

The Haunting of Berkeley Square

'Dangerous' Walker

Copyright Grahame Walker 2016

Published at Smashwords

Contents

Books by the Author

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Epilogue

'Once the Morning Comes' (short story)

EXTRACTS FROM OTHER NOVELS

The Walkerverse (learn more and connect with the author)

Books by the Author:

Adventures in Space

1. The Trimedian

2. Tears of War

3. Strangers

4. Pray for Rain (part 1)

The Book of Five Worlds

1. The Foreshadow of Balance

2. Five Tasks

3. The Road between Gods and Monsters

Southern Hunter

In the Valley of Elah

The Haunting of Berkeley Square

The Library of the Universes (and Other Tales of the King Imminent)

PROLOGUE - 1840

It is a cold night in London, the fog hugs the streets and wise people stay inside enjoying warm fires and families.

Others find themselves enjoying ale and friendship in any one of the city's many pubs. It is in one of these, in the Holborn area, that Sir Robert Warboys and his two friends sit drinking.

"And do you believe it?" Jeffery Anderson asks him.

"Of course, I don't," Sir Robert replies taking a large swallow of beer. "Merely native myth."

"I know of a story closer to home," Michael Roberts tells them leaning in. "That of Berkeley Square."

"The Thing?" Anderson asks and Roberts nods.

"They say that a man, a Mr. Dupres, lived there and his younger brother had gone mad, perhaps from war, violently mad," Roberts takes a sip.

"Get on with it, man," Warboys tells him.

"Well, he took over charge of his brother and had to lock him in the utmost room. They could not but let him out so they fed him through a hole in the door. Poor chap died in there, some say from lack of eating, others say he tore himself apart over many years. Fingers off, then toes," Roberts shudders at the thought.

"It is entirely plausible," Warboys offers, "but what is the point of this yarn?"

"They say," Anderson joins, "that it has been haunted ever since, perhaps even before. Neighbours tell of strange noises as if things are being dragged along corridors or down stairs, of doors banging and the signal bells ringing though no one lives there."

"Oh, what unadulterated poppycock," snorts Warboys. "You two are young and foolish, hiding behind your mother's skirts rather than adventuring."

"Fine, you go and stay in that upper room, the haunted room, see how brave you are," Anderson challenges angrily.

"My dear boy, I am merely twenty years of age and I need not tell you the things I have seen and done. You think I believe in ghosts? I don't, but I believe in money."

"One hundred guineas," Roberts says for his pride is equally hurt.

"Then I wholeheartedly accept your preposterous harebrained challenge!" Warboys raises his flagon of ale into the air with a grin full of gusto.

They pay for their beers and stumble out into the street. The cold air hits them and Anderson realises quite how drunk he has become and wonders briefly whether this was a good idea after all.

They reach Berkeley Square as the lamps are being lit and find the house. It is tall and adjoined to those each side. The square is quite lovely and upmarket except for this house, this house has seen a much better day and is in good need of a clean and paint. Anderson shudders, not for the cold, but for the truth. Why else would no one want to buy and live in such a luxuriant square in the heart of London?

After knocking a man opens the door. He is a tall, thin man with greyish skin, but black, black hair.

"Are you the owner of this property?" Sir Robert asks. He has sobered up somewhat, but is still drunk enough to be belligerent. Even sober he is quite belligerent, but it has got him so far so young that he sees nothing to change.

"No, sir, I am but the landlord of the residence."

"And no one lives here?"

"No, sir."

"Very well then, I would like to sleep in your upper room for the night."

"That is not a good idea, sir."

"Why? Because it is haunted?" Warboys laughs.

"Because it is not a good idea," the man merely replies.

"Come, let us go, this was a foolish idea," Anderson tries.

"Hush," replies Sir Robert. "Look, my good man, there is no such thing as ghosts and this is your chance to prove it. Maybe sell it on.

"Plus I will give you a nights rent and some pounds to do the place up, it is in a dreadful state."

"Very well, sir, it is you not I that will be sleeping there," the landlord says and steps aside.

They walk into the front room which is cosy enough and the landlord wanders off.

"Very well," Roberts says. "If we are doing this then we will do it right. You will ring the service bell once if you see anything and we will come and see it as well. You will ring it twice if you need help."

"This is nonsense; do not come on the first bell as you might scare the spirit off. But I will ring it if I see something, which I will not because I will be fast asleep."

"Take this with you," the Landlord says re-entering.

"What is this? A pistol? I need not a pistol for sleep, my good man."

"There will be no staying up there tonight nor any night if you take it not."

"Very well," sighs Sir Robert and takes the pistol. "Good night, gentlemen."

With that he and the landlord take to the stairs while Jeffery Anderson and Michael Roberts take chairs.

The landlord joins them and they talk about the area, about how London is growing and the price of properties. Until forty-five minutes past the stroke of twelve when they hear the tinkling of a service bell in the kitchen.

"He sees something," Anderson jumps from his chair.

"Or he is jesting with us," Roberts replies sleepily.

"Come let us look," Anderson says and so the three walk out to the bottom of the stairs.

As they get there the service bell rings twice and then starts ringing continuously. The three men run up the stairs, (the bell falls silent) to the landing and up to the next floor. As they reach the third and top floor a gunshot rings out from the front room and they speed up, slamming the door wide open.

Sitting wedged into the corner of the room sits Sir Robert Warboys, gun in one hand, the bell pull, ripped from the ceiling, in the other. His lips are pulled back in a rictus of terror and eyes popped out so that they dangle upon his cheeks.

His friends run to him and the landlord looks across the room to see what he had fired at. There is merely a bullet lodged in the wall.

Sir Robert Warboys is quite dead.

Dead from terror.
CHAPTER I

The van drives around the small park in the centre of London's famous Berkeley Square. The park is empty of people and of greenery at this time in winter and the sky hangs low over the branches, the clouds almost willing to reclothe the naked limbs. The flowerbeds lay empty, their inhabitants wrapped up warmly deep in their bed of soil, waiting for life to return to the toiling city.

The van pulls up to the curb and two young men get out. They stretch in the dull warmth of the sun and look around the square. Then back to the house that they stand before. It is well kept, tall like the other houses, joined on both sides by its neighbours. There is an iron railing and above that, on the wall by the door, a sign reads the name of an antiquarian book seller's.

"Scary," Jon Baker sarcastically shivers and then smiles.

"We'll see," was all Jack Benson replies and with that he pushed the door open.

►▼◄

The walls of the large front room were covered in books and there were four free standing bookshelves that ran across the room, blocking any view of the back wall. The two men walked between these looking at the old books.

"Never heard of any of them," Baker whispered.

"Me neither."

"Surely if they were any good they would have stayed in publication, why would anyone pay good money for this stuff?"

Jack Benson shrugged and walked around the last bookcase.

"Beauty, it is said, is in the eye of the beholder," an old, thin man said from behind the counter at the back of the room. "Like that, might the greatness of wisdom not be amongst the masses?"

"Point being?" Jon asked.

"That popular books stay in print, not necessarily good ones."

"Please ignore my friend; Jack Benson," he said holding out a hand.

The old, thin man looked at it and then looked at Benson.

"I will not greet you, for if it were up to me you would not be here to greet."

"OK," Jack replied dropping his hand. "So you're not the owner."

"I am not. I am merely head book merchant, my name is Ralph Higgens."

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

"So, Ralphy, you wouldn't let us stay here if it was up to you?" Jon asked. "Why not?"

"We do not discuss such things."

"Don't we? I mean, how'd you know that? We've only just met. No one told me," he looked at Jack. "Anyone tell you?"

"It is not for me to discuss. I am not the owner," Higgens said with empty distain.

"Sorry, what is not for you to discuss?" Jon pushed.

"Leave it, Jon," Benson warned.

His companion liked to push people for his own amusement. Friend would be too strong a word, in truth he didn't know him all that well. Nor did he particularly want to.

"This is a respectable booksellers," Higgens said. "That is my interest here and my interest only."

"Hard to get an audience with the owner though," Jack said.

"A mysterious man," Jon said eyes wide and smiling.

"I am not one for gossip," Higgens replied shortly, looking back down at his paperwork.

"I don't think he likes us," Jon grinned at Jack.

"I do not. Closing early to let you in, losing business. I shudder to think what our clients would think, letting ghost hunters in here."

"I wouldn't say that we're ghost hunters," Jack said seriously.

"And what would you call yourselves?"

"This is for our Master's Degree thesis."

"On ghosts?" Higgens snorted. "A fine educational system it has become."

"Not quite, we're psychology students; our theses are on parapsychology and the effects of myth and fear upon the mind."

"Fascinating, I'm sure," Higgens said looking down at his paperwork.

"Would you like to join us then?" Jon smiled.

"Here? At night? I am old, but I am not a fool."

"So you do believe the stories," Jack probed.

"All finished, Ralph," a young woman said as she walked out from the back. She was pretty with her blonde hair tucked under a hat. "Ahh, are these the ghost hunters?"

"I wouldn't call us ghost hunters," Jack repeated.

"More ghostbusters," Jon said and flashed her a smile. She laughed.

"Whatever you want."

"It's a film," Jon said dejectedly.

"I don't watch many films, too silly," she replied. "What of you two? Are you two silly or serious?"

"I can be anything you want, beautiful," Jon replied.

"Really? And what about you?" she asked Jack.

"I just try and be myself."

"Now that's a little more interesting."

"Enough of this, you young people would get further in this world if you spent more time thinking with your brain and less time chasing ghosts."

"But you won't stay here tonight," Jack pushed.

"No, I won't. I have better things to be doing than bloody foolish escapades."

"I, however, am always up for an escapade," Jon winked at the girl who smiled coyly.

"Come, Adeline, time to go. Get your things."

Adeline disappeared once again into the back of the shop.

"Here are the keys, including one for the top room," he handed them to Jack. "And be careful, no mucking about, these are very expensive books.

"I will be back in the morning and have keys to let myself in. I expect everything to be back to normal and you all gone before opening hour."

"It will be. Thank you again for letting us stay."

Ralph Higgens barked a laugh.

"Don't thank me, thank Mr. Du Pré. If it were up to me I wouldn't let your sort set foot in here. Day or night."

And with that Adeline came back into the room and she and Ralph Higgens walked to the door.

"I hope not to see you in the morning," he said and left.

"Have fun tonight, boys," Adeline smiled impishly and followed him out.

"Well, he seemed nice," Jon said.

"You mean she."

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Shut up, Jon."

►▼◄

They went back out to find Amanda Boden and William Smith at the back of the van unloading equipment.

"Well, about time," Smith commented setting down a monitor.

"Oh, Billy Willy, we had to make sure it was safe for your sensibilities," Jon goaded.

"Screw you, Jon."

"Enough already, we've got a long night together," Jack told them.

He didn't know how this was going to work out, Jon was a prick and William hated him. It didn't help that they sat on opposite sides of the fence. But it was William's fault; he had let Jon goad him into inviting him to join them. To prove himself. To shut Jon up once and for all.

"And I'd like to get this stuff in there before then," Amanda said.

They all grabbed equipment and carried it in through the shop and out to the back. Back and forth they went, setting the equipment up in a small back room that seemed to be used mainly for making refreshments.

"Put the kettle on would you, Mand?" Jon said.

"How about I shove it up your arse?"

"Kinky."

She merely sighed and Jon went over and filled the kettle.

"We can relax later, help plug these monitors in," William said walking into the room.

"Whatever," he walked over to the monitors and picked up a lead. "Where does this one go, Billy?"

"William," he said from the door.

"Bill."

"William."

"Just where does it go? F'fucks sake."

"Into TV 4, red into red, yellow into yellow, think you can handle that?"

"You're beautiful when you're angry."

"Someone remind me why he's here?" William cursed as he walked out.

►▼◄

They built up a wall of monitors and plugged in a laptop to control them. Then they began running leads out. First into the bookshop and then up the stairs that stood in the short hallway between the bookshop and the back room.

Amanda walked into one of the rooms on the first floor. It was at the front and was appointed as a living room. No doubt it was for entertaining rich clients or letting people sit and peruse books before they bought them. She had done some research on the book shop and there were a number of very expensive books here. You would want to have a flick through before you dropped over ten grand on a book.

The wallpaper was simple, as was the furniture. Simple yet elegant. On the walls were three paintings, two were of the house itself, one at night, one in daylight, both from the park. The third was of a woman in Victorian dress reading a book under a tree by a lake. Maybe that book was now here for sale, Amanda smiled at her joke. She let the cable fall in the middle of the room and left, picking up another from the hall.

She dropped one in a smaller room, which was a fully fitted bathroom. Opposite the door was a toilet with mirrored medicine cabinet above it. To the right was a bathtub with shower fittings and a sink in the corner. At the end of the hall, at the back, was a proper kitchen. It looked old and she didn't think the book shop would have need of it, but it was still stocked with cutlery, plates and bowls and a fridge hummed against one wall. Maybe they did use it. Maybe they held functions here or something. Whatever.

She dropped another cable.

►▼◄

On the floor above Jon was doing the same thing. The front room was cosy and seemed to be a room for the staff to relax in on their lunch and breaks, some comfy looking sofas and armchairs with a few low tables around. This was where he would be spending most of his time, he thought.

He didn't believe in ghostys, he believed in science and the way people's minds worked. He was particularly interested to study how people moulded the world around them to fit in with their belief systems. Whether that be religious or just an idea of how society should be. People could, and did, live in dichotomous worlds and so he was here to study how Jack and William acted throughout the night.

Could they make themselves see something? Would they try to tie every groan of the house to the ghostys? Would they accept or fight other suggestions? Would they be able to twist scant evidence into hard evidence? He was sure they would try, he was sure they would argue with him at every turn, but that was OK as well, he liked to see William get angry, it amused him.

He dropped cables in both of the back rooms. The smaller appeared to be some kind of study. Perhaps for looking at the books they got in, make sure they were the real deal. Did people counterfeit books in the same way they did with paintings? Who knows? Who cares?

There was a desk with a lamp and a comfortable wooden office chair, a low bookcase of books that he didn't look at and a picture on the wall. It was fairly large and was a painting of people walking past the Houses of Parliament with Elizabeth Tower (what people thought of as Big Ben) to the right of the picture.

The back room was a fair sized bedroom with a four-poster queen sized bed in it. Why the fuck did they need bedrooms in a bookshop? Maybe they just never bothered to change anything. He knew this use dot be a house. More paintings on the wall. Some old castle, a photo of a young girl on a big bed smiling at the camera.
CHAPTER II

"You invited him," Jack said with annoyance. Was William going to bitch and whine all night?

"He was mocking us."

"Who gives a fuck? He got to you and you invited him. You know he doesn't believe; that's the whole fucking point. To prove him wrong."

"I still don't like having him here."

"Well deal with it and focus on getting enough proof for a Master's Degree."

William cared too much what others thought of him and his ideas. He thought many of his peers were stupid because they didn't research as thoroughly as himself. His studies had brought him to beliefs that few others held and it galled him that they mocked him for it when his research told him he was right. They look, but don't see was his constant whine to Jack. For himself, Jack didn't care what others thought, nor did he particularly care what William thought. They had been brought together over their shared beliefs in the supernatural, nothing more. Jack was focussed on proving himself right rather than others wrong.

They had attached cameras to the cables in the bookshop and were heading up the stairs.

"Ahh, Amanda," William said as they reached the top. "Can you help Jack place the cameras so I can go back to the monitors?"

"Sure, whatever," she replied and took the box of cameras from Jack.

They worked their way through the rooms and hallways, connecting the cameras until they were placed in all the rooms bar those on the top floor.

"How do you know Jon?" Jack asked as they wound their way through the house.

"Met at some stupid party. He tried it on and, honestly," she shrugged, "I nearly went with it. I was pretty drunk. I think he ended up banging some undergrad in the bathroom."

"Nice."

"He's a special kind of guy. We met a couple of days later in the library and have been sort of work partners since. We're studying in similar fields."

Jack was thinking about how he liked Amanda, she was pretty and smart, but her attitude about casual sex staled his feelings, he didn't do one night stands, he didn't fuck girls, he made love. Well he would, but he hadn't found anyone he connected with, anyone special. Maybe it was a Catch-22, he wasn't meeting anyone because he wasn't fucking girls because he wasn't meeting anyone.

And then they met Jon in the lounge room.

"With such a pensive face, you must be thinking about me," Jon grinned.

"Thinking about chucking you out of a window," Jack commented and started fixing cameras.

"He's a serious one," Jon stage whispered to Amanda.

"Just go and fucking help him," she sighed.

Boys.

►▼◄

"Mic. check," Jack said from the second floor bedroom.

"Loud and clear," Jon joked and got a punch on the arm.

" _I can hear you,"_ William said from their makeshift control room. _"Can you move camera two slightly to the left?"_

"Please," Jon said, but Amanda was already doing it.

" _That's great."_

And so they moved from room to room and through the hallways moving the cameras, fiddling with them to get a clearer picture while William fiddled equally with the laptop and monitors.

►▼◄

The House settled as he exhaled the heat of the day and found it's comfortable night position. Like the imprints in a well-worn sofa; each board, each plank, each brick eased into a familiar position. But it had been a long time since feet had walked it's corridors after the sun had set, decades since it had bustled with lively activity. Purpose beyond dusty souls searching for dusty books to put on dusty shelves elsewhere. There was hope and excitement in the air that had not permeated it's walls for such a long time. Had it ever?

And so the House settled into it's night time slumber, but not as a sleeper. As a parent who knows they will be called upon by their child. Resting, but alert.

►▼◄

" _Could you put the kettle on?"_ Amanda asked.

William sat staring from one screen to the next, he had great views of each room and down every hallway, there was no way anything could happen without them either seeing it or recording it.

"What?"

