Ghost of a Dream

FIVE STARDUSTY MEMORIES

Happy stood alone at the edge of the stage, looking out over the vast and empty auditorium. As someone who mostly preferred not to be noticed, even by the people he was working with, the whole concept of standing on a stage and being stared at by an audience made no sense to him at all. He’d never even been to a theatre to watch a play. Or a cinema. Happy didn’t like crowds, even when he was part of one. It was hard enough keeping the voices outside his head under normal conditions. Put too many people together in one place, and it was like the whole world wanted to force their way into Happy’s thoughts.

On the few occasions when he did let his mental defences down, to look on the hidden world and all it contained, then reality became a very crowded thing indeed. With no room in it at all for a small, unhappy thing like him. It’s one thing to know the world is infinite and quite another to be able to see it for yourself. Happy only had an ego as a form of self-defence, so the idea that someone could give a damn about him, like JC…or perhaps even love him, like Melody…was a whole new concept to him. Happy worried that if people could notice him, then maybe the whole hungry world might, too.

If anyone had ever suggested to Happy that he was a hero, for fighting the good fight as a Ghost Finder, he would have been honestly surprised. Maybe even shocked. He had done some amazing things in his time, it was true, but only because the only other option had been dying horribly.

The pills made things so much easier. His little helpers; his chemical crutch to lean on; something to make him brave when he didn’t have it in him. Melody could put his demons to rest, she could hold him in the early hours and make him feel safe in the dark; but she couldn’t make him brave. Happy still hadn’t got the hang of that. So it bothered him that JC had put the two actors in his care and expected him to keep them safe. That was JC’s job, not his. JC knew all there was to know about being brave. And cocky, and arrogant…Surely, JC hadn’t dumped the actors on him so he could go off with the lovely Lissa and impress her with how brave he was? No; JC wasn’t that small. That was Happy. He smiled slightly, looked out over all the empty rows of seats, and wondered what it would feel like to be applauded.

Behind him, Benjamin cleared his throat, politely. He didn’t need to. Happy knew where everyone was, all the time. Even with all his mental shields in place, Happy could tell where everyone was, by the way their presence pressed against his shields. The world always wanted in…Happy looked back. Benjamin and Elizabeth were standing together, looking at him uncertainly. Happy turned around and gave them both his best professional smile, the one he’d copied from JC.

“Relax,” he said because he thought he should. “Everything’s going to work out fine. I am a professional Ghost Finder. I do this for a living.”

“Where do you think we should start looking, Happy?” said Elizabeth.

“Beats the hell out of me,” said Happy with a certain gloomy affability. “It’s your theatre. Your past, your history. Whatever’s going on does seem to be linked to your time here, twenty years ago. Apart from the stage…which part of this theatre would you say was most important to the two of you?”

Elizabeth and Benjamin looked at each other, and something passed between them that they clearly didn’t feel like sharing with him. Happy could have reached inside their heads and dug it out, but he didn’t. This was partly because the Carnacki Institute had pounded it into him, in a number of very firm ways, that doing so was wrong, and that if they caught him at it again, they would lobotomise him with a rusty ice-pick (and Happy didn’t think they were in the least bit joking, or even exaggerating), but also…Because opening his mind that much, in a place like this, definitely qualified as a Really Bad Idea. The psychic seas of the Haybarn Theatre were choppy and disturbed and full of killer sharks. So Happy waited patiently for Benjamin and Elizabeth to finish not saying the things they didn’t want to say out loud, in front of him, and finally Elizabeth nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Benjamin sighed heavily.

“Well, you said it yourself, darling; the best times we ever had were backstage. So I think our best bet would be to go check out the dressing-rooms, those shabby little corners full of dreams and ambition, terror and exhilaration, adrenaline rushes and panic attacks. And home to some of the best after-play parties ever. All human life was there…”

“You always were the eloquent one, darling,” said Elizabeth.

“Yes…” said Happy. “Strong emotions are good—exactly what we need. They always evoke the best memories and the most significant ghosts. Ghosts are memories, and vice versa. Are these dressing-rooms a long way away from the stage?”

“Yes,” said Benjamin.

“Oh good,” said Happy. “Let us go, right now.”

“You’re not very brave for a Ghost Buster, are you?” said Elizabeth.

“Brave gets you killed in this business,” said Happy, quite seriously. “I prefer to hang around at the back, out of harm’s way, shouting helpful advice while the big, brave, alpha types throw themselves forward into an early grave. There’s nothing like being able to see ghosts, to make you very determined never to become one. I have been in this business a while now, and I stay alive through a combination of applied caution and a complete willingness to turn and run like fun at a moment’s notice, and I suggest you do the same. If you can keep up with me. Show me these dressing-rooms. Maybe I can pick up some useful mental impressions from them.”

