old Tom tried out his roguish wink again and laid one finger along the side of his nose. “I’ve worked here man and boy, sir, and never seen a thing. Take more than a few rumours to keep me out. I ain’t afraid of no ghost!” He chuckled silently for a moment, enjoying his little joke. “You come along with me, ladies and gents. Old Tom’ll see nothing happens to you! There’s nothing to be scared of here…”

He disappeared back through his door again, and the others hurried after him, JC making a point of leading the way. Melody briefly glanced back at her instruments, then shrugged angrily and went along with the others. The door swung quietly shut behind them. Silence and shadows held sway in the empty lobby. And then the intercom speakers turned themselves on. For a while, there was nothing but the quiet hissing of static; and then, a voice.

“Welcome back, my friends, to the opening night of a brand-new production. Seats available at all prices. The curtain is going up. Prepare yourselves…for a show you’ll never forget.”