" _Kettle?"_

"Oh, right, yeah," he got up and turned to the kettle. A vertical line of static passed across the monitor for the kitchen.

Then the monitor for the bathroom went black.

Then grey and then fuzzed back to a picture just before William turned back to see it.

"Nothing left, but the top floor," he told them.

" _The room of the Thing,"_ Jon said and made a noise like a ghost.

►▼◄

They walked slowly up the stairs. One of them believed in ghosts and wanted to see one, two didn't believe at all and yet all three were hesitant.

Still the childish fear of the dark plays in the recesses of an adult's mind, the fear of the unknown, the distant thought of 'what if?' What if there really were monsters out there? What if it really was 'seeing is believing' and that's why we no longer believe because we refuse to see? The true fear that however much we build our societies and empires; the darkness is still there, merely waiting for our lights to fail. And then we are helpless.

The hall was shorter than below, this being a converted attic. They opened the back room and looked around. Jack didn't know what he expected to feel, but he felt nothing. The room was dim as the Sun was setting, but only contained a bedroom suite. Here was a painting of a man, young and handsome in fine Victorian clothing and a picture of a vase of lilies.

They set up the cameras and took a last look around. The room had not been locked, but it had obviously not been used in years as a light coat of dust covered everything and the furniture and bed linen seemed somewhat faded.

They walked out and to the front bedroom. The room that all the stories told about. The focus of the hauntings, the room that contained something unknown and evil, something that drove people mad or dead with terror, something known simply as the Nameless Thing.

Jack took out the key Higgens had given him and paused for a deep breath. Then he stuck the key in and turned. He expected something, a feeling, a shock, maybe for the key to sick, but it turned easily and the door knob was neither warm nor cool to his touch.

Still this was it. The moment he had dreamed of and he couldn't really believe he had been allowed here. To do this. If there was anywhere in London that he would find evidence of the supernatural it was here. Something more than the world around them, a different plane of existence. That of gods and monsters.

He pushed the door open and they walked in. It was still bright in there and opposite the door sat a king sized bed lit by the dying Sun coming through the window to its right. The covers on it were crème and dark red striped. Next to it sat a fine wooden cabinet and to the other side, opposite the window was an equally fine wardrobe. Amanda walked over and opened it.

It was empty but for a pair of expensive woman's shoes. She closed it again.

On the wall hung two paintings. One of Berkeley Square as if the painter had leant out of this very window to paint it. Two men walked along the pavement in the dusk. The other picture was an old, enlarged photo of the room itself, taken from the doorway and showing the entire room. It looked no different then than it did now.

" _What's it like?"_

"Like a room," Jon said.

" _Funny."_

"No, seriously. It's just a room, nothing odd about it."

"I agree," Jack said and laid down the cable.

"I don't like it," Amanda disagreed.

" _Why?"_

"Hideous décor," she replied and Jon laughed.

" _Just set up the cameras."_

They did so, but they hurried. Jack kept looking over his shoulder as he fiddled with the camera, but he didn't know why. Jon shivered once and looked to the window.

They all jumped at a thump and looked around. The wardrobe door stood slightly ajar and it again bumped closed.

Amanda laughed.

"I mustn't have closed it properly," she walked over and made sure it was closed. "Draft from the window, bet it's the same throughout, old house like this."

"OK, we're done. Let's get down to that cuppa," Jack said and they left.

A disembodied, pale face watched them from the window.

But no one noticed.
CHAPTER III

They sat around the small table in the control room with hot drinks.

"So let's start with the science," Jon said pulling out a notebook. Amanda switched on her voice recorder. "What exactly do you expect to find here tonight?"

"I didn't agree to this," William protested.

"This is my thesis, man, studying you two. You so believe that there is something here, I want to document how you think and act and to do that I need to know what you are expecting."

"Could be anything, really," Jack said. "The upper room is said to be the source, but there are stories of noises coming from throughout the house."

"Such as?"

"Voices, crying, footsteps, thumps as if something is being dragged up or down stairs."

Jon laughed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mock you or anything, but aren't these all the old tropes? Strange bangings and wailing in the middle of the night?

"See? See?" William decried. "All he does is mock. You want to study us, but you won't take what we say seriously. Science, my arse."

"OK, OK, I'm sorry. You're right, Billy. So you're expecting to hear things. Do you really think you will catch whatever it is on the cameras?"

William wanted to tell this guy to go fuck himself, but he also wanted to convince him. Show him how he was wrong and how he, himself, was right. Jon would see, but only if he was told what to look for.

"Depends on the type of phenomenon," he said after a mental deep breath. "From what Jack has just told you, you should be able to see that there are a number of manifestations here."

"Probably due to the high number of violent occurrences within the house," Jack said.

"Though they seem to stem back to the supernatural presence or presences in the house," William said.

"Right," Jack nodded, "but the extremity of them seems to have added to the disturbances."

"You really believe this shit, don't you?"

"Jon," Jack warned.

"No, seriously, there's no doubt, is there? Honestly, I thought you'd be here trying to convince yourself that the house settling was footsteps and all that shit. Y'know, all the heat signatures and infrared cameras, and write a thesis on it to gain your Masters. But you really think you're going to see ghostys here, don't you?"

"See? This is bullshit," William said.

"But you can't really believe in ghosts," Jon protested.

"Why not?" William countered. "Because you haven't seen anything, it can't be true? What makes you the fucking yardstick?"

"But it's not just me, is it?"

"It's not just us that believe," Jack interjected calmly.

"True," Jon admitted.

"Who says which side is right? We see that which we believe."

"Exactly the point of my thesis," Jon replied.

"What exactly are your theses?" Amanda asked.

"Mine is actually more on myth and reality. On whether there is any proof for ghost stories and I need this fieldwork to bolster my writings," Jack said.

"Mine is on energies, paranormal energies, ley lines and such. But of course, we are both hoping that we will be changing them with proof of manifestations," William nodded to himself.

Jon just sighed and shook his head.

"Forget this," William said angrily.

"Hey, you're allowed to believe and I'm allowed to be sceptical."

"But you do feel something, right?" Amanda asked him.

"No. Sorry, like what?"

"I don't know just a musty smell to the air, a feeling of disuse, a sense of the building, or its age. An uneasy air."

"Don't tell me you believe in his shit?" Jon cocked his head.

"No, dickhead, it's an old house, they all have their own vibe to them, that's my point and it helps you to bear it in mind. That we may all get more jumpy or uneasy as night falls, but it's just the house."

"Oh, so we're putting in a caveat are we? If anything happens you already have an answer to it?" William asked angrily.

"And it will skew your perceptions, your research too," Jack added to the unbelievers. "Your ability to explain away the inexplicable as just the house settling, rats in the roof. You know the mind doesn't want to believe in things it can't understand. We all know that from undergrad."

"We'll see," Jon replied slowly. "Now, what about this upper room? Why the fuss about it?"

"There are a number of confirmed deaths from that room," William said.

"Really? Confirmed?" Amanda asked.

"Yeah, a servant stayed the night in the room and the whole family was awoken by her screaming. She was almost mad with terror and died the next day in hospital," Jack said.

"And 'haunted' was put down as her reason for death?" Jon asked.

"Funny," William said. "One of the stories that made the house famous though is that of Edward Blunden and Robert Martin, two sailors on shore leave from the HMS Penelope. They spent their evening drinking and realised that they hadn't saved enough for rent.

"They stumbled through the streets looking for somewhere cheap and saw the 'to let' sign outside of this house and decided a free night was even better. They broke in through the basement window and found that the lower floors were wet or musty and moved up finding the top room still had a bed in it. It was there they fell asleep until Martin heard someone coming up the stairs.

"He woke his friend just as the door opened and some shapeless, ethereal figure entered the room. Blunden and Martin were seized with terror, but Martin's fight or flight response kicked in and he managed to flee past the thing as it moved into the room.

"Blunden was a little too late and the thing, according to Martin as he looked back, grabbed him by the throat.

"Martin ran around the streets in horror until he found a policeman and told him his friend was being attacked. The policeman didn't believe the sailor's incoherent story, but followed him anyway.

"They entered the house to find nothing in any of the rooms. On Martin's insistence they checked the basement before they left and there they found Blunden's corpse. His face was contorted in terror and his neck broken."

"Some stories say his head was ripped clean off," Jack added.

"I have to admit, it's a great story," Jon said. "So you're hoping to see some kind of ghostly figure?" he noted it down.

"Some say it is a slithering, shapeless, oozing mass," William added.

"Right, oozing mass," he noted it down ironically. "Come on guys, do you realise how stupid you sound?"

"Here we go again," William fumed, "just because you don't believe, just because it is outside your experience, your tiny little boxed in mind."

"Hey, fuck you, man. Yeah, I believe shit that I can see, that I can record, that I can measure and quantitate. It's called science and it's how the World works."

"Oh, yeah, because the whole world has to run on science, anything you can't see down a microscope can't exist," William argued back. "Do you know how egotistical that is?"

"Wait, so you'd believe it if we saw something tonight?" Jack asked.

"If I saw it and, dude, a banging door isn't going to convert me."

Somewhere upstairs a door banged shut.

They all stopped and looked to the ceiling.

Then Jon laughed.

"Holy fuck, nice timing."

"We should go and look," William said running over to the monitors.

"Come on, Will, it's a drafty house and we left doors open," Jack said.

Jon noted all this down.

►▼◄

Later Amanda sat at the counter in the bookshop. The final, wispy rays of the setting Sun were shining through the shop window.

She was playing the whole conversation back and making notes. This was great; her thesis was on how opposing groups acted together. Originally she was trying to get members of different religions to spend a weekend together. Problem was that, despite common thought, the majority of religious people followed the whole peace, love and acceptance thing their religions taught. She couldn't have them all getting along and she couldn't deliberately choose people she knew would fight. The only other option was to be there and try and provoke some kind of argument or a least a discussion, but that could ruin her results. She had to be an observer, had to be in a position where she could not be said to have affected the results.

It was proving harder than she thought to find subjects though when she had bumped into Jack and he had been moaning about Jon coming along to Berkeley Square. She explained her thesis and managed to convince him to let her join them. He didn't like the idea of being studied, but she sold him on the fact that she could keep Jon out of their hair.

And it was going great, already they were openly arguing and there was a definite dynamic; William and Jon hated each other, but Jack was more central. He still believed, but was, for now, willing to be diplomatic.

She hit play again.

' _Right, an oozing mass._ <brief pause> _Come on guys, do you realise how stupid you sound?"_

Here we go again, I will fucking kill you.'

Whoa. She hit stop and rewound it. She didn't remember anyone getting that heated. She pressed play, but too early, she fiddled around and hit play again, listened for a bit.

' _Right, an oozing mass... Come on guys, do you realise how stupid you sound?"_

Here we go again, just because you don't believe, just because it is outside your experience, your tiny little boxed in mind.'

That's where she thought it had been. She rewound again and spent another five minutes trying to find the death threat before she gave it up. She'd have to listen to the full thing many times before the end of her Masters anyway.

She got up to find the others. There was no one in the control room and she sat down and looked at the monitors. There was Jon in the lounge on the second floor. There was Jack making a snack in the kitchen. Where was William? She scanned the monitors again. He wasn't in any of the rooms, she checked the hallways. The hallways weren't well lit, was that him standing at the other end or was it a shadow? No, there he was in the back bedroom on the upper floor. How had she not noticed him? He must have been in the hallway when she looked at the room and then entered the room when she looked at the hallways. Even with all this technology they could miss things. She kept that idea, it could come into play later.

She got up and went to find Jon.
CHAPTER IV

Nothing.

Nothing out of the ordinary, William thought standing in the room. He put his palms to the joining wall to the front room, but there was no feeling, no psychic shock, no cold damp, no nothing. He was disappointed.

He looked around the room, nothing special about it other than a large painting of the Houses of Parliament. It was an odd painting to have in such a room, but he merely shrugged, he had no idea about décor.

So now to the front room, the room. The others had reported feeling nothing special about it and he was partly disappointed to hear it, but also thought that it was them. Two unbelievers were unlikely to feel anything and that may have put Jack off.

Jack was willing to please, too willing to please. He'd let Amanda come and study them, as if they were lab rats, as if this was all some kind of joke.

He walked to the door and looked in. From where he stood he could see the bed and bedside table. On one side hung a photo of the room, taken exactly from where he was standing. On the other side was a painting of a castle, he thought it may be Oxford Castle. There was nothing to see or feel from the doorway and so he stepped in.

He moved to the centre of the room, at the foot of the bed, and turned slowly, taking it all in. He looked in the wardrobe, but it was empty. He felt the bed and it seemed comfortable. For some reason he thought of sleeping there.

"William? This is Jack, two of the monitors are knackered and I can't fix them."

William sighed and walked out and down.

The wardrobe door swung slowly open.

►▼◄

"Why do you think?" Jon asked.

"I dunno, I don't care. They can believe what they like," Amanda replied.

"But don't you find it foolish?"

They sat in the comfortable lounge and Jon had produced a bottle of whisky.

"I find video games foolish; I bet you play them."

"Are you saying I'm foolish?"

"If you play video games."

"They're not childish," he moped.

"I didn't say they were; I just think they're a waste of time. It's my opinion."

"Fair enough," Jon replied and got up. He pulled his video camera from his bag. "I can't believe all the kit that the University let us use."

"I think William got a lot of it from some rich ghost hunters, an association or something."

"It's pretty neat, even has a night vision option."

"Exciting," she ironicalised.

Jon turned and took in the room through his lens.

"I didn't notice this picture before, know where it is?"

Amanda walked over.

"Borley Rectory."

"How'd you know?"

"Really?"

"What?"

"Everyone's heard of it, most haunted house in Britain and all that. Ghost nuns, headless horsemen, skulls found in the walls."

"Cheery to have on your walls," Jon shrugged.

"Perhaps they like to remind people of the ghost stories, give the business that extra little bit of exposure."

"Right, probably why they let us in here tonight."

Amanda laughed. "I don't think anyone who reads our dissertations will have the money to shop here."

►▼◄

The house stretched it's bones. It had been asleep for a long time, dreaming of wicked and twisted places, but now it could feel again. The blissful cold in it's marrow; the pleasure and pain in it's nerve endings as people moved through it. The energy of belief and scepticism; the fight between heart and mind; the anger and pain of the lost and confused. It sighed as the night winds blew around it. It had been asleep, but it was awake now.

►▼◄

"They just keep blinking and fuzzing over," Jack told him.

"Yes, I can see that, have you tried the wiring?"

"Of course, but I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Fine," William sat at the chair and started using the laptop. He looked over all the monitors; they were fine. He could see Jon and Amanda talking in the lounge. It was just the back bedroom on the second floor that was fuzzing up.

"How's that?"

"A little better, one went clear for half a second."

"If this doesn't work, you'll have to go up and check the wires."

"Jon or Amanda could do it."

"Yeah, right."

"Wait, there it is, good job."

They both looked at the screens which were now clear pictures.

"Fuck me," William said as they noticed the hallway screen start to flick and fuzz.

"Is that possible?" Jack asked.

The screen cleared.

"That shouldn't have..."

"Oh, shit," Jack was pointing at the study's monitor which was fuzzing and blinking.

And then it was the hallway again.

"It's moving," William whispered.

"It can't be."

"Something's there."

Jack ran to the door, "It's moving to the lounge."

"Wait, dammit," William shouted back. "You don't want to disturb whatever's there," Jack stopped in his tracks. "Jon and Amanda might see something; we wouldn't make it in time anyway."

Jack ran back to the monitors. The hallway still flickered.

"Jon, you there?"

" _Sup?"_

"Are you two OK?"

" _Course, man. You OK?"_

The hallway monitor cleared and they all stayed clear. Jack let out a breath.

And then the lounge monitors started to fuzz.

"Jon, listen to me carefully," William said. "Do you feel anything?"

" _A little fire in my belly, Billy."_

"Seriously, dammit."

" _It's a little nippy in here now the Sun's going down,"_ Amanda said.

"Was it cold before?" Jack asked.

" _I dunno. No, just starting to creep in now."_

"We have to go and see," Jack told William and then the monitors cleared.

They both watched the hallway monitor, but nothing happened.

" _Are you two OK?"_ Jon asked.

"Yeah," Jack replied. "It's nothing."

They both let out breaths.

"There is something here," William said excitedly.

They left the control room to go and see the others, see if they could feel anything in the room. Just after they left the monitors for the upper front bedroom fuzzed, crackled and then went black.

►▼◄

Jon laughed.

"Come on, guys. One, you expect me to believe it; two, you think it was something more than wiring? There's a shit tonne laid down, you can't expect it all to be perfect."

William ignored him and looked around the room.

"It was weird, man," Jack said. "If you'd seen it..."

"Hey, it's all good, this is exactly what I'm looking for," he pulled out his notebook and started scribbling notes.

"Nothing here," William said.

"Of course not," Jon sighed. "Look if some crazy spectre had come in we would have seen it right? Or it would have gone bump in the night."

"He's got a point," Amanda agreed.

"Maybe, but not necessarily," Jack replied.

"Maybe it just needed some whisky. You two both look like you need a drop."

"Not for me," William said and left the room.

"Will," Jack called after him.

"He's fine," Jon told him. "Have a drink, you look shaky."

"You do, really shook up," Amanda agreed. "This is interesting."

"Yeah?" Jack asked hopefully, taking a glass.

"Yeah. You really believe it; you're projecting your wants and beliefs into anything."

"Fuck you, I know what I saw," Jack said calmly.

"How'd you get into all this anyway?" she asked him.

"Science, would you believe?"

"Science?" Jon asked.

"Yeah. We've got to a place where nothing can exist outside science. According to scientists, anyway. They have an answer for everything, even when they don't. And I just can't accept that."

"What are you talking about?" Jon asked. "You stopped trusting science because it got too many answers?"