“After twenty years?” said Elizabeth.

“Time means nothing to the dead,” said Happy. “The Past is always with us, not least because most people never learn to put it down properly.”

Benjamin and Elizabeth led the way down from the stage, then strode briskly up the long, narrow central aisle of the auditorium. They hurried along, chatting easily to each other, while Happy slouched along behind them, bringing up the rear. He didn’t mind that they weren’t talking to him; he honestly wouldn’t have known what to say if they had. Happy wasn’t one for small talk, or most other people skills. And then he stopped, half-way up the aisle, to look back at the stage.

JC hadn’t budged an inch. He was still holding his position at centre stage, smiling broadly, and discoursing loudly on something important. Though, to her credit, Lissa didn’t seem to be nearly as impressed with JC as JC clearly thought she ought to be.

Melody was already heading off the stage, going in search of her precious scientific equipment back in the lobby. She didn’t look back at Happy, even for a moment. Happy was used to that. He knew he was only really real for Melody when he was right in front of her. Or sometimes behind, depending on her mood…

Happy stood in the middle of the vast, sprawling auditorium and felt very alone and very vulnerable. He didn’t like to work on his own; he preferred being part of a team, if only because it meant there would always be someone there for him to hide behind. But JC had put him in charge of the actors, and Happy had always had a lot of respect for JC. Though, of course, he had never let JC even suspect that because JC would have taken advantage. So Happy quietly decided that he would do his job and do it well. Because he needed someone to be proud of him since he couldn’t manage it for himself. He sighed deeply, did his best to square his shoulders in a convincing fashion, and followed Benjamin and Elizabeth up the central aisle to the great swing doors at the top.

The actors swept through the swing doors, still talking, without even glancing back to see if Happy was following. He was used to that, too. He sometimes wondered wistfully if people forgot about him when he wasn’t actually making a nuisance of himself. Which might be why he did it so often. He paused again at the swing doors, for one last look out over the auditorium. He didn’t dare open his mind for fear of being swamped and overwhelmed by all the prowling memories and emotions of past audiences, like in the lobby…but he was quite definitely picking up something. A strong feeling of being watched, observed, by unseen and unfriendly eyes. Happy stared back defiantly, and hurried through the swing doors after Benjamin and Elizabeth.

The actors led him down a corridor or two, then took a sharp left turn into actors’ backstage territory. One whole corridor had been given over to a long row of dressing-rooms, stretching away into the brightly lit distance. Happy gave the fierce fluorescent lighting a long, suspicious look; but since Benjamin and Elizabeth didn’t say anything, he didn’t either. On both sides of the corridor, the doors to all the dressing-rooms stood open, falling back into the rooms, like open invitations to enter. Happy slammed to a halt and looked thoughtfully at the open doors. The two actors realised Happy wasn’t with them, stopped, and looked expectantly back at him as he tried to decide whether the doors’ standing open was a good sign or not. On the whole, he rather thought not because that was what he thought about most things. But after all, why would all the doors be open…

He made Benjamin and Elizabeth stay where they were and stand still, while he slowly and very cautiously peered into the first dressing-room. He eased past the open door without actually touching it (noticing absently that it didn’t have a star on it), and looked around the room—brightly lit by a single hanging light bulb. The door was open, the light was on, but nobody was home…And then Happy almost jumped out of his skin when Benjamin and Elizabeth got impatient and barged into the dressing-room after him.

“I told you to stay put!” said Happy, doing his best to sound angry, as JC would have.

Elizabeth looked down her nose at him. “I have been shouted at and verbally abused by the greatest directors in the industry, darling, and I didn’t take any notice of them, either.”

“It’s true,” Benjamin said solemnly. “She didn’t…”

Happy decided to let that one go. He wasn’t much of a one for taking orders, himself. The three of them stood together, looking around. Though there wasn’t much to look at, in the dressing-room. A bare table, pushed up against the left-hand wall, with a mirror fixed to the wall above the table. A few chairs and an empty costume rack. No window, no comforts, only faded linoleum on the uneven floor.

“Is this it?” said Happy. “This is all you get, in a dressing-room? Bit basic, isn’t it?”

Benjamin and Elizabeth both smiled the same knowing smile.

“Theatres don’t believe in spoiling their actors. Might give them ideas above their station,” said Benjamin.

“It’s expected that you customise your room, according to your own needs and wishes,” said Elizabeth. “Put up your own photos, messages of support, good reviews. Flowers. Whatever you need to feel good.”

“And anything lucky,” said Benjamin. “Because actors are always great ones for superstitions, on and off stage. Because in this business you need all the good luck you can buy, beg, borrow, and steal.”

“Exactly,” said Elizabeth. “Given all the things that can and will go wrong, often out of sheer cussedness, on any given night, on even the meanest of productions, it is us against the gods, darling, and don’t you ever forget it. In the theatre, lucky charms are ammunition. I’ve known dressing-rooms where you couldn’t move for holy medals, support gonks, and rabbits’ feet.”

“I never did get that one,” said Happy. “What’s lucky about a rabbit’s foot? I mean, it didn’t do the rabbit any good, did it?” He glanced at the door, to make sure it was still open and his escape route was still clear, before turning back to the actors. “Do all the dressing-rooms look the same?”

“Pretty much,” said Benjamin. “Stars get one to themselves, of course. Supporting roles double up; and everyone else gets crammed into whatever rooms are left. On some of the bigger Shakespearean productions, I’ve seen lesser roles and walk-ons filling up the corridor and hanging off the fire-escape. We actors do like to say We’re all in it together, but some of us are always going to be deeper in it than others. If you think the theatre is a democracy, try asking the leading lady if you can use her mirror to do your make-up. Or sit down even for a moment on the leading man’s chair. You’ll hear language that would embarrass a sailor on shore leave trying to get his money back from the tattoo parlour.”

“We guard our privileges jealously,” Elizabeth agreed. “Because we have to work so bloody hard to get them.”

“But we’re all good companions once the play’s under way,” said Benjamin. “Because we’re all equal when we’re standing in the wings, waiting for the curtains to open. When it’s only you and your talent and the lines you’ve beaten into your head versus an audience that will eat you alive if you weaken for one moment. It’s not a cast and an audience then; it’s Christians and Lions. That’s where camaraderie and fellowship come in. Because it’s always going to be us versus them.”

“And afterwards, in the theatre bar or the nearest pub, or right here in the dressing-rooms if we finish late, it’s party time till you drop!” Elizabeth said gleefully. “All for one and one for all; and do your best to respect everyone else in the morning. If these walls could talk, you’d have to be over eighteen to get in here.”

“Elizabeth!” said Benjamin. “Look!”

Happy’s first thought was to check whether the door was still open and whether anyone was in his way if he decided to leave in a hurry. The door was still open, so he looked back at Benjamin. He was staring at the mirror on the wall and pointing at it with an unsteady hand. Happy and Elizabeth followed his gaze, to a single photo wedged into the left-hand frame of the mirror.

“That photo wasn’t there a moment ago,” Elizabeth said steadily. “Not when we first came in here…”

“Are you sure?” said Happy.

“It’s not something you can be wrong about!” said Benjamin. “You said it yourself: no frills or fancies. If there had been a photo on that mirror, I would have noticed it. No-one is supposed to have been back here in twenty years. The renovators didn’t get this far before they all quit.”

They all stood awkwardly before the mirror, maintaining a respectful distance while still leaning in to get a better look at what was in the photo. Elizabeth finally reached out a hand to touch the photo, but Happy quickly stopped her.

“Best not,” he said. “Might be real, might not; might even be booby-trapped.”

“What?” Benjamin said sharply. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Ghosts like to play tricks on people,” said Happy. “You don’t get to be a restless spirit by being sane and well-adjusted. Most ghosts run on bad feelings, or an undying need for revenge on a world that’s moved on and left them behind. So, when in doubt, keep your hands to yourself.”

They all studied the photo carefully. A standard eight-by-ten, with slightly faded colours, showing a group of actors filling the photo from side to side and from top to bottom. Three rows of five people, cramming themselves in to get everyone in the shot. Smiling and laughing and full of life. A much younger Benjamin and Elizabeth were right down in the front row, grinning broadly, positively glowing with happiness and good cheer. They looked even younger than twenty years allowed, as though life had not yet got its hooks into them. They looked…brighter, sharper, less weighed down by the world. All of the actors in the photo were wearing old-fashioned clothes, costumes from the 1920s. And a hell of a lot of stage make-up, which hopefully hadn’t looked quite so…dramatic, under stage lighting.

“Costumes and make-up would suggest the photo was taken right after we’d come off stage,” said Benjamin. “If we’d been about to go back on again, we wouldn’t have been so happy and relaxed. No, this looks more like a celebration…”

“So many familiar faces,” said Elizabeth. “And I can’t put a name to half of them…”

“This has got to be from when we first started here,” said Benjamin. “But what play was it…?”