"Basically," Jack shrugged. "No one has all the answers and the man who says he does is a liar."

"That's an interesting way of seeing it," Amanda commented from the sofa.

"It's a weird way of seeing it," Jon noted.

"And since when did you have all the answers?" Jack shot at him angrily.

"I don't. And if I said I did, I'd be a liar right?" he grinned and Jack laughed.

"Right."

He swallowed the rest of his whiskey and it burnt as it went down.
CHAPTER V

Nothing in the study, just a picture of a vase of lilies and a woman reading under a tree. The desk was clear and the chair pushed neatly under it.

He went to the back bedroom to find it uninteresting. He scrutinised it though, even looking under the bed. Something had been in here; something had interfered with the cameras. He looked at the cameras and they were still plugged in tightly, nothing wrong with them. He wished Jon had been down there with them, had seen what was happening. He would have still cried wolf, still said it was electrical, but he wouldn't be so sure. Wouldn't be so quick to judge. He would go and check all the cables and find nothing wrong and it would unsettle him.

But he hadn't been there, that was the way of things. If only there was something to throw him off his high horse, even just wobble him.

And then he ran back to the lounge.

►▼◄

"No, I agree," Jon was saying, "there's a lot of fucked up stuff in science, but we can see it, we can measure it, we can work it out."

"Cold," William said as he ran into the room.

"Huh?" Amanda looked at him.

"You said you were cold."

"When?"

"When we asked you on the radio. You said it had got nippy now the Sun was setting."

"So?"

"Well, it's not, is it?"

"It's not what?" Jon asked.

"It's not cold in here."

"No. No it's not," Jack chimed in, excitement catching in his throat.

"Now what the fuck are you going on about?" Jon asked.

"When the camera started to fuzz in this room, Amanda said it had got a little nippy. She said it had just seeped in. But it's not cold in here now."

"Wait a minute," demanded Amanda. "Are you saying the temperature drops when there's a ghost about? I'm with Jon, I hate to admit. It's a little hokum."

"Why? Because you saw it in a movie once?" William asked. "It happens. It's not a prerequisite, but it happens."

"Body warmth," Jon said.

"Right," agreed Amanda. "It was getting a little nippy, not cold, and then you two came up and joined us."

"Oh and now who's stretching it?" William asked annoyed.

Damn it, she thought, she wasn't supposed to be in this argument. Jon and William and Jack were, she was just supposed to be observing and making notes. Even now Jon was making notes. To be involved could be to queer her research and she didn't want that here and now, this was a perfect example of two opposing views coming into conflict.

She sat back and surreptitiously flicked on her voice recorder.

"It's not a stretch," Jon said. "Body heat, the entrance of you two got us moving and talking, warmed our bodies; the whisky settled into our blood. There are a number of explanations, but you automatically take the ghosty path."

"Because we're in a haunted house," exclaimed William.

"Oh come on," Jon slumped back into his chair. "You believe in God, Billster?"

"It's William."

"Do you?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"But you believe in ghostys and spirits and things on another plane. That you can believe in, but you don't believe in God?"

"I don't see how that matters," William harrumphed.

"Well it's mighty hypocritical of you isn't it? What? Only certain spiritual beings exist?"

"There's a great difference."

"And what about you, Jack?"

"Yeah, I can believe there is a god. I'm not religious though, not a Christian or anything."

"So it's hypocrisy both ways. If you don't believe in God, you're picking and choosing, if you do then what about Heaven and Hell? I don't remember anything about people hanging out in-between."

"I didn't say I was a Christian," Jack argued.

"You a Buddhist?"

"Fuck you not for the last time, Jon."

"I'd prefer Amanda here for that, buddy."

"We see a ghost and I'll consider it," she pulled a face at him.

"Well then, I'm on your team now, Billy Willy, let's find that ghost!"

►▼◄

William was furious as he sat in front of the monitors. Fuck that Jon, fuck him. He mocked from ignorance, just like they had at school. Mocked him, bullied him, just because he did well and wasn't interested in sport or whatever the in thing was. He liked Classical music instead of the popular bands; he liked D&D instead of action films. But none of them knew anything about what he liked, they never tried to learn and understand. They could have bullied him as much as they liked if they had understood. But instead they bullied out of ignorance. There was more to this world than most liked to admit, but it was uncomfortable, it was strange and so they hid behind science. Even those that knew nothing about science. The questions about God had made him uncomfortable and angry too because in a way Jon was right and that pissed him off. You couldn't pick and choose, but it was different things.

It was.

And yet it was the same reasoning that stopped people believing in the supernatural. People said Christians were stupid because science had somehow made that belief defunct. Again, even people who knew nothing about science. But science was the study of the physical world, it couldn't, by its nature, prove or disprove God or the supernatural.

And yet here he was fighting for one and denying the other.

He looked at the monitor for the upper room. It was as it had been when he stood in it. And it made him angry that nothing was happening. No ringing of long gone service bells, no thumps or footsteps, no wailing and weeping from empty rooms. It made him angry.

►▼◄

It made him angry and the House felt it. It stirred with it, it fed on it. It didn't need it, but it liked it. Liked the hate, the pain, the suffering. It liked suffering.
CHAPTER VI

Jack wandered through the house. He went into the first floor living room, the entertaining room he thought of it as. It had posh furnishings, the kind that didn't look too comfortable to sit on. He sat on one of the high back chairs anyway. He looked around.

He was still amazed they had been allowed to do this, to come and stay here. The most haunted house in London; the whole of England according to some. But in a way he didn't want to be here. He was a scientist, he did believe in science, but he was disenchanted with it. Religion had existed before science, you couldn't just put it down to people's stupidity. There had to be something more to it and he just couldn't see science and humanity moving forward unless they did holistically. Marrying science and belief. Superstition and logic. He didn't want to be here and for nothing to happen; it niggled him that there was little to no evidence of the supernatural beyond unprovable stories. He wanted to believe, wanted to find something more, but he didn't know how. If nothing happened tonight then he would be at a loss.

In one corner was a writing desk with a roll up front; by the window was another desk with an eyeglass on a movable neck and not much else on it. There were more chairs and between them were little round tables for holding cups of tea (in posh china, he thought). On the walls were paintings and pictures, same as every room. The house by daylight painted from the park; a photo of a girl on a bed smiling; a portrait of some young dandy in Victorian dress.

He got up again and walked to the roller desk and lifted the cover. It clicked and clattered up into its recess. He was surprised to find that it was covered in photos and A4 paper. He picked up a sheaf and looked through. Some photos of people who he guessed worked at the bookshop. One seemed to be from a Christmas party. Receipts old and new. A sheet of writing paper with scribberly hand writing. He tried to read it.

'I hate her, but I love her, I cannot live without her so I live with no one. Curse her name and whomever she now lives with; may they both be damned. This was for her, all for her and now it is all for me, all mine and mine alone. No one will ever share in it. No one.

'We are alone, but we are not alone, we feed off each other, we live and love together. We are one, but we should have been two. She should have come to this house, she should have made it a happy place.

'Now it is a place of desolation. A place to wander and a place to lock oneself into. A barren place where no laughter, nor laugh, will ever thrive.'

It went on, but the scrawl became illegible.

He was well versed in the legend of this house, but couldn't believe that this could be what he thought it was, why would it be here? How could it have lasted? He found William on the radio and ran down to meet him.

►▼◄

Amanda had tried to talk to William in the control room, but he didn't want to talk, just wanted to watch his damned monitors. She left him to it.

Now she wandered amongst the books in the book shop. They were old, most of them, there were some newer ones and she wondered what dictated the price of books. Was it age or obscurity? And did people buy these books to read them or to own them? It seemed stupid to buy a book for what is was rather than for what its words contained. Surely the wealth of a book was in its page, in its words and meaning and not in its rarity?

She looked over to the counter and considered listening through her recorded notes. She should. She should make notes while the conversation was fresh, but she couldn't be bothered. She really shouldn't have done a Masters. She knew that pretty quickly. She had an interest, but not the work ethic. She knew that Jack, and even Jon, were keen to get into the best job they could as soon as possible, but she had dreams of travel before settling down into anything.

She had wanted to help. She had wanted to understand conflict so that she could help those that went through it. When she'd been at school her best friend's parents had divorced rather acrimoniously and she had dreamt of doing anything she could to heal the situation. It had always stuck with her, the ability to counsel people through conflict and unhappiness, but she hadn't seen her friend in years now and through University that dream had slowly waned as other things, more selfish things (she could admit) took it's place. She had signed up for a Masters more out of automaton than a real wish to do it. She'd already spent one of her holidays getting qualified to teach English as a foreign language and had contacts in Thailand saved ready for when she finished with all this. Sun, sand, sex; the life of an EFL teacher, she smiled to herself.

So instead she wandered amongst the bookcases reading spines. She wanted to pull a few down, but she was scared that she would damage them. And forty grand she could not afford.

She didn't notice Jack rush down the stairs and into the control room.

►▼◄

"Will, Will, check this out," he panted and handed the page to him.

William read it.

"I don't get it," he finally admitted.

"It's written by Myers!"

"It's a list of books, Jack."

"What?"

"Are you sure this is the page you wanted me to see?" he handed it back.

And sure enough it was a list of books that a Saudi prince was looking for.

"No. This can't be," Jack refused.

He ran back out of the room.

►▼◄

Amanda saw him go this time and wondered what the fuss was about. Maybe another ghost sighting, she thought and smiled to herself. It was foolish, she had to agree with Jon. She didn't like to, he was a bit of a dick, but he made more sense than the others. He was pretty good looking too and had definitely been hitting on her. Maybe she would do something with it, there wasn't going to be anything else to do all night.

But she'd prefer Jack, he had a handsomer face, maybe it was his sincerity. But she didn't think he would do anything with her, at least not here, not tonight. He was busy with his ghosts. But she thought of having him in his sacred ghost room on the top floor, maybe both of them, maybe at the same time. She'd been working so hard on finishing her Masters that she hadn't had any time for fun. She sat behind the counter, her hand instinctively resting on her crotch and she thought about it.

►▼◄

And the House liked it. Such energy, such want, such wanton want. It stirred and creaked and settled around them as it stretched and sighed. It could feel every footstep; every urgent run and casual gait; it could feel the rats in the cellar and the ants in the walls. It felt like it could reach out and touch those inside of it; caress them and take them into its embrace. It's warm and hateful embrace.

►▼◄

It freaked Jon out a little bit when the house settled and then he laughed to himself, he was letting the others get to him. Amanda said that would happen. It was a house settling like any other old house in England. Wooden floorboards changing shape as they lost heat. Again it was as Amanda had said, about old houses having a feeling to them, an odour and presence of the age of the mortar and brickwork.

He made himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, he didn't want to go down to the control room and have to face William.

What a little prick.

What was his issue anyway, that he had got to this age and still believed in ghostys? It was just inconceivable that anyone in their right mind could believe in such crap in this day and age. There was literally no hard evidence for ghosts; everything could be explained and had been. Hoaxes, tricks of the light, infrasound, excuses. Hell, some of the earliest 'hauntings' in this house were attributed to 'coin-clippers', money counterfeiters. Using tales of ghosts to not only explain the noises coming from the house, but to keep people away. Yeah, he'd done a little research, he was serious about his thesis, needed to know exactly what Jack and Will would be looking for and what the real explanations could be. This was a unique opportunity to examine how people built the World around them and that could be used very lucratively.

He turned to leave with his coffee when Jack radioed him.
CHAPTER VII

Jack had run back up to the entertaining room and searched through the paperwork. He must have somehow scooped up the wrong piece of paper, but no, there was nothing like the scribblings here. Just receipts and lists of books. He sat heavily on the chair. Somehow the ghosts of the house had changed the writing? He hadn't heard of that before; ghostly writing? Well, yeah, on walls and the like, but not being able to change one set of writing to another. A ghost couldn't change what he saw, couldn't affect his vision. Or could it? No. The paper itself would have to be haunted and even he couldn't stretch things that far.

He ran a hand down his face and sighed. He was tired and hopeful and that made him stressed. The pent up excitement and the waiting. Of course, this type of thing was exactly why Jon was here, to see what happened to them, two believers in ghosts in a haunted house, and the right thing to do would be to tell him what had happened. He got on the radio.

►▼◄

Jon came along the corridor with his mug of coffee wondering what could be up, Jack sounded unhappy. Like he needed to talk about something he didn't want to. It was intriguing.

"What's up, Jacky Boy?" he asked entering the room.

"See this paper?" he asked holding it out.

Jon took it and skimmed it.

"List of books."

"Yep. But when I first picked it up, it wasn't."

"It was ajar?"

"It was handwritten writing. It was written by a man about how his love had left him."

Jon looked back down at the list of books.

"So what are you saying? The paper's haunted now?" he rolled his eyes.

"No," Jack replied crossly. "That maybe I'm tired, maybe I just read what I wanted to read, maybe I dozed off for a few seconds. I don't know, but this is your thesis."

Jon was surprised. Jack should have kept this to himself, shouldn't be here giving Jon what he wanted. But he was anyway. Jon looked at him with respect.

"Thanks, man. This is really useful."

"Whatever," Jack said gloomily.

"So what was it?"

"It was from the perspective of one of the owners of the house. A man who bought it for him and his wife, but she never married him," Jack explained morosely.

"A story you, of course, know."

"Of course."

"I'm gonna go and write this up. Thanks again, man, I mean it."

"Yeah, I know."

Jon got to the door and took a long drink of his coffee. He nearly choked it back out. It was stone cold.

►▼◄

The House sighed and settled, there had been no true emotions here for a long time. And now here was anger, regret, lust. And it was good, good for the soul. The sacrifice that it felt, the honesty, disturbed it. It wasn't what it expected. Wasn't what it was used to. And so it shrank back and waited again.

It could wait.

It had waited for so long.

►▼◄

Jon walked into the study on the second floor. The chair was out in the middle of the room and he pulled it to the desk. Looked over at the painting of the house at night, and then sat down to write up what Jack had told him. He looked over at his coffee; how the fuck had it gotten so cold so quickly? Cold air leaking in through the window? Maybe they'd spoken for longer than he thought, maybe the kettle hadn't boiled properly, was busted. There were three reasons right there, but none of them sat quite comfortably with him. It had been stone cold.

Fuck, it must be the kettle, it must be broken or I didn't flick the switch and I was too busy thinking to notice. He looked out the window for half a minute and then to the door.

Ooh, ghostys, he thought and smiled. Haunted kettles and he laughed.

The ceiling above him groaned, creaked and settled.

He stopped laughing.

Then he started making notes.

►▼◄

William was still thinking about the chill in the room, nippy she had said. But, dammit, it was no evidence, she couldn't be trusted. And though the idea of body heat or whatever else Jon put it down to was weak, it was an argument and he needed irrefutable proof.

He looked under the table and found his bag. He searched through it, spare cables and wires, a few extra cameras. His hand held camera, which he laid next to the laptop, and thermometers. He pulled these out, he had gotten one for each room and the hallway, but he also never really believed that the temperature dropped with supernatural activity. How could ghosts change the heat? They couldn't emanate cold, they weren't visceral.

Still, he didn't want to miss anything so he got up and went to the camera in the bookshop and plugged a thermometer into the jack next to the camera. He went back to his laptop and brought up a programme, fiddled with it and got a reading of the temperature from the thermometer.

He then got up and took the thermometers with him.

►▼◄

Amanda sat on the toilet in the bathroom. She wondered about the need for a bath and shower, but again maybe they'd just never bothered to renovate, I mean, why spend the money pulling it all out if it had a working toilet and sink?

She sighed as she let out a long stream. She was tempted to have a little play with herself; she'd gotten herself quite het up with her thoughts, but as her stream lessened the water in the toilet gurgled. Such thoughts vanished and she felt uncomfortable. Not because of ghosts in the toilet, but because she couldn't see the water under her and she was exposed and that was a normal fear for any girl, probably anyone. Being helpless and exposed. She hadn't liked the gurgle, it wasn't a sound that should come from toilets. Still she smiled at the idea of ghosts in a toilet. She flexed her muscles to finish and just as the last drop fell she felt something flick across her buttocks.

She jumped up spraying the floor with piss droplets. She spun around and looked into the bowl.

Nothing.

Of course nothing.

She was getting jumpy. All this talk of ghosts; fuck, everyone has an imagination, everyone feared ghosts or bogeymen when they were kids.

Fuck.

She breathed out, flushed the toilet and shut the lid for good measure. She pulled up her underwear and washed her hands.

Fuck.

Her hands shook a little with the adrenalin shot.

►▼◄

William had set up the first floor thermometers, except the bathroom which was locked. Jack was in the entertaining room.

"Thermometers?"

"Well, yeah, I don't really think we'll pick anything up on them, I don't think ghosts can change the temperature of a room, do you?"

"No, but I guess every little bit helps."

"Are you OK?"

"Just, well, what the fuck happened with that piece of paper? I swear it wasn't a list of books when I read it."

"I don't know, perhaps you dozed off?"

"It's all I can think of. Ghosts can't change what you see and it sure isn't haunted paper," he grinned.

"It's a stretch even for us," William smiled back.

Amanda walked into the room.

"Were you in the bathroom?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I just want to set up a thermometer."

"Oh, shit, there's not a camera in there is there?" she gasped.

"No," he smiled at her, "I didn't set one up."

"Thank fuck for that," she breathed.

►▼◄

William walked out and down to the bathroom. There was a cable in here, but no camera attached. He plugged in the thermometer and as he stood he noticed the raised toilet lid and a pungent smell. He walked over and looked in, there was a mass of excrement at the bottom, so that no water could be seen.