In the photo, the young Benjamin and Elizabeth were sitting on either side of a handsome, striking young man their own age. They both had their arms across his shoulders. They gave every appearance of being the closest of friends, like they belonged together, and always would.

“Who…is that?” said Happy, pointing without touching.

“That…is Alistair Gravel,” said Elizabeth.

She and Benjamin looked at each other again. There was a lot going on in that look, a connection Happy could see but not understand. He did see a new sadness in their faces, and a heavy tiredness in their bodies. Elizabeth turned away first, to look at the photo again with an entirely fake bright smile.

“I know this photo,” she said. “I’ve seen it before. But what play was it?”

“Got it!” said Benjamin. “That’s from Dear Brutus, the J. M. Barrie play. Excellent piece: funny, but very touching, and very thoughtful…”

“I don’t know it,” said Happy.

“You wouldn’t,” said Elizabeth. “People only remember Barrie for Peter Pan these days, but he was a popular playwright, back in his day. And Dear Brutus was a marvellous piece. All about…whatever decisions you make, the real you will always come out.”

“Yes…” said Benjamin. “I remember.”

Happy looked carefully at the young man sitting between the young Benjamin and the young Elizabeth. He was definitely their age, mid twenties or so; but he was more handsome than Benjamin and more glamorous than Elizabeth; and his natural charisma easily eclipsed theirs, even in an old photo. His grin was wide and charming and effortless; the kind most actors have to practice in front of a mirror for hours, before they can risk going on a chat show. But you could tell this look hadn’t been practiced; this was the real thing. He looked as though he had the whole world at his feet. Of all the people in that photo, he was the one you’d naturally point to as most likely to succeed.

Not Benjamin or Elizabeth.

“What was his name again?” said Happy.

“Alistair Gravel,” said Elizabeth, and the fondness and sadness in her voice were very clear in the small room. “We did a lot of good work together.”

“He was the best of us,” said Benjamin. “A good friend and a great actor.”

Fondness and sadness and…regret, in his voice, thought Happy.

“He was the original lead in our play,” said Benjamin. “He would have been magnificent…Everyone thought so. And then he died—suddenly.”

“An accident,” said Elizabeth. “A stupid accident. So tragic.”

Her voice trailed away. They all looked at the photo, at the bright young things. Full of talent and promise, not knowing what lay ahead of them. And one by one, Benjamin and Elizabeth called back names to fit the faces, helping each other out when necessary, so no-one would be forgotten and left out. So many of them were dead now: illness, drugs, suicide. Actors tended to dramatic deaths as well as dramatic lives, it seemed. And of those who did survive, only a few had gone on to any kind of success.

The theatre is a harsh mistress who doesn’t care how many hearts she breaks or how much you love her.

Judy gave up acting to be a singer. Phil gave it all up to work in the family business. Andy had one big hit on television, then didn’t work for years because they said he was type-cast. And poor old Rob…he got tired of banging his head against a brick wall, trying to get noticed, for one chance to show everyone how talented he was…and disappeared back into the everyday world.

“We were all going to see our names in lights, in the West End,” said Benjamin. “Not our real names, of course.”

Happy looked at them both. “You mean…you’re not really Benjamin Darke and Elizabeth de Fries?”

“Well, hardly, darling,” said Elizabeth. “I was christened Elizabeth Flook, and he was Bennie Darren. You can’t put names like that up in lights.”

“Though Alistair really was Alistair Gravel,” said Benjamin. “The lucky bastard…”

As Elizabeth looked from face to face in the photo, she looked older than ever. “We were so close, then, all of us, and such good friends. But…you lose touch with people so easily as you move from job to job, and city to city, from theatre to television to film…and back again.”

“We’ve always preferred the theatre, though, haven’t we, darling?” said Benjamin. “It is good to be back.”

It seemed to Happy that Benjamin was trying to convince himself as much as Elizabeth.

“You’ve got some nerve, coming back here after all these years,” said a new but still-familiar voice. It was Elizabeth’s voice; but she hadn’t said it. The voice came out of the photo, as the young Elizabeth turned her face to glare out at her older self, her eyes dark and blazing, her red mouth a flat and bitter line. The young Benjamin turned his head to scowl out of the photo at his older self; and he looked grim, even dangerous. The young Alistair Gravel, sitting between them, didn’t move at all, and neither did any of the other actors in the photo.

“You ran away and left us,” said the young Benjamin. “Abandoned your dreams, blew off all your hope and ambitions, and settled for what you could get.”

“We were going to be someone!” said the young Elizabeth. “All the great things we were going to achieve! Set the British theatre on fire!”

“All the things we planned,” said the young Benjamin. “And you threw them all away, in pursuit of that stupid play.”

“It wasn’t like that!” said Elizabeth. She and Benjamin stood close together, frozen in place, their gaze fixed on their younger selves in the photo. But Elizabeth didn’t sound scared, or even intimidated, by what was happening. Her voice was harsh, even strident.

“Wasn’t it?” said the young Benjamin. “You can’t hide from the truth here. Darling. Not here, not in this place. Where it all went so horribly wrong.”

“What is this?” said Happy. “What are you talking about?”

They ignored him, the young and the old.

“Did you really think you could come back here and start again?” said the young Elizabeth.

“After what you did here?” said the young Benjamin. “After the awful thing you did, for fame and glory…”

“It wasn’t like that!” said Elizabeth. Her face was pale and drawn, but her voice was still hard and steady. “You know it wasn’t like that!”

“And even after what you did, you didn’t get the fame, or the glory,” said the young Elizabeth.

“But what you did here, all those years ago, has never been forgotten,” said the young Benjamin.

“And you have never been forgiven,” said the young Elizabeth. “Time to pay the piper. Darling.”

“Tell him,” said the young Benjamin. “Tell the poor little Ghost Finder what you did. And how it was all for nothing, in the end.”

The two young people lurched forward suddenly, long-clawed hands bursting out of the photo, good-looking faces stretching and distorting, becoming monstrous, devilish. Benjamin and Elizabeth cried out and fell back, Benjamin putting himself between Elizabeth and what was coming for them. Happy looked at them, then looked back at the mirror; and the photo was gone. Nothing to show it had ever been there. Happy took a deep breath, to settle himself, and looked at Benjamin and Elizabeth. They were clinging to each other like small children frightened by a thunderstorm.

“What the hell was that all about?” said Happy.

“Nothing,” said Elizabeth. All inflection was gone from her voice, all the colour from her face. Her eyes were wide, and her whole body was stiff with shock; but she still wouldn’t give an inch. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“It’s a trick,” said Benjamin. His face was empty and his voice was flat; but he couldn’t hide the fact that he’d been hit, and hit hard.

“It’s getting too late in the day to cling to that old line,” said Happy, as harshly as he could. “JC said all along something bad must have happened here to make this theatre a bad place. Something really bad, something you did. Because all of this only started up again when you came back. Something’s been waiting here for you, for twenty years…because of what you did. The crawling figure pointed to you, and only you. Your own faces in the photo accused you of some old crime, some old betrayal. So what did you do? I need to know!”

“No you don’t,” said Elizabeth, flatly.

“None of this has anything to do with us,” said Benjamin.

And then the door behind them suddenly swung open, and they all jumped. Elizabeth shrieked and clutched at Benjamin with both hands. He let out a short, choked cry, his back pressed up against the wall. Happy was startled, but also angry at himself for not having noticed that the door had closed. He moved quickly to put himself between his two charges and the new threat because he knew that was what JC would want him to do. Even though it didn’t feel in any way natural; and he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do.

They all relaxed, and let out their breaths in long, ragged sighs, as they recognised Old Tom, the caretaker. He stood in the open doorway with his vague smile and watery eyes, seeming even more stoop-shouldered than ever in his long brown overall and flat cap. He blinked at them bashfully.

“Only me, lady and gents! Didn’t mean to startle anyone…Just checking that everything’s as it should be…”

“Where the hell have you been?” said Happy, glad to have someone he could take out his frustrations on. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Old Tom regarded him vaguely. “I thought I heard someone moving about, when we were down in the understage area. And I thought, that’s not right, there’s not supposed to be anyone else here. So I went out through the rear exit—you know, the one at the back…And I had a good look around. But there wasn’t anyone there. So I came back. But you’d all gone, and the understage area was empty. So I had a good look around there, too, made sure everything was as it should be, then I came up on stage. Except by the time I got there, you’d all gone again! You really shouldn’t all go running off on your own, you know. Not safe, on your own. The old theatre isn’t as forgiving as she once was. Anything could happen. I remember when…”

Happy gave up on trying to get a word in edge-ways, stepped forward, and prodded Old Tom hard in the chest. His finger rebounded from the grubby overall, and Old Tom actually stopped talking, to stare at Happy reproachfully. Happy didn’t even try to explain. Old Tom might actually be there, might be physically present; but he still didn’t feel right. There was something…off about the old caretaker, something all his cheerful nonsense couldn’t quite cover up. So Happy braced himself and lowered his mental shields long enough to check out the figure before him. And found, to his shock and surprise, that, as far as his telepathy was concerned…there was no-one there.