Oh that is fucking gross, he thought, how did she manage to shit all that out? And why the fuck wouldn't she flush? Was she so low bred? he thought as he flushed the toilet.
CHAPTER VIII

Jon finished his notes, pushed the chair under the desk and wandered downstairs, the banister had grown cold to the touch, but that was not surprising. An old house like this let the draft in from every door and window. He could hear Amanda and Jack talking as he walked along the first floor corridor. He stopped to listen, but couldn't make out what they were saying. He realised he was standing next to a full length mirror on the wall; he hadn't noticed that before, but then he hadn't really taken much notice of anything. A house was a house was a house and he was getting tired and bored of having to stay up all night.

Still he looked himself up and down in the mirror, he was a good looking dude if he said so himself. Needed a shave and his eyes were looking a little red. He shouldn't have stayed up so late last night, but who leaves a rocking party early? Plus, he was sure he was in there with Patty Hawkins; she was definitely flirting with him, but in the end he had to leave earlier than her and though she smiled at his offer to come home with him, she wasn't leaving a rocking party early either.

Seeds were sown, he told himself, he could play the long game. Well, not that long, he wasn't looking for a wife. He smiled to his reflection, who dutifully smiled back and then he walked off.

His reflection stood there for another few seconds smiling at no one, before it too walked off.

►▼◄

He came down to the control room knowing that William was in the house, he had seen him in the back bedroom as he had left the study, and had crept by.

Now he was sitting there watching the other three. Jack and Amanda were still in the entertaining room, though they were leaving. He watched them enter the hallway and then looked over to William The Prick who was now in the study.

The three of them met in the hallway and walked into the lounge together. He watched them as they talked and then William came close to one of the cameras and started fiddling. He looked at the other lounge monitor and could see Jack and Amanda sitting down and could see William knelt next to the other camera.

He thought something moved in another monitor, just from the corner of his eye, but when he scanned them there was nothing. He looked down at the laptop and could see virtual thermometers. Each had a number linked to it and he scanned the monitors. Ok, so each thermometer was linked to a camera and had the same number, that's what William was up to.

So, this thermometer was labelled 1 and corresponded to a camera in the bookshop. As he looked a new thermometer popped up with the number corresponding to the camera William had been next to. He watched William get up from the camera and walk over to the other two. They exchanged words and then William left the room.

Jon looked back down at the thermometers. It was weird that some of them had wildly different readings, but he supposed it was due to the drafts from different windows.

►▼◄

William was on the upper floor, in the back room. Still there was nothing strange about it, nothing at all. It was just a well-lit room with a dark window and a picture or two. One looked like Borley Rectory which seemed fitting, he didn't really take any notice, and instead he looked out of the back window. He could see the back of the houses on Charles Street. It was from there that, in 1937, a Mrs Balfour and her maid had seen a man in a periwig and century's out of date clothing standing in this very window. Well, a back window, but this was the most obvious choice. The house at the time had, of course, been empty.

He looked around the room, but there was no sign of the man in the silver coat and periwig. William sighed.

►▼◄

Amanda and Jack had a glass of vodka that she had brought with her. Jon wasn't the only one who had thought this would be a long and boring night.

"So what are you going to do with a Masters in parapsychology?"

"Well, it's still a Masters in Psychology," Jack shrugged. "Not that I know what I'm going to do with that."

She laughed.

"Yeah, I'm kinda losing more interest as it goes along."

"Why did you do it?" Jack asked.

"Sport's Psychologist."

"Really?"

"What?"

"I dunno, just didn't think you were that sporty."

"I'm not, to be honest. I started out with good intentions of helping people. Conflict resolution, but that's started to wane and sport's psychology is the only way I can see to make money out of it."

"Wildly opposing views stuck together for a night?"

"Yup," she sipped her vodka and it burned down her throat. "You?"

"I actually have a degree in Archaeology with a number of anthropology units. I've got a job at the British Museum. I'm doing this to be able to specialise more in mythologies."

"And that'll get you where?"

"Not sure, but I believe science, the human race, can't move forward without marrying our scientific side with our superstitious one. Everyone has myths and legends in their past."

"So why ghosts?"

"It's possibly the last remaining myth," he sipped his own drink. He didn't really like vodka, but Amanda was pretty nice. Pretty too and he kind of wanted her to like him.

"So you don't really believe?" she smiled.

"Oh, I do, well, I am open to it, like I said before."

"Yeah, I didn't really get that. You can't shy away from facts and answers. Come on, you're an archaeologist."

"But in archaeology you can still see what you want to see."

"Like tonight," she smiled.

He twisted a smile.

"No. Tonight has to be irrefutable, doesn't it? No one's going to believe it if it isn't."

"And when you don't find anything?"

"If. Either way I write it up exactly as it happened. That's how this fits into my thesis."

She nodded and sipped from her drink.

Perhaps he didn't want her to like him. Like William, it annoyed him that people were so black and white. They couldn't believe anything they thought was stupid or impossible, but that was all subjective. So many people made decisions without any real knowledge to back it up, hell, no real thought. If it didn't fit into their world view then it wasn't true.

"Kangaroos," he said suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"Kangaroos. When the first reports came back from Australia no one believed them. When the first duck-billed platypus body was sent back many thought it a hoax."

"What's your point, Jack?" she exasperated.

"No one believes until they see, some don't even when they do, but that doesn't mean these things don't' exist."

He nodded to himself and finished his drink.

►▼◄

Jon was watching William setting up his little thermometer in the upper front room. He was such a little busy body, a control freak, no doubt. And yet all that work for nothing, what a waster. The thermometer popped up on the screen and yet William kept fiddling with it. His face was up close to one of the two cameras in the room and Jon found the expression of concentration on his face hilarious.

Two cameras in each of the bigger rooms, even that was over the top. Most of the rooms weren't big enough to need them. The bookshop, yeah, OK, but he could see all of the upper room from the camera that didn't have Williams face all over it. Such a waster.

►▼◄

William finished with the thermometer and stood up. The room was quiet and, well, ordinary. No feelings, no dread, no chills. He opened the drawer of the bedside table, but it was empty. He opened the wardrobe again and there was nothing in there, but a pair of polished men's shoes, just like last time.

►▼◄

Jon was watching him looking around the room. Poor old Billy Willy can't find his ghostys. Maybe they're in the drawer? Nope. Ooh, what about the wardrobe? Nope, not there either. Where could they be hiding? He looked down at the laptop and then tapped his mic.

"Hey Billiam, I think the thermometer in there is broken."

" _Where are you?"_

"In Mission Control."

" _Don't touch anything!"_

"I'm not, but I think the thermometer you placed in there is on the fritz."

►▼◄

William heard this through his earpiece and looked down at the thermometer.

"Why?"

" _It says the temperature has dropped five degrees in there."_

William looked around.

"I don't feel any colder."

" _Right so the thing's on the fritz. Wait, now it's creeping back up. Holding, nope back down again. Maybe give it a kick?"_

William walked over to the thermometer and bent down when the door slammed shut behind him.

He leapt into the air.

►▼◄

Jon was watching this and it was hilarious. Just as Billy had bent down a gust from the windows must have caught the door and it slammed. Bill's reaction was priceless, he nearly shat his pants.

►▼◄

"Fuck," William swore. He stood there looking at the door and let his heart calm down. Just the door swinging closed.

And then he realised where he was, in the infamous room and he ran over to the door. He gripped the handle and it was cold and it wouldn't turn. He rattled it, pulled it, twisted it, but it was locked.

"Jack? Jack? Get up here, I'm locked in the room, in the upper bedroom."

►▼◄

Jack jumped up in surprise when Jon's voice buzzed in his ear. He had forgotten about the radio earpiece and when he looked down at Amanda she laughed at him.

"Forget about the radio?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I did," he sat down again and they listened to the exchange with interest.

And then William was shouting for him.

"What was that, Will?"

" _Upper room, I'm locked in. Bring the fucking key!"_

Jack ran from the room and Amanda decided to follow. She wanted to catch any signs of pretence.

►▼◄

Jon was intent on watching the two monitors, William in the bedroom, Jack and Amanda racing down the hall. He didn't notice something pass the camera in the bookshop, didn't notice the roller desk cover in the entertaining room close slowly, slat by slat.

He could see them now in the upper hallway, could see Jack fumbling in his pocket for the keys. This was even funnier.

He looked at the monitor and saw William turning around, doing a 360 of the room. He even had his hands out to his sides as if he was doing a dance. And then the other monitor for the room started to fuzz and then went black.

"Quicker, Jack," he said evenly into his mic.

►▼◄

Jack reached the door and flicked through the keys.

"Jack?" William cried from in the room.

"It's me, I'm here, I'm here."

"Get me out!"

"What's happening in there?"

"Nothing, nothing, just get me the fuck out."

►▼◄

The second monitor started to run with static lines and the laptop told him that the temperature had dropped even further.

"Get him out, Jack," Jon said urgently.

►▼◄

Jack heard Jon and it was that, that hint of worry, that urgency in the unbeliever's voice, that spurred him on, there was the key. There was the lock. It slotted in and it turned with the same ease as before.

And then William was wrenching the door open and pushing out past them.

Jack looked into the room, but there was nothing to see. He looked down the hall where William was leaning against the wall panting.

►▼◄

The monitor cleared, the other monitor came back on fuzzily and Jon thought there was a girl lying on the bed before it fuzzed over completely with static. Then it sprang back clear and there was no one in the room. The hallway corridor showed the three of them walking to the stairs.

" _Going to the lounge,"_ Jack said over the radio and Jon decided to join them. He needed a drink.
CHAPTER IX

They all sat in the lounge with a glass of alcohol. William was still visibly shaken.

"Did you see anything?" Jack asked, but William shook his head.

"No, there was nothing there. I just freaked out being in that room."

"What happened exactly?" Amanda asked. She was hoping this would become another argument, another butting of heads.

"I bent down to check the thermometer, Jon said it was fluctuating, and then the door slammed shut."

"Jumped a foot off the ground, it was priceless," Jon laughed.

"Anyway, I was OK and then I remembered where I was and I didn't want to be alone in that room so I ran to the door and it was locked. It had locked itself."

"Ghosts?" Amanda probed.

"Doors don't just lock themselves," William glared at her.

"Oh, come on, yes they do," Jon retorted.

"Really?" Jack asked.

"It's an old house, with old doors and old locks."

"Locks that lock themselves?"

"I saw what happened on the monitors, the door slammed hard, it's not as unlikely as you want it to be.

"Come on, guys, have you ever noticed that haunted houses are always old? Listen to the creaking, yes, it's floorboards settling, the voices are wind in the eaves. Doors slam because of the wind coming through the cracks around the windows."

"And what did you see on the monitors?" Jack asked.

"Other than Billio here spinning like a dervish?"

"You urged me on, you told me to go quicker, you told me to get him out."

"He was scared to death," Jon shrugged and looked at them all looking at them. "OK, OK, look Jack was kind enough to help my thesis, so I'll tell you this to help Amanda with hers."

She flicked on her recorder, but kept it out of sight, people are nervous about being recorded.

"I was watching Willo and then the other monitor started to fuzz over with static and then it went black. After that the other monitor started to fuzz and according to the laptop the temperature had dropped a further five degrees. And then you opened the door."

"So, it wasn't just the door. It wasn't wind that knocked out the monitor," William said somewhat triumphantly.

"No, it was you, you must have knocked the cable in all your flailing around. I mean did you feel cold in the room? You didn't before the door closed and the temperature had allegedly dropped five fucking degrees. It's mechanical failure, except..." but he stopped.

"Except, except, that doesn't explain them coming back on again. Came back on as soon as I got out, didn't they?" William was on his feet.

"Yeah," Jon shrugged.

"No," said Jack, "something else."

"Ah, fuck, OK, I'm only saying this for Amanda's benefit, but when the blank monitor came back on it was a little fuzzy and I thought I saw a little girl laying on the bed and then it fuzzed up completely before snapping back on and there was no one there."

"Was she wearing a tartan skirt?" Jack leaned forward.

"I didn't have time to see, it was brief, it was blurry and it didn't happen. That's my point, I'm tired and even I'm starting to be influenced by you two nut jobs."

"This is interesting," Amanda said. "Thank you for telling me."

"I don't believe this," cried William. "How can you just explain it all away? Wind locking doors is surely more ridiculous than ghosts."

"But it is an explanation," Amanda said. "You can't just say 'ghosts' at everything that happens, not when there are other explanations."

"She's right," Jack agreed disappointedly. "We can't present a video of a door closing as proof."

William plumped down in a chair.

"No, you're right, you're right," he sighed.

This was better than expected, Amanda thought, fighting, cursing and then the unbeliever being affected by the believers. The believer listening to reason, the lion laying down with the lamb. She needed to write all this down.

"I need to go downstairs and make notes," she told them standing.

"As do I," Jon agreed.

"Let's go and look at the footage," Jack suggested to William who agreed.

►▼◄

They all walked out and Jon stepped into the study while the others went downstairs.

He grabbed the chair from the middle of the room and pulled it to the desk where his notes were still lying and began to write. It was good for his research too, the effect of stressed, tired people on each other. He thought about the girl on the bed, his mind flashed back to it, to the monitor and he shivered.

Oh, get a grip, dude, fuck's sake, you didn't see anything, it was static, it was William's fear leeching through the radio and the screen. It was a new and interesting angle for his thesis, adding himself into the picture. How he was affected by the other's beliefs.

From the wall behind him a young dandy in Victorian dress watched him from his picture frame.

►▼◄

Amanda had left her notes on the counter in the bookshop and she went to them while the boys went to watch their videos.

Someone had written 'just you and me, baby' at the end of her notes. Fucking Jon, she thought and crossed it out. She arranged her thoughts and then started writing. Eventually she got to the point where she needed to take notes from what she had recorded and she stopped and rubbed her eyes. She was so tired. It had been a long time since she had stayed up past ten let alone up all night. She was getting old, old and dull. No more partying, no more staying up late watching shitty TV with a bottle of wine; no more getting laid.

She frowned.

She was tired, old and tired and unattractive.

She's spent so much time trying to get somewhere that she had lost focus on the present. It was time for a change, time to travel, time to re-find her youth before it fled her forever.

She yawned, turned on the voice recorder and got the end of the recording before and as she waited for Jon's story of mechanical failures she closed her eyes.

' _I was watching Willo and then the other monitor started to fuzz over with static and then she said she didn't want to do it._

Don't be silly, it's a game, you like playing with your Uncle, don't you?

No, it' not fun.

It's fun for me, I like when you play with me.

Please don't, I want my Mummy.

She's not here, I'm looking after you for the next few hours, are you going to look after me?

I could get you some tea.

You're a sweetheart, but that's not what I want, you know what I want. Such a pretty little girl.

No

Come here.

No.

I won't ask again.'

Her eyes snapped open, what the hell had she recorded? She shook her head and listened.

' _Except, except, that doesn't explain them coming back on again. Back on as soon as I got out._

Yeah.'

She must have fallen asleep, what a fucked up little dream.

She looked down at her notes to find that in her sleep she had written, 'just you and me, baby' on each line of the page.

She shuddered.

►▼◄

Jack and William used the laptop to search the cameras from the upper room. They ran it through and it was clean and clear, no problems with the cameras, but then if he had knocked the cable, if, it would have affected the monitor's reception not necessarily the camera.

They watched him spin, they watched him run to the door and pull it open; they rewound and watched the door slam and then watched it again this time watching the curtains.

"No breeze," William said.

"No," agreed Jack. "The curtains don't move at all."

"Then we're getting closer," William smiled up at him.

"It bolsters our position, but it's still far from solid."

►▼◄

Jon was finishing his notes when he heard something thump on the floor above him. He looked at the ceiling and waited. Nothing. Had something fallen over? Had it even come from above? It had knocked him out of his thoughts so that he was only focussed on it after the act and had no real memory of the act. Perhaps it had come from downstairs; sound winding up the stairs. Had he, in fact, actually heard anything? Things that go bump in the night? he thought and shook his head.

►▼◄

Amanda had scrapped her page of somnambulistic writing and gone into the control room to get a cup of coffee.

The two boys were still watching the monitors, she could see Jon in one of them looking at the ceiling as if in thought. She turned her back on the monitors, switched on the kettle and began spooning in a large spoon of instant coffee into a large mug.

Somewhere in the house a clock chimed twelve times.

"Midnight," Jack breathed.

And then something hit the window with force and Amanda screamed. Jack and William jumped and they all looked at the dark window.

"What the fuck was that?" she asked shakily.

"Bird," Jack said.

"Or bat," William added. "Trying to fly into the light."

"What?"

"Happens all the time," Jack gave her a confused look.

Behind them something swept past by the camera in the upper back bedroom.

"No, I mean you aren't attributing that to ghosts?" she asked amazed.

William laughed.

"If the ghosts are outside, we're in the wrong place."

" _You guys heard the clock chime, right?"_

"We did, Jon, it's midnight."

" _Yeah. But where's the fucking clock?"_

"Holy fucking shit," William exclaimed and they all ran out into the bookshop.
CHAPTER X

Yes, there was a clock on the wall. Jack pulled it off, but couldn't see any chiming mechanism. They ran upstairs to find Jon coming out of the entertaining room.

"Nothing," he said. "No clock at all."

"I can't remember seeing one anywhere else," Jack said.

"Kitchen?" William said. "I haven't really been in there."

They all walked to the kitchen and looked inside. No clock, but all the cupboard doors stood open.

"Seriously?" Jon asked.

"Got a scientific explanation for this?" William sneered.

"No," Jon said slowly. "No, I do not."

"Did you check the lounge?" Amanda asked. This was weird, but she wasn't going to just drop a lifetime of beliefs like that.

"No," Jon replied. "Didn't remember one in there and thought the entertaining room more likely."

They all walked up the stairs to the second floor and along the hallway. They walked in line and passed the full length mirror one by one. Jack, William, Amanda, Jon and then a little girl in a tartan skirt.