All the calm good humour dropped out of Old Tom’s face, and suddenly he didn’t look real any more. Didn’t look human, any more. Happy stumbled backwards, shouting to Benjamin and Elizabeth to stay behind him, not looking back because he didn’t want to take his eyes off the thing that had pretended to be Old Tom, even for a moment.

“It’s not him! That’s not Old Tom, or a caretaker, or anything human! I don’t think it’s even alive!”

Benjamin surprised Happy then by surging forward past Happy to grab the front of Old Tom’s uniform with both hands. He thrust his face right into the caretaker’s and shook him angrily.

“Who are you? What are you, really? What’s going on? Why are you doing this to us?”

Old Tom gave him a slow smile, not even raising his hands to defend himself. When he spoke, he didn’t sound like Old Tom any more.

“You know why, Benjamin. So does she. You’ve always known.”

“Leave her alone!” said Benjamin. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

“You haven’t changed, have you?” said Old Tom.

His hands came up, inhumanly quickly, and grabbed Benjamin’s wrists. He tore the actor’s hands away from his coat. And then he threw Benjamin back—so hard that the actor slammed up against the far wall of the dressing-room. He hit hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs, and his legs buckled. Elizabeth was quickly there, to hold him and hold him up. Old Tom laughed at them both, an ugly, scary, accusing sound.

Happy stepped forward, again putting himself between the apparition and the actors. He really didn’t want to be there, but he couldn’t let this go on. If only because it was his job to detect ghosts, and Old Tom had fooled him completely. Happy might not be brave, but he had his pride, and there were limits. Even for him. He scowled, concentrating, and hit Old Tom hard with a telepathic blast of pure disbelief. The old caretaker looked suddenly surprised, and his appearance seemed to ripple, like a slow wave on the surface of a lake, disturbed by a breeze. A great dark pool of shadow formed around the caretaker’s feet, then, standing stiffly upright all the while, Old Tom began to sink slowly into the darkness. The feet first, then the ankles, then dropping slowly and steadily up to his knees. The darkness consumed him, swallowing him up, inch by inch, then foot by foot. His back stayed straight, his hands stayed at his sides, and he never stopped smiling at Benjamin and Elizabeth. It was not a good smile. He ignored Happy completely, his harsh and unforgiving gaze fixed on the two actors as they huddled together at the rear of the dressing-room.

“Who are you?” said Benjamin; and his voice was like a frightened child’s.

“Poor Tom’s a cold,” said Old Tom, still smiling, dropping down into the dark pool. Soon he was only a head and shoulders, and then only a head, and then that too was gone, smiling to the last. The dark pool gathered itself in, shrinking to a few inches in diameter, then that, too, was gone, as though it had disappeared down some unknown sink-hole. The linoleum on the floor seemed entirely untouched and unaffected. Happy strode over and stamped on the place, hard; but it was just a floor. He knelt and ran his fingers over the buckled linoleum; but he couldn’t feel anything, with his fingertips or his mind. He stayed crouched, staring at the floor, thinking hard.

That took real power. The appearance, and the disappearing trick. Power and strength accumulated over twenty years…Had something really been waiting here, all this time, never showing itself, waiting for these two to return? Waiting for its chance to…What? Is this about revenge? What did these two do? What did they sacrifice in order for their precious play to be a success? And why didn’t it work?

Happy rose slowly to his feet. His knees cracked loudly, a sharp sound in the quiet. He looked at Benjamin and Elizabeth. Benjamin was crying quietly, his shoulders jerking as real tears bumped down his face. No presence now, no charisma, no dignity. He was just a man, remembering something unbearable. Elizabeth held him close, cradling his head to her bosom, rocking him like a child. Her face was completely empty, her eyes far-away. After a while, they realised that Happy was watching them. Elizabeth murmured to Benjamin, and he stood up straight and rubbed the tears from his face with the back of his hand. He took a deep breath and stopped himself crying with an almost brutal act of self-control. He looked defiantly at Happy, silently challenging him to say anything, while Elizabeth stood at his side, regarding Happy with cold, wary eyes.

“So,” said Benjamin. “He wasn’t a caretaker, and he wasn’t a journalist. He was a ghost.”

“Looks like it,” said Happy.