They looked around the room, but there was no clock.

"Phantom clock?" Amanda asked, eyebrows raised.

"Apparently," William said.

"Oh, come on," she replied. "Help me out here, Jon. It was probably local church bells; it wasn't loud enough to be in the house anyway. And how would we all hear it? Unless it came from outside."

"Yeah, yeah," Jon said relaxing a little, "she's got a good point."

"Really?" William asked unbelievingly.

"Wait, what about the kitchen cupboards?" asked Jack.

"I've got nothing on that one," Jon admitted, "But why would a ghost open all the cupboard doors? Had it lost its good wok?"

Amanda smiled.

"So give us a scientific answer to it," challenged William.

"No one's been in there for hours, maybe they all slowly opened over time. The wood cooled and they slipped their latches or whatever."

"That's it?" Jack asked.

"It's enough, dude, it's an alternative explanation, one that gels with science."

"Oh, fuck science," William shouted. "No wait, don't. There's a camera in there, we can see what happened."

They all went back down to the control room. Amanda picked up her coffee and took a sip; in all the fuss she couldn't actually remember pouring the water in. She shrugged mentally, fucking bird hitting the window scared the shit out of her.

So they found the video on the laptop and rewound it. William stopped it and hit play. Half the cupboard doors stood open. As they watched one slowly creaked open.

"Ha! See," Jon was jubilant.

"It doesn't prove anything," William concluded.

"Enough proof for me," Amanda goaded from behind them, flicking her recorder on.

"No, it's not, it's not enough," William continued.

"Oh and ghosts just slowly open cupboards one by one?" Jon mocked. "Must be one hell of a life. Afterlife."

"Why not, huh? Why not?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, why, you dimwit, why?"

"Just leave it. Both of you," Jack commanded.

He'd had enough of them and walked out of the room and into the bookshop. He wandered around the bookcases without really looking at them. It was getting to him, there was so much that suggested paranormal activity, but at every turn Jon gave some other explanation. He thought they were weak at best, but they were explanations and others would give them too. That was the problem when you strayed too far from science; in science you could talk about the weight of proof, but when it came to ghosts, any alternate reason was enough to derail the whole thing. They had to compile enough weight, enough proof to convince even Jon and Amanda that something was, or at least could be, happening. If they could do that then they could convince whoever was reading their theses.

He was tired and stressed and he must have knocked a bookcase because a book fell out behind him. He picked it up, slotted it back in and continued his circuit of the shop. As he reached the counter he saw Jon and Amanda heading for the stairs, but went back into the control room where William sat fuming, looking from one monitor to the other.

"Cool it, Will."

"I fucking hate him," he seethed.

"No, it's good in a way."

William spun around.

"How? How can that jumped up prick be helpful?"

"Because he's got us looking at all the angles. Any other sceptic will challenge these findings in just the same way."

William's shoulders slumped.

"Yeah, you're right. But still..."

"I know, man, I know, they're highly suggestive. That clock, man, that clock...""

►▼◄

"Check this out," Jon said in the entertaining room as he pulled out an old gramophone.

"What is it?" Amanda asked.

"It's a gramophone for playing records."

"Are there any records?"

"I'll have a look if you pour the whisky," waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Whatever."

She poured drinks as he looked around for records.

Then they heard heavy footsteps above them.

"Are you hearing this?" Amanda asked.

"I am," Jon replied. "Hey, guys, where are you?"

"Both in the control room," Jack replied. "Why?"

"OK, then."

"What is it?"

He looked at Amanda who drew her flattened hand across her throat.

"It's nothing, just checking."

The footsteps continued as if someone was walking around the room above and then stopped.

"What the fuck is that?"

"I don't know, but I'm not telling those two," she hissed.

"I'm coming up with no rational explanation."

"Neither am I, but I'm not going to suddenly become a believer in ghosts. It's fucking stupid."

"You're right, it is, it is," he sat down and accepted a glass. "But what was it?"

"One of them?"

"One of who?"

"Jack and William, dickhead. One of them probably went up there to try and prove it all to us."

"Jack said they were both in the control room."

"Fuck me, are you stupid? They told you that while one of them was up there. William's pretty pissed at you being right about the cupboards."

"Right, right," he took a long drink of his whisky. "Fuckers."

►▼◄

Something stirred in the House, something old, nameless and uncaring; something that wove itself through the very foundations and brickwork of the House. Something that never rested, never reasoned, never asked and never answered. The House vibrated slightly, the cutlery and plates in the kitchen rattled and then were still.

Something somewhere in the heart of the House stretched and made ready to walk.

►▼◄

Jon walked to the door, but turned.

"About the clock chimes?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you really think they came from outside? I mean why haven't we heard them striking the hour earlier?"

Amanda sighed and looked at him.

"I don't know, OK? But what? It was a ghost clock? Yeah, the whole church clock thing seems flimsy, but not as flimsy as what Jack and William would have us believe."

"True, true," he replied with uncertainty.

"Come on, Jon. I told you they'd get to you. There's weird shit in the world, but all of it can be explained by science, even if it hasn't been yet."

He smiled and nodded his head.

"Didn't think I'd be the one needing that explained."

"Neither did I," she laughed.

"I need to find the reasons," he said seriously. "For my thesis, I need the real explanations."

"Then go and have a look upstairs," she smiled from her seat and poured another drink.

He thought it over and then turned and went to the bathroom instead.
CHAPTER XI

"Look," William said excitedly. "Temperature is dropping in the upper room."

"Front or back?" Jack asked coming over to look.

"Back."

"But what does it mean?" Jack asked. "I mean Jon said the temp. dropped in the upper room and you didn't feel the cold. I just don't believe ghosts or whatever can change the temperature in a room."

"So what are you saying?" William asked; he was getting cross that Jack was taking the middle ground, trying to please everyone. Playing it coy and careful instead of hunting for the truth.

"Do we know that the thermometers are working?"

"There's no indication that they're not," William snapped.

"Do we have another one? Independently test the room temperature? We have to rule mechanical fault out, Will."

"The kitchen might have one," William said and then the monitors for the back room started to fuzz and cover in vertical lines of static. "Something's happening, something is in there; I'm going to look."

"Whoa, is that a good idea?" Jack asked, but William was already up and grabbing his hand held camera.

"I came here to find ghosts, Jack and I'm going to fucking find them. With or without you," and with that he jogged out of the room.

Jack watched him going on the monitors and pressed his mic.

"Check the kitchen for a thermometer first."

" _No time."_

"It's still fuzzing up, we need to be certain."

He saw William run into the kitchen and pull open drawers roughly and quickly and then he was holding something up to the camera and running out.

" _Any change?"_

"No. Temp. is still down and monitors have not cleared."

He watched William in the hallway, lost him on the stairs and then got him again. He saw him in the top hall and then could just make him out through the static of the monitors.

"Anything?" but all he got in response was crackling. "William? You're breaking up."

More crackling in his earpiece.

►▼◄

Jon was pissing. Or he was trying to, his bladder had seized up on him and only a thin trickle would come out. What the fuck? Come on, he thought. He looked around; he didn't like it in there. Why? What was it?

Just a feeling.

A feeling?

Come on Jon, what the fuck?

He would have to write this into his notes, the effect of other's fears and feelings on his rational mind. And the house, the aura that Amanda had talked about. What the fuck do you expect staying in an old house all night? He looked back down at the trickle and moved his hands. Ahh, there. A proper stream of yellow piss. Nothing better than taking a long needed piss.

But he looked around again, he felt nervous and uncomfortable. He looked at the bathtub with the shower curtain pulled across it and he didn't like it, didn't like not knowing what was behind it. Behind it? You mean a bath with shower attachment? Come on, man! But he couldn't. He couldn't shake his anxiety and as soon as he'd finished he tucked his dick back in his pants, wetting them, but he didn't care. Didn't wash his hands, just turned and grabbed the shower curtain and ripped it aside.

Nothing.

He let out a deep breath, pulled the shower curtain back and left the room as fast as he could.

On the other side of the shower curtain was the stain of two red handprints.

►▼◄

William ran into the room and stopped cold.

Nothing.

Nothing here at all, nothing out of the ordinary.

" _Anything?"_

"Nothing."

" _William? You're breaking up."_

He tried again, but with the same response. Temperature drop, static on the monitors, no radio? He walked out of the room.

"Can you hear me now?"

" _Yeah, that's better."_

"Any change?"

" _Not from this end."_

"What's the reading?"

" _Twenty."_

William walked back into the room and held up the thermometer. As he held it, he looked around the room. Still nothing at all to suggest paranormal activity. He looked back down at the thermometer and yes, it was slowly dropping. It wasn't mechanical failure. Still he checked the cameras, all was fitted and fine. He looked at the thermometer and it was still dropping.

As he looked up the room seemed hazy, as if people had been smoking recently and it hadn't quite cleared. He moved to the centre of the room and turned slowly, definitely hazy, the pictures on the wall were no longer quite as sharp, the house in daylight was now a hazy day; in the picture of the square the two men walking were indistinguishable.

It was the walls, they seemed to be emanating the haze, it was pooling by the skirting boards. He switched on his camera and swore under his breath for it to boot up quicker. The room was now feeling colder and yet he was sweating slightly. He held the camera to his eye and took in the pictures, he swept it over the bed and yes, there was a patch of mist on one side of the bed as if sleeping there. He swung the camera around and cried out, dropping the camera.

At the window stood a man, a man in a silver coat and periwig. The man was turning and as he did so William could see that he had fleshing missing on his face, as if he had ripped it off, down to the muscle, with his own fingers. The man stared at him then pulled his lips back in a grin to show the rotting stumps of teeth and a single maggot fell out to the ground.

And then William was tearing down the stairs, down and down until he hit the control room, panicked and breathless.
CHAPTER XII

Jack jumped up.

"What? What is it?" he asked grabbing William by the shoulders.

"Monitor?" William said weakly grabbing for the desk.

They both looked to see the picture had cleared and the room stood as it always had.

Amanda and Jon came into the room having heard William running down the stairs.

"He was upstairs, see?" she whispered to Jon who gave one nod.

This was great, William was truly shook up, his own beliefs were having an enormous effect on him. He was shaken and scared, who knows what story he would come up with, what he thought he saw? As the night was winding on, so too was William's mind winding down, what he wanted to see, hear and feel he was no doubt seeing, hearing and feeling.

"What happened?" Jon merely said, wanting to get the full story for his notes.

"Shit, William, calm down," Amanda said.

"Sorry. Sorry. Just... back room, man."

"There's someone else in here?" Amanda asked.

"No. No," he panted, "Ghost. Ghost."

"Of course," Jon said exasperated.

"Just hang on, you two, look at the state of him," Jack said and led William to the seat. "What happened?"

"I was in the room," he looked at Jon and Amanda. "The temperature reading was dropping and the monitors were covered in static. I went up to check, I took a thermometer from the kitchen with me. It read the same as the ones we brought. Not mechanical failure."

"Oh, come on that's not..."

"Shut up, Jon," Jack cut him off.

"The radio didn't work while I was in the room, I could hear Jack, but he couldn't hear me."

"That I can verify, I had to take it out of my ear," Jon nodded.

"Temperature was dropping on thermometer and when I looked back up the air was hazy."

"Hazy?" Amanda asked sceptically.

"Yes, hazy, just hazy, but then I saw that it was coming from the walls. It was pooling on the floor, on the bed and when I looked at the window there stood a man in a silver coat, just like the story, Jack, and he turned and his face was ruined and I ran. I ran."

Finally having told the story he began to calm down. His body shook the adrenaline out of him.

"The man that Mrs Balfour saw?" Jack asked and William nodded.

Amanda felt sorry for him and got him a glass of water. She also clicked on her recorder; Jon should have a field day with his.

"Wait, wait, what story?" Jon asked. This should be good, William experiencing preconceived ideas of what he would see.

"Back in the 1930s a woman who lived over the back saw a man in a silver coat and periwig looking out of a window from this house," Jack explained.

"So?" Amanda pushed.

"So it was unoccupied and his clothes hadn't been worn for centuries."

"So you're telling me that you saw a ghost that you wanted to see, one you had read about beforehand?" Jon asked.

"It wasn't what I wanted to see and there's no mention of a torn up face," William protested.

"Shit, Willy, you're tired, stressed mind made you think you saw what you wanted to see, or, fuck, you're making all this shit up because so far there have been no ghostys."

"Fuck you," William spat angrily.

"Fuck you and prove it."

William glared at him and then sat up suddenly.

"I can," he said excitedly, "we have cameras."

"Right," Jack said with a smile and William turned to the laptop.

"Don't do this guys, I can't bear to see your hearts break again," Jon pleaded and Amanda thought it was genuine.

Interesting. He liked to mock, but now he was empathetic, caring. Perhaps it wasn't simply mocking, but his way of pushing his beliefs, his way of discussion. Perhaps he just didn't really know how to communicate with others and this was his attempt at conflict resolution. Maybe he wasn't such a prick after all.

"OK, here we go, here we go," and they all leant around the laptop.

The image was clear, no static, and they could see William enter, do his thing, walk out, walk back in and then he was staring at the wall and then he was turning on the camera and then slowly turning around the room, stopping on the bed. At no point was there any mist of haze in the picture and William felt his stomach clenching in on itself.

On the laptop he swung past the window and then went back and stopped, looking at the window. He then did indeed drop the camera, but there was no man at the window and Jon nearly spoke when William did something weird. On the screen he turned to look at one of the cameras and opened his mouth, then he ran his fingers down his face. Then he turned back to the window and did some sort of weird jig before walking slowly out of the room.

"Well, that's kinda embarrassing," Jon noted.

"No," William breathed, "no, I didn't do that."

"Maybe you two should go," Jack suggested.

"Maybe he needs to see a shrink, man."

"Fuck you, Jon, I didn't do that, I didn't."

"Proof's right in front of you, man."

"My handheld," William said.

"Come on, I don't want to feel sorry for you so stop making me," Jon said.

"He's right," Amanda agreed quietly.

But William stood.

"I'll go and get it."

"I don't think that's a good idea, you're pretty shaken up, man," Jack said.

"If you really want to do this to yourself, then I'll go," Jon said.

"Go with him, Amanda" Jack said.

"What? Why?" she protested.

"Just go, OK?"

"Yeah, whatever," she clicked off her recorder.

►▼◄

They walked up the stairs together.

"I kinda think we should call this off," Jon said.

"Don't be a pussy."

"No, I mean William seems to be really losing it. Maybe he should go home."

"That's his problem, I don't know about you, but I don't have time to come up with new research. This is weak as piss as it is."

"No. I guess not," Jon agreed. "But this is fucked."

"Whole world's fucked, Jon."

"Fact."

"Only thing that isn't fucked is me."

"Well, well, Miss Boden is that a come on?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure."

She wasn't sure why she'd said it. She really didn't fancy Jon, but tonight she just seemed really horny. Why? Hanging out with four guys after weeks alone setting up her thesis? That this was the closest to a night out she'd had in a while, the closest thing to some fun? But then they reached the corridor and she dropped those thoughts for more pressing ones. If William, and maybe Jack, was playing them, then that played an interesting angle into her thesis. Cheating to resolve conflict.

She looked along the hall but there was no hint of anything out of the ordinary.

"So which is it?" Amanda asked.

"This one," Jon said pointing to the back room.

"No, dickweed, is he seeing things or is he bullshitting us? We know he was upstairs to make the footsteps, is he now sitting down there laughing it up with Jack?"

"I dunno, he seemed pretty freaked and he doesn't seem the type to be a good actor," Jon frowned.

"Which would make him a good actor."

"Fair point," Jon frowned.

"You've noted, of course, that the two big frights have both involved William, maybe he's orchestrating the whole thing?"

"Now that seems more likely than any explanation we've come up with," Jon said with a spreading smile.

He'd become unsure, he could admit that to himself, but it was all just a magic show. You go in telling yourself there's no such thing as magic, but as you watch you become less sure, more of a believer. Until someone points out the tricks of the trade.

They walked into the room and looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. Jon looked at the pictures on the wall: a picture of Berkeley Square, the picture of the house at night, Borley Rectory, same old, same old. The bed was made and the thin layer of dust still covered everything.

"Dust," he said.

"What?"

"Dust in here, maybe the 'haze' was just disturbed dust."

"Or maybe he's making it all up. Using us, two unbelievers, to verify whatever claims he makes in his thesis."

"Right. Yeah," Jon thought about it. "Maybe that's why they let us come. Convince the unbelievers and it bolsters their claims."

"Pretty shit for your thesis though."

"Not if I can show how they're doing it. Jack's pretty spot on, if I can prove it I'm sure he'd talk. Let's be on the lookout for hidden wires or shit ol' Billy Boy could use to manipulate stuff."

"Remote control?" she asked.

"Could be, right?" he was getting pretty excited about this. "I mean he's got all this other high tech shit and I don't know what half that stuff is downstairs."

"Grab the camera, I'm gonna check the door next door, see if there're any springs or shit, check the lock out."

"Cool."

Amanda walked to the door.

"Amanda?"

"What?" she turned.

"Watch out for ghostys!"

"Watch out for maturity."

She left and Jon looked at the window where the 'man' had been. Fuck that William, he was going to show him up to be the fraud he was.

He'd gotten to him, he had to admit that. He'd started to wonder instead of seeking the rational explanation. But of course, William had set it up like that. The clock that wasn't, but couldn't be outside. It was inexplicable, but that was what William wanted, the seeds of doubt. That would go into the thesis too. The length one will go to in order to justify his or her own belief system. He stooped to pick up the camera.

►▼◄

Amanda walked into the front bedroom, still just a bedroom. No haze in here, she smiled to herself. She walked over and looked at the photo of the room, the other picture, the painting of a vase of lilies, was not her thing. She looked at the photo and though it was in black and white she could see that the pattern on the bed covers was the same. But what had attracted her attention was that hanging on the wall, exactly where this photo hung was a photo of the room and in that photo you could see a picture hanging in this spot, one that could be photo of the room, so that it went on forever, down a photographic wormhole. Someone went to a great length to do that; take a photo, enlarge it, hang it and then take another photo, enlarge and hang it. Nearly as complicated as William's little plots.

She looked down at the bed and could see blonde hairs on the pillow. Long, like a girl's. That was weird, because the rest of the room looked like it had been thoroughly cleaned, no dust in here.

She turned back to the door and looked at the lock. She peered at it closely, but could see no sign of tampering. He must have come back and grabbed the evidence, because it was a large bolt that sat inside the door, no way it could have locked itself just by the door slamming. No, of course, Jack had come and 'unlocked' the door. It had never been locked in the first place. She pulled the door partly closed to look at the hinges. Nothing there. He had come and removed any springs he used. They'd watched the video; it definitely swung closed on its own. Crafty bugger. Or maybe it was just luck and they'd played the hand they'd been given. She went to the window and felt for airflow.

The bed springs creaked behind her and she jumped up spinning around. Then she let out a laugh, her hand on her beating heart. She left the room.
CHAPTER XIII

As Jon bent down to pick up the camera it did seem as if there was a haze on the floor. He grabbed it and stood up and the whole room seemed more than hazy, misty almost. What the fuck? He heard a noise by the window, a shuffle and was about to turn when Amanda walked in.

"Got it?"

The room cleared, bright and clean.

"Yeah."

"You OK?"

"Yeah, just stood up too quickly, got a head rush."

"Cool. Let's go see this video."

They walked out and down the stairs. The bed springs in the front room creaked again, but neither of them heard it.

►▼◄

The House's dark heart beat with excitement and anticipation while it's belly churned with dread, loathing and anger. It's bricks began to sweat fear.

►▼◄

"I saw it, Jack," William persisted.

"I believe you."

"Do you though? Do you?"

"Come on, Will, I'm in this with you."

"You just don't seem too eager, you're not out there trying to find evidence, nothing's happening to you."

"Well, what do you want me to do? I can't do anything if nothing's happening, can I?"

"Whatever, I'm just saying."

"Here we are safe and sound," Jon proclaimed. "No mists, no ghostys."

William took the camera, he was nervous. He knew what he had seen, but he wanted to prove it, wanted to make them see. He plugged it into the laptop and clicked and fiddled until the image came up. He hesitated, what if there was nothing here too? What if the cameras weren't picking it up? This wouldn't prove anything, it would disprove it. It was fucked. The only way they would ever believe would be for something to happen to them. And that would have to be orchestrated. He sighed quietly and pressed play.

There was the wall, the pictures, and they did seem hazy, the pictures indistinct. There was the picture of the square, there was the house in daylight and something twisted in Jon's mind, but didn't catch.

"It does seem hazy," Jack said.

"Could be the focus," Jon said.

The camera scanned the room, stopping on the bed. There was an indistinct shadow on the bed, but nothing more and then the camera travelled to the window.

And there was nothing there.

"No ghosty."

The camera focussed on the window before it fell to the floor. William rewound it and watched it again.

"There is something there," he said, rewound and paused it.

And yes, there was an indistinct blur, a darker shape.

"Look," Jack said and pointed to an area, "it obscures the window sill here."

"Yes, and blurs the muntin behind it," William agreed.

"Well, it's hardly a man in a silver coat, is it?" Jon asked.

"Well, what did you expect?" William shot back.

"No, what did you expect? Huh? This can all be put down to the camera," Jon argued.

"But it does block out parts of the window," Jack pressed. "The camera can't do that."

"Maybe, maybe not," he said non-committally. He didn't want to throw their hand, let them know what they suspected.

Amanda had seen enough, she was bored by their attempts to prove all this, tired of their games. She wasn't going to be pulled in, wasn't going to be a witness to their theses. She'd been recording as ever, but nothing was sparking, nothing was blowing up. She walked out into the shop and sat at the counter.

►▼◄

"It proves nothing, but put it down in your thesis and see how many people pick it apart," Jon was saying.

"But wait," Jack said excitedly. "It does prove one thing."

"What?" Jon asked exasperated.

"Press play.

William did so and the camera dropped to the floor. It sat there and kept recording until Jon picked it up and switched it off.

"So?"

"So in the static camera William looks at the window and then scans further left before going back to the window."

"And that doesn't happen with the handheld," William agreed excitedly.

Jon merely grunted. He couldn't remember and he wasn't interested in looking back over the footage. If Amanda was right, it was all a trick, all orchestrated to try and trick them. They had plotted this out intricately, that was for sure, he was going to have to keep a sharp eye on everything.

►▼◄

Amanda was sitting at the counter writing out notes. She hadn't seen William or Jack make any notes and that strengthened her idea that they had set this all up from the beginning. Knew exactly what was going to happen. It was a small oversight, but an oversight nonetheless.

She looked up when she heard the little girl laugh, but her view of the room was obscured by bookcases. Then she heard little running footsteps. A recording? Where was the player? She got up and walked around the bookcase. Nothing there, but the laughter came again, light and jingly, from the other side of the bookcase. She walked around that one to find nothing except the dark night coming through the front windows. She looked at all the books, she was never going to find the player, it could be behind any one of these books and she wasn't about to start pulling out forty thousand pound books. The footsteps ran down between the bookcases and Amanda darted back to try and pinpoint where the sound was coming from. She peered over books, she looked for one that was sticking out a little further. Then the laughter came from where the counter was and she walked back that way. She'd given up on trying to find it, the acoustics of the room must be fucking up her hearing, bouncing the sound around the room.

She sat back down at the counter and waited for the sound to come again, but it didn't and she got on with her notes to find her pen completely empty of ink. Fuck, she thought.

She walked into the control room to find another pen and found Jack and Jon staring at the bank of monitors while William furiously tapped and clicked at the laptop.

Three of the monitors were blank and then one popped back on, but another turned to black. This happened again and again, monitors switching themselves on and off.

"What's going on?"

"It just started happening," Jon said.

She was no longer in the mood to play games.

"For fuck sakes, Jon, look who's on the laptop, he's doing it," she said.

"I'm not doing anything," William complained still tapping away, but they all looked at him.

"Give me the laptop, Will," Jack said slowly.

"What? No! Fuck you."

"Give him the fucking laptop, William," Amanda demanded. "I'm sick of all this shit."

William started to hand it to Jack, but Amanda leant in and grabbed it. One by one the monitors turned back on.

"See?" she asked. "Fuck, Jon, you're supposed to be watching for this kind of shit, not getting sucked in to it."

"Well, yeah," Jon stumbled.

She was right, he wasn't thinking clearly. He was getting sucked in even after determining to keep a sharp eye.

But why? Why was he getting sucked in? Ol' Billy Boy hadn't been touching anything when it started and it had... what? It didn't feel right. How could they cue this stuff up not knowing that he'd be in the room then? They didn't feel right, William and Jack. They felt excited and scared, not acting, not composed. Not for show. He just couldn't, he just didn't know what to think...

And then all the monitors started flashing on and off in no particular sequence. Jack thought he saw a man in the upper back room, Jon thought he saw a girl in the first floor hallway. Even Amanda thought she saw a man in the entertaining room, sitting on one of the chairs, but of course, they were quick flashes and the rooms were empty when the screens came back on. But then was that a girl lying on the bed? Was that a maidservant in the kitchen?

"I'm not doing this," she shouted helplessly, but then all the monitors went blank.

"Some kind of programme," Jon said quietly as, one by one, the monitors came back to life.

They all silently stood and sat there looking at the rooms in which they thought they had seen something. Amanda handed the laptop back silently and William put it on the tabletop without looking away from the screens.

"Some kind of programme," Jon said again louder and then Amanda roused.

"Yes, fuck you, Will, I'm not playing your bullshit games."

"It's not me."

"Oh, bullshit," she said walking away and turning.

"You're the only one who's experienced any 'hauntings', and you've set the rest of the house up. The footsteps upstairs; the recording of the little girl laughing in the bookshop; the monitors; the temperature and whatever else you have planned."

"I swear, it's not me," William begged.

"Wait, why would he rig all this?" Jack asked.

"For his thesis, he can claim it all happened and have even sceptics back him up."

"Is this true, Will?" Jack asked.

"Of course it isn't, what the fuck, Jack? You siding with them on this?"

"I'm not siding with anyone. Wait, did you say you heard a little girl in the bookshop?" he asked Amanda.

"It was a recording and he fucked it up. It was laughter and then footsteps in a loop, nothing more."

"Where did it come from?" William asked looking up at her with deepening interest.

"You tell me, you planted it."

"So you couldn't track the sound?" Jack asked.

"No, it always seemed to be away from me. Fucked up acoustics from all the bookcases."

"No," Jon said with a frown.

"What?" she turned on him.

"Well it wouldn't have fucked up acoustics, it's just a room."

"With bookcases in the middle," she reiterated as if to a child. "The sound bounced around."

"The books would deaden the sound if anything," Jon continued to frown.

"Oh so you're on their side now? I guess I should be pleased, the believer questioning, the unbeliever defending them. Good fucking material," and she realised that it was good material, it was great for her thesis.

This is what she wanted whether the ghosts were real or fabricated. Why was she getting so bent out of shape about it all? She should go and write all this up. Calm down and get back to the heart of things. Apologise, tell them the house was getting to her or some shit and then get an interview from them.

She was about to walk out when the banging started.
CHAPTER XIV

It was coming; black blood coursed through it's veins and it's rotted heart pumped faster.

►▼◄

At first it was a loud thump above them and then it was the sound of someone dragging a body down the stairs. Thump...thump...thump.

William got up and pushed his way through to the door.

"Grab the camera," he urged and Jack did the same. They all ran to the stairs and of course there was no one there.

And then doors started slamming upstairs somewhere. There was another thud and the same sound of someone being dragged down stairs.

"Must be first floor," Jack said and moved to the stairs, looking up. William pushed past him and started up as they all followed.

"How am I doing this, then, Amanda?" he challenged.

"I don't know, speakers and shit."

"I'm looking and I can't see any," Jon desperated.

"Well go fuck yourself then," she replied as they reached the hallway. All the doors were closed. Jon went to the kitchen, looked back at them and then opened the door.

"Anyone close all these cupboards?" he asked and they all replied no, except for Amanda who said 'William'.

"Well, they're all closed again now."

"Hello? William went in there to get a thermometer earlier," she said and Jon nodded.

It was true. Of course it was, fucking hell, here he was again getting sucked in. But he couldn't see any speakers, never had, and that actually went against his scientific mind. He couldn't back up the idea of William setting up the house when he couldn't find the evidence for it. He swore to himself. There was no evidence for either explanation.

Jack looked in the bathroom, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He looked down at the bath tub to see a spider crawl out of the drain. It looked like one of the big brown ones he had seen on a holiday to Australia when he was young. It had been on the ceiling and had dropped onto his bed. He had screamed and screamed and his Uncle and Aunt had come in and shooed it away. Had told him that it was big, but harmless. He had hated spiders ever since.

How could one of those be here? He thought and considered pulling the shower curtain closed on it.

"You OK?" Jon asked as he turned.

"Yeah, spider. I hate spiders."

"What spider?"

"There," Jack turned and pointed, but there was nothing there. "Oh. Went back down the drain, I guess. I hate spiders."

"Who's arguing?" Jon shrugged.

►▼◄

They walked to the entertaining room and stopped. William had one hand on the doorknob and a finger to his lips. They stopped and were silent.

From inside they could hear voices talking quietly. Something about house prices from what Jack could catch. And then there was a tinkling as if a bell and then again, ringing madly and the door was snatched from William's hand as it flung open.

There was no one in there, but behind them they heard footstep running up the stairs, the ringing stopped and there was silence.

And a single gunshot.

Jack and William looked at each other.

"Warboys," Jack said and then they were both running for the stairs and Jon and Amanda followed them.

They reached the upper floor to find the back room door closed, but the front one open. They all piled in and stopped. There was nothing here, just the same old room.

Except.

Except there was an electric feel to the air and an odour, and odour of excrement and gunpowder and Amanda found she was holding the door, keeping it open.

"Let's get out of here," Jon said.

"Yeah," Jack replied.

►▼◄

They sat in the lounge.

And so here it was, Jack thought, everything he had hoped for and against. Not to Amanda and Jon, but to him this was proof. The afterlife. Ghosts. But nothing recorded, no proof. Did it matter though? Did anything matter now? This was bigger than theses or arguments, this was bigger than work or family. This was not just evidence for an afterlife, but for spirits haunting the corporeal plane. You don't just go into a job knowing this stuff. You don't just get married and raise a family. Now it was happening he was starting to wish he never knew. There was so much normal stuff he could have done, but all of that was now undone. Now he knew that ghosts were real, spirits that could be contacted and could and had killed.

"So," said Jack slowly.

"So how'd you do it?" Amanda asked. She didn't care, she just wanted Jon to get back on board.

"I told you I haven't done anything," William once again declared.

"There's no way he could have set all this up," Jack said.

"Except," Jon said. "Except why now?"

"Why now what?" William asked.

"I asked Jack in the car if he really thought we would see anything, and I meant, surely you don't really believe this crap, but instead he told me he didn't know because there hadn't been any reports of activity since the 1930s."

"And so why all this sudden activity?" Amanda asked.

"Exactly. Nothing for decades and then suddenly a whole host of activity on the one night two people come and want to find ghosts."

The bumps and the thumps and the feeling in the upper room had creeped him out, had started to change his mind. Could someone really set up a house to do all of this? Where were the speakers? But it was exactly that that made his logical mind fight back; it couldn't find a suitable theory, but it wasn't going to go down the route of ghosts and goblins. That was madness, real madness and his mind just couldn't give in to it and so it pushed reason and logic through front and centre.

"Maybe it's us," William reasoned. "Maybe with years of stuffy people buying and selling stuffy old books, the house has had no fuel."

"Fuel?" Jon asked.

"Yes," Jack agreed. "Some say that poltergeist activity actually comes from females entering puberty. Somehow the hormone change and any additional stress can cause repressed psychokinetic energy. Which is what moves objects."

"Well there you go then," Jon replied, "you are just seeing and hearing things that you want to believe, maybe even creating them, just like my thesis suggests."

"But wait, psychokinetics is just as unproven as ghosts, and poltergeists are not just connected with pubescent girls. There's still the chance that poltergeists are somehow attracted to that energy."

"But it is still an alternative," Jon said.

"Yes, but not one that means you would hear things. Yes, we could be imagining it," William said looking at Jack, and then to the other two, "but you two wouldn't."

"Cameras," Jon said suddenly.

"What about them?" Jack asked.

"I couldn't work out how you could set up a load of speakers without us seeing them, but we set them up ourselves, didn't we?"

"No," complained William.

"Don't want us to check?" Amanda jabbed.

"Fuck you, look away."

Jon got up and went to the nearest camera and bent over it. The problem was he didn't really know what he was looking for. He thought a speaker would have to be quite large and obvious, but then again in this day and age, maybe not. He certainly couldn't see anything.

"Do you want to come and have a look?" he asked Amanda.

"Not really," she poured a glass of vodka instead. It really didn't matter how they were doing it as long as they kept giving her good data for her research.

"Balls to it," Jon said and Amanda poured him a glass too.

"So?" William asked.

"So I couldn't see anything, but then I don't know what I'm looking for."

"Oh, come on," Jack almost pleaded. "You're a scientist and yet when you lack facts for your hypothesis you don't discard it?"

"No, I don't. I look for more facts."

He downed his drink and walked to the door.

"I've got notes to make," he said and left.
CHAPTER XV

Not the great argument that Amanda was hoping for, she needed an explosion, she needed for them to get so het up that other things came out, things under the surface. She needed arguments that showed up the inner workings of the participants; the beliefs and biases that shaped their stance. Something she could really tear into. She was going to have to get them all in the same room again.

Jack and William left to go and look at the monitors, see if they had picked anything up.

Amanda was left alone with her drink and her thoughts. So far it had been interesting, especially seeing Jon waver, she had never considered that. That the ideas of the group could sway the individual, perhaps it was a survival technique of the brain, to lower confrontation and stress when in captivity, as it were.

She needed to go and note this all down. She took a long swallow of her drink and then spat it out over the carpet in surprise. It wasn't just cold, it was ice cold. She felt the side table where it had been sitting, and yes that was cold too, some kind of draught from the window? And then she felt the cold on the back of her neck and it made her jump up in surprise and shiver. Must be getting windy outside.

Windy.

Yeah.

She walked briskly out of the room.

►▼◄

Jon entered the study to find that all of his notes were scattered across the floor and the chair had been overturned.

"What the fuck?" he said to himself righting the chair.

When had they come and done this? He felt by the window and yes there was a draught coming through, probably enough to scatter his papers if there was a gust outside, but the chair? They must have come past, seen the papers and nipped in, overturning the chair. But when? Fuck 'em, he could check the camera on the laptop.

But for now to get down more notes. It was an interesting position. Either William was orchestrating everything or it was a product of their own minds. It did appear that all the 'haunting' followed the stories they knew. So either they didn't have enough imagination to come up with new hauntings or they were allowing those stories to affect them. He got writing.

►▼◄

Jack and William got into the control room to find the kettle boiling. They both looked at it.

"We were the last ones in here and we didn't turn it on," William said.

"And we were upstairs long enough for it to have boiled and switched off anyway."

They both walked slowly towards it and Jack slowly leant in to flick the switch. Which was already in the off position.

"It's off," Jack said whipping his hand back.

"Get the camera in there, tape it."

Jack leant back and grabbed the camera, but as it was switching on the kettle slowly stopped bubbling.