“I never thought he was a caretaker,” said Elizabeth. “Far too broad a character.”

So, thought Happy. That’s the way we’re going to play it, is it? All right. But you’re going to have to talk to me eventually.

“It was an amazingly strong and coherent manifestation,” he said. “Solid to the touch. Real enough that none of us suspected his true nature. That’s not easy to pull off.”

“I was sure he wasn’t what he seemed to be,” said Benjamin. “But it never even occurred to me that he wasn’t real. Are ghosts usually like that?”

“Sometimes,” said Happy. “I told you, ghosts love to pull tricks on the living. They’re people, after all. With problems and pasts that won’t let them rest, won’t allow them to move on. They can pass as one of us because in many ways they still are.” He looked thoughtfully at Benjamin and Elizabeth. “Did Old Tom seem in any way…familiar, to you? Was there anything about him that suggested…someone you might have known before?”

“The last caretaker I remember from here was Jerry Clarke,” said Benjamin. “About our age, and camp as a row of tents in Tent Land. Nothing like Old Tom.”

That’s not what I asked, thought Happy.

“What does the ghost want with us?” said Elizabeth. “Why won’t he leave us alone?”

“You’d know that better than I,” said Happy. But they both fixed him with their stubborn gaze, so Happy sighed quietly and moved on. “The Past has a hold on the dead, as well as the living. Particularly when it involves unfinished business. Now, you two can lie to me all you want about what really happened here twenty years ago. I’m easy to lie to. But that won’t protect you from what’s here in the theatre. Something here has waited twenty years for revenge. Something has not forgotten or forgiven.”

Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other, excluding Happy completely.

“We could leave,” Benjamin said tentatively. “We could walk out of here, and never come back.”

“We can’t go,” said Elizabeth. “We’ve sunk everything we have into getting our play off the ground again. This is our last chance, to make it the success it should have been. We’re not young any more. Not old, not yet. But I can see old from where I am. We’re running out of time…to be an overnight success.”

“We can make more money…” said Benjamin.

“This isn’t about the money!” said Elizabeth. “This was never about money! I want our play! I won’t be stopped, and I won’t be beaten. I won’t be driven out of here, by the living or the dead or our own damned past!”

Benjamin smiled suddenly. “That’s my girl.”

And this time, when they looked at each other, Happy could see exactly what they saw in each other.

They all looked around sharply again as they heard footsteps approaching. Outside, in the corridor, slow and heavy footsteps that didn’t even try to seem human were heading their way. The sound came clearly through the closed door, as though carried on something more than the air. Each step more than naturally heavy, like something pressing down on the world, imposing its presence through a sheer act of will. The same kind of footsteps they’d heard before, up on the stage.

Elizabeth clutched at Benjamin. “Not again. I can’t stand it again. Make it go away.”

Benjamin looked at Happy. “If Old Tom was the ghost, what’s that?”

“I think…” said Happy, “that Old Tom was a mask for the real ghost to hide behind. As though he was putting on a performance. Old Tom may be gone now, but the threat is still here.”

He moved forward, to face the closed dressing-room door. It worried him that he couldn’t remember exactly when it had closed, or who had closed it. Outside, in the corridor, the footsteps were drawing slowly, chillingly, closer.

“Lock the door!” said Elizabeth. “Keep the bastard out!”

“Do you have a key?” said Happy.

“Of course we don’t have a key!” said Benjamin. “The renovators had all the keys. When they left, they gave them to the caretaker…Oh God.”

“Do something!” said Elizabeth shrilly.

“You really think locking a door will keep a ghost out?” said Happy, incredulously. “They’re famous for walking through doors! And walls…”

“You’re the expert!” said Benjamin. “There must be something you can do!”

“There’s no other way out of here,” said Elizabeth. “We’re trapped!”

“Yes, I had noticed that, thank you!” said Happy.

He didn’t want to be there. Being in charge, making decisions, doing something, that had always been JC’s role. But Happy was the only Ghost Finder in the room, which made him the man on the spot. Part of him wanted to open the door, run blindly, and hope the actors could keep up. Another part wanted to pull open the door, point at the actors, and shout They’re the ones you want! Not me! But Happy had always been a man of many parts, and he’d spent a long time learning how to decide which of the voices inside his head he was going to listen to. One of the reasons he became a Ghost Finder, though he’d never admit it to JC or Melody, was that he wanted to become a better person. If only because being a coward didn’t half take it out of you. JC had put him in charge of the actors and told him not to let them get killed; so it was up to him to do something. And since his usual tactics of screaming and crying and hiding behind other people weren’t really options here, that left…doing the right thing.