"Fuck," William cursed. He went over and felt the kettle. "It's cold."

Jack leant in and put his hand against it. Yes, it was cold. He lifted it and poured some into a cup. No steam. He put his finger down to the edge of the water, but could feel no heat. He dipped a finger in. Ice cold.

"Cold," he breathed.

►▼◄

The House stretched. It was limber and awake. It's blood bubbling and it's jaw set. IT was ready to run.

►▼◄

Amanda had gotten down the stairs and to the counter in time to hear William swear, but she took no notice. On top of her notes was a thick, leather bound book. She sat down and lifted it. There was no writing on the outside so she set it down and opened it. On the flyleaf was the title, 'A History of the Haunting of Berkeley Square'. Oh, come on, what did William think to gain by this? Was she going to read it and become a believer? Didn't he realise that she no longer cared? Only cared about the relationship between the three men in these tight confines?

She got up and carried the book to the bookcase and scanned it for a gap. None here so she walked around the bookcases looking. The giggling laughter came again from the other side of the bookcase. Was it set by a sensor? Jon had suggested the camera; perhaps the recording was set off when the camera saw you. It was clever, very clever, but she expected that from William. She walked back around the bookcase and she heard the running feet from where she had just been. Laughter and running on a loop, it was a slack job. Which was weird. She expected William to be able to set up a sophisticated system, and so she expected a bang up job. Everything else had been done superbly, so why make such a simple recording? Why fuck this one thing up?

She got to the camera by the counter and bent down to look at it. No sound came. She stood up and backed away trying to set the sensor off. The laughter came from behind her again, not from the camera. She frowned and walked back to it, squatting down.

"I'm not in there, silly," a girl's voice said behind her ear and then a man's deep voice roared, "I'm behind you."

She leapt up spinning, a shriek coming from her lips. She heard the running again from between the bookcases and then Jack and William came running in.

"Did you fucking hear that?" Jack exclaimed.

"Of course, I fucking did, you fucking cunt, William," she shouted.

"It's not me," he shouted back. "It's not fucking me, OK?"

She was shaking and crying, it had been a big scare and her body reacted. Fucking William, what the fuck was he thinking? Fuck, motherfucker.

►▼◄

Jon had heard nothing from the second floor, he was engrossed in his notes until there was a clattering sound from the desk. He looked up to see that the pens in a cup were rattling inside. He reached out and grabbed the cup and the rattling stopped, but he realised he could feel it in his arm. The desk was vibrating. He jumped up and looked under it, but there was nothing to see. No mechanics fitted to the desk. Why would there be, how would William know that someone would even come and use this room? He stood up and nearly fell over as the floor too started to shake. The whole room it seemed was vibrating and he began to feel nauseous.

He started walking to the door with his arms out to try and steady himself. The door seemed a long way away and 'don't fall over, fall over and you're dead, don't fall over' ran through his head blocking out any other thoughts. He stumbled left and right, but didn't fall through pure determination and then suddenly he was out of the door. He swayed as if coming off a long boat ride and vomited bile up into his mouth which burned as he swallowed. He looked back through the door and it was in no way shaking or moving. The chair however was on its side and his notes were all over the floor, just as when he had first entered.

►▼◄

He was coming down the stairs shakily as Amanda was storming up them.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Fuck you," she said as she pushed past him.

He carried on down the stairs and into the control room where Jack and William were talking excitedly.

"I need to see the camera in the study."

"It's there on the screen," William waved his hand without looking.

"No, dickwad, I need it go back over it on the laptop."

"Fine, fine," William came over distractedly and sat down.

"What's going on in here?" Jon asked.

"We're not sure, we couldn't get it all out of Amanda, but we heard a voice," Jack explained.

"A voice?"

"Yeah, the deep voice of a man shouted 'I'm behind you.'"

"Really? And what does this have to do with Amanda?"

"She was in the bookshop," William said as he fiddled with the laptop. "Apparently the voice screamed right in her ear."

"She still thinks it's William and she's pissed with him," Jack said frowning.

"Here it is. How far do you want to go back?"

"I dunno, fifteen minutes?"

"What are you looking for?" Jack asked walking up to see the screen.

"I'm not sure anymore," Jon muttered.
CHAPTER XVI

The screen stopped, went blank and then the image appeared and started to play. There was the chair standing upright. Nothing was moving, nothing was happening and then Jon's notes swept off the table and into the air where they danced around before settling on the floor.

Wind, thought Jon. Now we'll see one of them come in and knock over the chair.

But no one did. Instead the chair rolled away from the desk and fell over on its own.

"The fuck?" exclaimed Jon.

And then a few minutes later he was walking into the room, picking up the chair and his notes and sitting down to write. It was fucked up watching the chair fall over and then seeing himself walking in. To think that something out of the ordinary had happened and then he had entered oblivious to it. Of course, not impossible for a chair to fall over, he tried to reason, but the shaking of the room would not allow him to be reasonable.

After another minute William paused the recording.

"What's that?" he asked. "There in the window?"

It looked like a pale circle.

"It looks like a face," Jack said.

"Oh, fuck off," Jon retorted.

"Seriously, look," he pointed to the screen, to darker patches in the circle, "eyes, nose, mouth."

Jon shivered, but said, "It's a reflection from the light, or the moon, or anything, you're just seeing what you want to see," but it looked like a face to him too.

William pressed play and in another minute the 'face' vanished. He rewound it and slowed down the playtime. One frame the 'face' was there, the next frame it was gone.

And then Jon was looking up at the desk, he leant over and grabbed something. Then the drama he had just witnessed played out again, except that there was no sign at all that the room was shaking.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked.

"Wait."

They kept watching until Jon left the room as if he were walking a tightrope. The video jumped slightly and the chair and papers were on the floor once again.

"So, what the fuck was that?" William asked and Jon gave them an account of what happened.

"Why doesn't the camera pick it up then?" Jack asked.

"You believe me?" Jon asked surprised.

"Of course we do," he replied.

"Do you now believe what happened to me in the upper back room? Do you believe that the cameras are not catching everything, are somehow either not affected or are being manipulated?"

"Yes, yes, manipulated by you."

"Yeah, that's it," William burned. "The whole room was shaking, but I manipulated the camera not to show it. Right, that's what I would want."

"This is fucked up, guys," Jon returned. "Fucked up."

►▼◄

Amanda sat in the lounge drinking some of her vodka, she was still shook up from her fright.

There are no such things as ghosts and Ghoulies, no such thing as haunted houses. This was all bullshit, but... but, that voice had come from behind her. Right behind her.

No.

No, it had come from the camera, logic and reason pushed through in order to keep the fear at bay, to stop her going mad with it. It had sounded so close because it had come from the camera; she had stayed in its range long enough for the next part of the recording to come. She had wondered why William had done such a slack job on the recording, but he hadn't. She had only ever set off the first part of the recording.

But it hadn't been coming from the camera before, it had definitely come from the bookcases. No, it was her tired mind playing tricks on her. She had to believe this, she had to or go mad with the fear. Above her there was a banging noise, insistent like someone banging on a door. This was all fucked up, a fucked up little game. She wasn't going to play it anymore. She couldn't, it was logic and reason or madness, there was no middle ground. She couldn't believe in ghosts, so if logic fled she would face the void.

She finished her drink, the noises still going on above, and went down the stairs and into the bathroom. She stood there, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked tired and haggard. No surprise there and she tried to smile at herself. She felt the muscles contract, but her mirror image didn't smile. She let the muscles relax and tried again. It felt like she was smiling, but the mirror said otherwise. Fuck this. She was so fucking tired, not just physically, but mentally.

She ran cold water from the tap and then started to splash it over her face. She should leave. But she needed the data. Maybe she had enough. She thought she did. The water felt good and gurgled down the drain. And then it stopped.

She looked down at the sink, the plughole was open, but the water was backing up into the sink. She turned the tap off, but water didn't stop flowing out. She tightened it to no effect and then from the plughole a single drop of blood squeezed up and turned the water pink.

She stared at it.

More drops squeezed up and then it was a trickle, the water was reaching the top of the sink when it abruptly stopped.

Now more blood was coming up from the sink and turning the water red. No, not blood, it can't be blood, it can't be.

Then the red water began to bubble and she thought she heard a giggle behind her. She turned and the toilet flushed.

Fuck.

This.

Her reflection watched as she ran from the bathroom. She ran downstairs; she scooped up her notes and ran to the front door. She rounded the last bookcase and there in the little foyer area stood a man in a black suit. A tall, old, thin man with waxy skin.

He smiled at her as she pulled up short.

"You won't be leaving, Miss," he said in a raspy voice and she screamed and ran back into the bookshop.

The three men came running, splitting up until they found her standing there between the bookcases shaking.

"What is it?" Jon demanded.

"There's... there's a man here. Foyer," she said.

Jack ran to the foyer.

"No one here," he called back.

"Drink," she said weakly.

►▼◄

They all had a drink in the lounge as she recounted her decision to leave their tricks and games and bumping into the man. She didn't say anything about the blood in the sink.

"He couldn't have gone anywhere without us seeing him," Jack argued.

"Well he did," she shouted at him. "Fuck, for all the technology, there are still gaps, we're not Lord Almighty of this House."

"Sounds like Higgens," Jon said. "Describe him again.

"What?"

"Just describe him again," he pushed.

She did so.

"Yeah, I agree, could be," Jack nodded.

"Who?" Amanda looked at them. She was beginning to calm down. They knew this man?

"The guy who works here, we talked to him when we first came in."

"Wait, wait," Amanda said and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She took a drink. "The guy who works here? He's still here? He has a key, this is all his doing."

Again her rational mind, her logic, pushed through. The mind cannot take great stress or fear, it has to rationalise things in order to function and here it had found something to grab hold of, an anchor.

"The house is full of cameras, where would he hide?" William asked.

"I told you," she said, angry again, "We don't see everything, even with all the cameras."

"We see enough," William argued.

"Yeah, and we would have actually seen him," Jack said. "You're thinking he's doing all of this, then he has to be moving around the house."

She thought and thought, dammit, she couldn't think, couldn't keep her mind straight.

"Basement," Jon said.

"Yes," Amanda almost shouted. "Down in the basement, none of us have been down there."

"But why would he show himself now? He'd know that we'd find him down there," William asked.

"Maybe he wants to be found, maybe he wants to show us what fools we are," Jon suggested. This was good; just as reason was fleeing him, just as he was accepting the unacceptable, someone had shown him how the magician does his tricks.

"Only one way to find out, I guess," Jack shrugged.

"I'll find flashlights. Meet me down there Jackie boy, we're going a-hunting," Jon said and left.

Amanda walked to the door.

"Where're you going?" William asked.

"To look for him," she simply stated. "You get on those precious monitors and see if you can see him, maybe he won't hide back in the basement now."

And she walked out.

"Jack," William grabbed his arm. "What guy who works here?"

"Old guy and a girl. They were here when we got here, left just before we came out again.

"Jack. I didn't see anybody leave the house."

Jack looked at him carefully.

"You were unloading the van."

"I was," he stopped. "Just be careful, OK?"

"I best go," Jack said and left.

William stood there for a minute wondering. There was a thump from above and the lights in the room shone brighter for a second or two and then William hurried downstairs.
CHAPTER XVII

"Torch," Jon said handing one to Jack.

"Let's be careful, huh?"

"Dude, if it is old fucking Higgens, he better be careful of me," Jon smiled.

"And what if it's not?" Jack asked.

"Then I don't want to be going down into the basement," Jon shrugged with a smile.

Shit was inexplicable, but he didn't doubt that Amanda had seen Ralph Higgens, didn't doubt that he must be behind it all. It was the final great explanation. William couldn't have set all this up, but someone who worked here could. Someone who wanted to debunk the whole myth that surrounded the shop, wanted to teach four silly kids a lesson. Or maybe keep the myth going, keep a focus on the house and, therefore, keep the bookshop in the public's eye.

"Does it make sense to you?" Jack asked.

"Does what?"

"That it's Higgens?"

"Yeah, I guess. Dressed up for William; sneaking around making noises above us."

"But he's never been caught on camera."

"I bet he is if we review it all."

"No, listen, Jon, you have to consider it,"

"No, I don't," Jon turned on him sharply. "There's a scientific explanation for everything. Everything. There must be."

"Like what?" and Jack was getting angry.

"I don't know, secret passage ways? It's an old house."

"It's connected to houses on both sides."

"Look, I don't have all the answers, but we're going to go down into the basement and find some and finally you might see the light," he took a deep breath. "You're a good dude, Jack, you're just disillusioned."

"Oh, fuck you," Jack said and grabbed the door handle. Their anger replaced any fear.

Jack opened the door and shone his light in. There was a little wooden platform that had wooden stairs going down on the left. He walked forward shone his light over the little banister. The basement seemed bare, just a concrete floor.

"Can't see anything."

"We need to be sure, just one pulley system or sound system and then we've got him," Jon replied and pushed past, swinging his light around.

They left the door open and walked down the stairs. Jon had felt around and found a light switch. The bare bulb in the ceiling gave off only a flickering, dim light, but they turned their torches off anyway.

They walked around, but the whole place was deserted.

"Nothing," Jon said.

"William said he never saw Higgens or the girl leave."

"He was unpacking."

"Yeah, but still..."

And then the door slowly, but surely closed.

"Fuck," breathed Jack.

"Just the door, dude," Jon returned and then looked down at the floor below the stairs. "Fuck," he shouted.

On the floor by the stairs lay a man on his stomach, his head twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Is that fucking Higgins?" Jon asked urgently.

"The sailors," Jack said and fear permeated his voice. Permeated the whole basement.

And then the light fizzled and went out.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jon squealed. "What is this?"

"Torches," Jack commanded.

Jon flicked the switch on the handle, but nothing happened. He flicked it back again. Nothing. He flicked it back and forth.

"It's not fucking working," Jon shouted.

They stood there in the darkness.

"Give me your hand," Jack said and felt a hand on his arm slip down to his.

"That is you, right?" Jon asked.

"It's me."

►▼◄

Amanda was in the kitchen when William got to the monitors.

"I see you in the kitchen," William said and she looked at the camera, but said nothing.

Then she walked out. He had her on camera still. She didn't go into the bathroom for some reason, but went straight to the entertaining room. There she stood in the middle of the room looking around.

►▼◄

She stood in the entertaining room and suddenly there was music. She looked around and saw the old gramophone that Jon had found. She stared at it and then walked over. It played Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata'. He had been in here, he would have to have wound it up to play. But then how had he so narrowly escaped her?

"Anything on the monitors?"

" _Nothing,"_ came the reply after a few seconds.

Messing with the monitors somehow? No, how could he? Unless William was still fucking involved. Lying to her, protecting his cohort. She couldn't trust him, couldn't trust anyone. William was the one always watching the monitors, William would see the man walking around and never mention it. Maybe the monitors fuzzed over to stop them seeing him.

She left and went to the stairs.

►▼◄

"OK, so I think I know where the stairs are," Jon said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, we just move right a little to avoid the body."

"It's not a body, Jon, it's a ghost, an imprint."

"A what?" he asked as he pulled Jack with him.

"Some say that ghosts are imprints. If someone dies tragically or violently then they leave an imprint on this world, something that people see."

"So not really a ghost?"

"No."

"Well that helps," Jon said dripping irony.

"Let's just get to the door."

►▼◄

The study. Nothing, everything was neat and tidy, the chair under the desk, Jon's papers stacked on it.

She walked out, looking up and down the corridor before she went to the back room.

►▼◄

William had her on the camera, there was nothing on any of the other cameras, just the empty rooms. Where were Jon and Jack? Still in the basement? How long had it been, had they found anything? He had to go find them, but he couldn't leave the monitors. Amanda would say that he had missed this man because he left.

She was out in the hallway again and he noticed the temperature was dropping in all the rooms on the second floor. He became uneasy. More than uneasy.

She walked into the lounge and looked around. She walked to look behind the couches and curtains, checking everywhere. Nothing.

And then the kettle started boiling.

►▼◄

"We should have reached the stairs by now," Jon said uneasily.

"Or a wall. Or something," Jack agreed.

"So what the fuck? Are we going around in circles?"

"I don't think so... Let's just walk straight forward."

"We have been," Jon scolded.

"The house can't grow and shrink, man."

"Oh no? Oh, fucking, no?" Jon burst.

"Hello, boys," a woman's voice floated out to them.

"Amanda?" Jon shouted.

"Oh, no, not that whore," the voice cooed.

►▼◄

She heard a voice outside in the hall and stopped.

"Empty, empty, all is empty. No love, no laughter, no warmth, forever damned to be empty," a man's voice said.

Got you, you motherfucker, Amanda thought and ran to the door.

►▼◄

William turned back to the monitors, kettle be damned. Where was Amanda?

She wasn't in the lounge, she wasn't in the hallway, he looked at all the monitors and there was nothing, no sign of her. He kept there, kept flashing his eyes across all the monitors waiting for her to appear. Behind him it sounded like the kettle was boiling over and splashing onto the table, but he didn't care, where the fuck was she?

"Amanda? Amanda?"

►▼◄

"Handsome, handsome men," the voice cooed as they tried to find a wall in the pitch black. "Maybe we can have some fun?"

"Who," Jack stumbled, "who are you?"

"I told him I didn't like it, I fought him, I got away in the end, but you know what?"

They stopped in silence.

"Answer me," she shouted.

"What?" Jon whimpered.

"I liked it," she purred. "I liked being violated, I hated myself for it, but I liked it," they could almost hear the smile in her words.

"Liked what?" Jack asked.

"Shut the fuck up and let's go," Jon hissed.

"Oh no, don't go, let's have some fun. You can both have me, one at a time," she sang.

They started moving again and suddenly out of the dark came a bright white light flashing past them. They jumped back losing each other's hands.