He thought of the pill bottles he still carried secreted about his person. He could knock back a swift cocktail of reds and blues and yellows, and all the problems would go away. Or they’d still be here, but at least he wouldn’t care any more. Or care what happened to the actors. Happy smiled sadly. He couldn’t do that. Because he sort of liked Benjamin and Elizabeth, for being as larger than life as he’d always thought actors should be; because he didn’t like seeing anyone bullied by ghosts; and because he was damned if he’d let JC down. The man who’d believed in him enough to make him part of his team, despite all the warnings. The man who believed that Happy could be a better person.

Happy needed someone to believe that on the days that he didn’t.

He walked up to the closed door and scowled at it without touching it. The idea that you could run right at something that scared you, instead of running away, was a new one to Happy. He closed his hands into fists to stop them shaking. The heavy footsteps came right up to the other side of the door and stopped. Everything was still and quiet. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the three people in the dressing-room as they stood very still, listening.

“Has it gone?” said Elizabeth. “It disappeared, the last time it stopped, on the stage.”

“That’s right,” said Benjamin. “The footsteps stopped, and it was over.”

Happy didn’t know what to say. Reassurance was another of those people skills that he usually left to JC. It didn’t feel like it was over…but now that the footsteps had stopped, it was hard to remember why they’d scared him so much. Footsteps weren’t so bad, after all. Just sounds. The crawling thing on the stage—that had been bad. With all the blood, and the eye hanging out. But it had been in no condition to hurt anyone. What was so scary about the footsteps…was that there was nothing to see. They could have been made by anyone, or anything. The threat and the menace were all in the anticipation…

When Happy was still a child, before his powers kicked in, he was afraid of the dark. And what scared him then was that he couldn’t see what it was that scared him. There could be anything in the dark, anything at all. Imagination filled in the details, in the worst way possible. Of course, Happy grew up to be a major-league telepath and discovered that he had good reason to be scared of what was hiding in the dark. Another reason he became a Ghost Finder: to find a way to strike back at the things in the dark. So no-one else would have to know, and be scared, like he was.

“I can’t hear anything,” said Elizabeth. “Is that good? Has he gone?”

Something knocked on the other side of the door, loud and hard—great crashing knocks that made the door jump and tremble in its frame. Something outside wanted them to know it was there. Something that wanted in. It must know the door wasn’t locked, so it must want, or need, to be invited in…It knocked again and again and again, hammering on the door with vicious force, barely pausing between each knock.

“Don’t let him in!” screamed Elizabeth.

“What is that?” Benjamin yelled at Happy. “What’s out there? You’re supposed to be the mind-reader! What can you see?”

“I can’t tell!” said Happy. “I’m trying, but…I can’t see anything! Something’s hiding it from me. Something big and powerful that’s been waiting here for twenty years, growing more and more powerful, determined to have its revenge! What’s out there? You tell me! You made it!”

“Please,” said Benjamin. “Please help us. Don’t let him get to Elizabeth.”

Happy scowled at the reverberating door, his heart hammering like the frenzied knocking. It sounded like all the monsters that ever were, determined to get in, and get him.

I can do this, thought Happy, trying hard to make himself believe it. I ain’t afraid of no ghost. I faced down Fenris Tenebrae, and the New People. And I’m damned if I’ll chicken out in front of strangers. They’re relying on me. Bit of a new feeling, that. Not sure if I like it, but…

He cranked up his nerve to the sticking point, grabbed the shaking door handle, and hauled the door open. He cried out something incoherent, ready to hit whatever was there with the strongest and most concentrated blast of disbelief he had…But there was no-one on the other side of the door. Happy stepped quickly out into the corridor and looked up and down; but there was nothing but shadows and silence, and a feeling…That there had been something there a moment before. Something bad. The light in the corridor was calm and steady, and so were the shadows, and Happy…wondered what the hell was going on. He would have liked to believe he’d driven the thing away, by confronting it; but that…didn’t feel right.

He stepped back into the dressing-room. Benjamin and Elizabeth, backed up in the far corner, looked at him pitifully. Elizabeth was trying to be brave; and Benjamin was standing in front of her, shielding her. Happy smiled and nodded quickly to them, and they almost collapsed in relief.

“Whatever that was, it isn’t there any more,” said Happy. “But it’s getting closer. And stronger. If I’m going to protect you, you have to tell me the truth about what really happened here, twenty years ago.”

“I’d rather die,” said Elizabeth.

Happy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. It could come to that.”