"Where are you?" Jon whispered groping out. He found a hand. "Is that you?"

"No," Jack whispered and Jon dropped the hand.

The girl giggled.

"I don't want to hold hands, silly, I want to hold your cock."

Someone grabbed Jon's hand and he cried out.

"It's me," Jack said.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Suddenly the bright white light burst past them again, disappearing as suddenly as it had come.

"Looks, looks like a white dress," Jack stammered.

"White for a virgin, aren't I a naughty girl?" the voice cooed.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck," Jon chanted under his breath.

"Yes," the girl breathed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck me."

►▼◄

Amanda stopped at the door and looked back into the room. Something she had seen had bugged her. What was it? What was wrong? She stepped back in the room while the man outside continued with his rant about loneliness. She barely heard him. She was looking at the wall. A painting of a vase of lilies, a painting of the house in daylight, Borley Rectory.

No, that couldn't be right. She had told Jon about it here, it was the only painting, the other paintings shouldn't be here. She looked back at the painting of the house. What was that on it? She peered in. It was a young woman who was either hanging or falling from the upper window. What the fuck? The paintings were moving.

"You will spend your life here ALONE," the man shouted outside and she ran out.

Ran down the corridor; there was no one here. What was that?

She laughed in spite of herself. She was standing next to the full length mirror. She'd been spooked by her own reflection...

Fuck.

She stood there looking at herself, for a moment she couldn't remember what she was doing or why. The book seller. Where was he?

And then her reflection smiled at her. Smiled at her and she could see blackened, broken teeth.

She froze.

Then her reflection was reaching out to her, she tried to step away, what madness was this? And then the mirror rippled and an arm shot out and before she could move, before she could scream she was pulled in by her throat.

►▼◄

"I loved it, you see, I still love it, all that cock inside me."

"Where's the fucking door?" Jon shouted.

"My door," the girl giggled.

"This way," Jack pulled him forward.

"No. it's the other way," argued Jon.

"It's this way," the voice demurred.

And then the basement door was ripped open and light flooded in. Both men gave a cry.

"Amanda's gone," William cried from the door.

"Do not let go of that fucking door," Jon shouted.

William took a step forward.

"No," shouted Jack, "stay the fuck there."

And then they were running for the stairs.
CHAPTER XVIII

"What do you mean she's disappeared?" Jon asked.

"Look at the monitors, you see her?" William replied.

They all stood in the control room, the floor covered in water from the now completely melted kettle.

"Did she leave?" Jack asked.

"I don't see how, I turned away for a second and then there was no one there."

"But she could have?" pushed Jon.

"Yes, no, I don't know."

"No she hasn't left," Jack said and his voice was tired. "We need to go up to the lounge, where she last was."

They walked up the stairs, they looked in the kitchen; they looked in the bathroom. The sink and bath tub were stained with splashed red.

"What is it?" William asked.

"Blood," Jack replied wearily.

"Are you shitting me?" Jon asked.

"Are you surprised?"

"No," Jon replied equally wearily. "No, I'm not. Not anymore."

They walked into the entertaining room and looked behind everything they could. There was no one there.

"What happened to you?" William asked as they mounted the stairs.

"We met one of your ghosts," Jon replied.

"You're joking," William gasped.

"Fuck off, am I."

"It's the girl, I guess the one who threw herself out of the window," Jack said.

"Or was thrown," William said as they reached the hallway.

"Fuck your stories, fuck your ghosts," Jon said and they walked into the back bedroom. Nothing there.

Downstairs doors slammed.

The study was still as Jon had left it, the papers strewn about, the chair overturned, but no Amanda.

They reached the lounge. No one. They looked behind everything they could, but there was no sign of her.

"Fuck," Jon swore and grabbed the bottle of whisky.

"There's still upstairs," William ventured.

"Well fuck that," Jon replied taking a long gulp of booze.

"Hey, you're the one who wants to find her," Jack reminded.

"And you don't?"

"I don't think she's findable."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Jon shook the bottle at him.

"I think the house is haunted."

"Well no shit, Sherlock," Jon fumed drinking more.

"No, I mean it's not ghosts in the house, it is the house. The house is haunted, the bricks, the mortar."

"Which would explain the temperature changes, the interference," William said excitedly.

"It means we should leave," Jack said.

"Not without Amanda," Jon threatened brandishing the bottle once again.

"Then we need to go upstairs," Jack said quietly.

They walked out and there was a little girl in a tartan skirt standing at the top of the stairs. She looked back at them over her shoulder.

"She's not up there," the girl said.

"Well fuck you very much," Jon shouted and hurled the bottle at her. She skipped lightly down the stairs before it landed.

William ran to the banister and looked down. No one there.

"Fucking ghosts," Jon muttered.

►▼◄

Upstairs now and the house is silent. Waiting.

"Amanda?" Jack calls.

Nothing.

Jon pushes past him to the back bedroom and looks in. They press up behind him.

In the room stands a man in a silver coat looking out of the window. He turns and William winces, but his face is fine, handsome almost.

"I wouldn't go into the front room if I were you; nasty business," the man says and turns back to the window.

"Where is she?" Jon asks.

The man looks once more at them and then the door slams violently on them. They jump back.

"Shit," Jack says.

"What?" William asks. "This is what we want, we need to check the cameras; we need to get handhelds."

"Are you fucking joking? We need to find Amanda."

"You going in the front room? The Thing's room?" William challenges.

Jon slumps.

"No."

Suddenly the front bedroom door slams shut just before someone starts banging on it violently from the inside.

"No," Jon repeats.

"Then let's get to the fucking monitors," William urges and they all run for the stairs.

►▼◄

They stood in the control room looking at the monitors. The rooms were empty except for the upper back room where they could still see the man in the silver coat and periwig staring out the window.

In the second floor hallway the little girl in the tartan skirt was just standing there looking at the camera. Every now and then she would look over her shoulder.

"This is incredible," William said.

"This is fucked," Jon said.

"You're drunk," William sneered.

"Seems like a good place to be in, all things considered.

"Yeah," Jack agreed.

"Are you two stupid? Look at this. We are recording actual ghosts, this is probably the most important thing in our lives."

"This is dangerous, we should leave."

"No, not without Amanda," Jon said vehemently.

"We can't leave, this is what we came for, this is it," William said triumphantly.

"Not me," Jon moped.

"It's dangerous," Jack said again.

"It's not, they're not doing anything to us; they're just imprints."

"Right," said Jack without conviction.

"They are just the physical memories of people who lived here."

"Who died here," Jack corrected.

"Died of fright, of terror, but look at us. We're sitting here looking at ghosts and we're not scared, we know what they are and why they are. We're OK."

"Tell that to Amanda," Jon mumbled.

"How long before sunrise?" Jack asked, his confidence growing again. William was right; this was what they had come for, this was truth. Ghosts can't hurt you, ghosts aren't in this plane at all.

"My watch stopped at midnight," Jon said and they looked at their own.

"Same," Jack and William said together.

"Well fuckedy fuck."

"We need to get out there and document this, we need handhelds," William instructed getting up.

"Mine's in the entertaining room," Jon said.

"You're not going up there alone," Jack said.

"And then you'd leave ol' Billy Willy alone down here. They're just imprints, dude, can't hurt me, right? Besides I see nothing in there."

"Fuck. OK, just get up there and get back, we'll be watching you here. If anything happens use the radio and I'll come running."

"Well, I hope you're fast," Jon grinned a drunken grin and then left.

"I don't like it," Jack said.

"He'll be fine," William said turning back to the monitors. They were now all empty of man or ghost until Jon appeared.

"Dammit," William cursed.

►▼◄

Jon went along the corridor without looking in the bathroom; he didn't need to see any of that again. Fucking ghosty ghosts, what were they up to? Trying to scare a nice handsome man like himself. He grinned to himself. And there was the full length mirror, he stopped to admire himself, but the reflection blurred. Fuck, too much drink, he thought. Nah, not enough for a night like tonight. Where the fuck was Amanda? He didn't believe in ghosts, remember? Though that may have to change, but even the two who did didn't think they were dangerous, just impressions. Like when you put your warm hand against a cold surface. Talking of which, wasn't the mirror upstairs? No, maybe not, he couldn't remember.

He walked into the entertaining room and there was music playing. It took him to the centre of the room before he noticed it and then he stopped and listened. It was Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata', he knew because he had learned to play a bunch of tunes to impress a girl.

"Well at least you've got good taste," he said to the room and suddenly the record scratched and crackled and screeched as the needle slid off.

Jon shrugged and picked up his camera along with the bottle of vodka, he was going to need it.

And then the phone rang.

He jumped out of his skin at the old style briiing briiing and then he found himself going to answer it, the alcohol forging round his brain, telling him that everything was OK. Nothing to see here, move along.

Move along.

He had the phone to his ear before he had really thought about what he was doing.

"Hello?"

There was the crackle on the line like a long distance phone call long ago.

" _Jon?"_

"Amanda? Where are you?"

" _I don't know, it's cold and dark and I'm scared, Jon, I'm scared."_

"I'm going to find you, Amanda and then we can get out of this fucking house."

" _There are people here, I think, in the dark. I can hear them, I can feel them, you've got to help me,"_ she pleaded from seemingly a long, long way away.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Wait, you have a phone there?"

She laughed a gurgling laugh.

" _Silly boy, you'll never get out of this House, never leave, you'll join me, join us here and we'll be together,"_ she said in a rasping voice.

"No. No, Amanda," Jon said urgently, "we're gonna get out, all four of us."

" _Oh, you'll get out, you're get out,"_ and then there was a burst of static and the line went dead.

He ran for the stairs.
CHAPTER XIX

"No, it's not possible," William argued.

"It was her," Jon pushed.

"You said it yourself, where's she getting a phone from?"

"I don't know, do I? But what? We just forget about her?"

"No one's saying that," Jack said.

"So what is it?" Jon asked swigging from the bottle of vodka.

"What is what?"

"All this shit, impressions or something. The house. Is she part of the house? Is she an impression?"

"I don't know," admitted William. "She can't have just disappeared. She can't be a ghost."

"No. Fuck. Of course not," Jon walked over to the ruined kettle and looked at it.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Fucking mobile phone," Jon turned around, logic and reason struggling again to push through. "This Higgens guy has got her. He has something planned and she was trying to leave before it was all over. Either she's down in the basement or he's taken her out of the house."

"Are you still on this?" William asked exasperated. "After everything you've seen, you still think it's a set up?"

"I have to," Jon said quietly. "I don't want to think of the other option."

"That she's dead," Jack said quietly.

"But there's no body," Jon said. "So we have to look."

"You want to go back into the basement?" Jack asked.

"No, of course fucking not, but I have to be sure."

"OK, OK, this is unheard of in hauntings, we should check it out," William said.

"In that case someone holds the door open at all time," Jack said. "We sweep the basement, but I don't want anyone going in."

"Good enough for me," Jon nodded.

"No, wait, come on, you saw the little girl, you saw the man in the back room, it's not Higgens."

"I don't know what I'm thinking," Jon burst. "I don't care, I just want to find Amanda and get the fuck out of here. I want to find out that it is all Higgens; that it always was."

►▼◄

They opened the basement door and William stood with his back braced against it. Jon stepped in, torch in one hand, Jack holding the other ready to pull him back.

He shone the light over the basement, it wasn't large and the beam hit all corners.

"Empty."

He stepped out and swapped with Jack who did the same thing.

"Yeah," agreed Jack and then stepped out, "but it's so small; we should have hit a wall in there."

"It was pitch black, we were disorientated."

"And the girl?" William asked.

"Don't even go there," Jon said and shuddered.

They stepped back and as soon as William stepped away from the door it slammed shut.

They walked back into the bookshop to be confronted by the books. All the books from all the bookcases. They were in the air, filling it with the rustle of pages.

Some were hovering, some were actually flying around. Some were closed, some were open.

"Camera," William said urgently.

"You've got it," Jack said and William realised it was in his hand.

"Fuck," he swore and fumbled with it, turning it on.

He raised it and as he did the books, as one, fell to the ground.

"Dammit," Jack said.

"Now what was the point of that?" Jon asked to the room. "I mean really, it's all a touch theatrical isn't it?"

They stepped over books, here and there leaning down to touch some. They felt warm, but not overly so.

They walked back into the control room, Jack was seriously worried about the books; I mean how were they going to explain that? Some of these books were worth a small fortune. They'd have to go and pick them all up.

Jon was seriously worried about having some more vodka and William wanted to see if the cameras had picked up the floating books.

"So," said Jon taking a swig from the bottle, "a real fucking haunting."

"Yeah," Jack said distractedly.

"So how do we stop it?"

"Stop it?" William asked. "Why do we want to stop it?"

"Because it's after images, right? These dudes just keep popping up and doing their thing over and over again. We could give 'em some peace or something."

"He's right," Jack said focusing. "For year's people having been dying of fright, too scared to help. To stop it."

"Well, how?" William asked crossly, fiddling with the laptop.

"I dunno, do I?" Jon asked. "But if we do, if we can stop all this, then maybe Amanda will come back."

"Jon," William turned.

"No, William, no. You said so yourself, she couldn't just disappear and this house can't kill people."

"OK, OK, I'm sorry," William said and turned back to the laptop. "But how?"

"Borley Rectory," Jack said.

"What of it?" William turned once again.

"There's a picture of it upstairs. Maybe it's a clue."

"The hauntings there were proven to be hoaxes," William explained. "You know that."

"Yes, yes, but the nun."

"The nun?" Jon asked, eyebrows raised.

"Allegedly there was the ghost of a nun on the grounds. The story was that she tried to run away with a monk and she was walled up alive."

"Nice."

"But when they found the skull and buried it the haunting stopped."

"And as I just said, it was proven to be a hoax."

"Ahh, but what if it is the same idea?" Jon asked understanding. "That they are all trapped here for some reason. Amanda said she was in the dark and she thought there were other people there. Maybe it's some kind of purgatory."

"OK, fine, it holds water," William agreed. "What are we looking at?"

"C'mon, man, you know the stories, who do we have here? What do we know that might shed a light on it all?" Jon asked.

Behind them a monitor fuzzed over briefly.

"OK, so we have Warboys, we heard that play out, the gun shot," Jack said and William nodded. "Then we have the sailors, Will told that story. Then there's the little girl in tartan, I would assume she's the girl who slept in the upper room."

"As would I, she went mad with terror and never recovered to tell of what had happened. Died not long after," William explained.

"Then there's the man in the silver coat, any ideas, Will?"

"Nope, none except for the story of Mrs. Balfour."

"Right, she saw the man at the window and it was the local doctor who told her the house was empty and that workmen had, weeks earlier, seen a ghost. A little girl in a tartan skirt. What else? There's the maid that went mad and died, but she is linked to a Captain Kentfield whose story is similar to Warboys. Oh, and the girl who was sexually abused by her Uncle and threw herself from the uppermost window."

"Or was thrown," William corrected.

"So what do they all have in common?" Jon asked.

"Nothing other than bad experiences in this house," Jack sighed.

"So we have nothing," William shook his head. "How then can we stop the haunting?"

"I guess we go and ask them," said Jon.
CHAPTER XX

"Ask them?" William says surprised.

"Why not?" Jon shrugs.

"You need to stop drinking."

"Maybe he has something," Jack says.

"Yes, a drinking problem," William replies.

"No, they are not dangerous, they're trapped. Maybe they can tell us what they need."

"Whatever he said," Jon agrees and turns. "Kettle's buggered."

"You're drunk," William scorns and Jon turns on him.

"Maybe I am, and maybe that's a good thing, because if I was sober I wouldn't be suggesting talking to ghosts.

"I'd be running as fast as I could from this fucked up house. I'd be lying in bed with the light on, jumping at every noise and at some point I'd be talking to the police about where Amanda had gone and we'd have to show them the video and maybe, maybe they'd see the ghosts too, either way we'd be in trouble."

"We're already in trouble about those books," Jack said looking at the doorway.

"Fuck the books, Jack," Jon angers.

"OK, so how do we do this?" William asks.

"I don't think we should separate," Jack says.

"Dude, come on," Jon pleads, "you both say they're not dangerous, just imprints."

"Imprints," William says. "How are we going to talk to them?"

"They've been pretty fucking talkative so far," Jon turns on him.

"Yes, but if they are imprints then they're just going through the motions, just saying what they always say," William says.

"Well, fuck, you wanna give it a go? Get your fucking thesis or lay in bed with the lights on waiting for the police to call?"

"OK, OK," Jack says stepping between them. "We take the room we saw ghosts in last."

"Well I'm not going into the fucking basement again," Jon tells them with a strangled laugh.

"No. No one is. And no one is going into the upper front bedroom either," Jack says seriously.

"Then let's do this, everyone grab their handheld," William says. "I'm going to find the silver coated gentleman; I'm the one he first appeared to."

"Right, I'll hit up the entertaining room, Amanda called me there."

Then I'll take the second floor," Jack decides.

"Then let's get this done," Jon says with drunken courage.

"Stay on the radios," Jack warns.

►▼◄

They had all walked into the bookshop together to find that all the books were back on the shelves as if nothing had happened.

"Are we going crazy?" Jon asked.

"It would explain everything," Jack tried a smile.

"No, we're not," William said. "Because then your thesis would be right," he looked at Jon who stared back and then laughed.

"Maybe you're alright after all, Billy-Boy."

►▼◄

William stood before the closed door of the upper back room. The door to the front bedroom was open and he wished it was closed. But he wasn't going anywhere near it.

He didn't know what to do so he knocked on the door. It swung open and the periwigged man stood by the window.

"What is it that you want?" he asked without turning.

"What, what is it that you want?" William asked and found that he had stepped over the threshold.

"Me?" the man asked.

"Yes. To be, to be free?"

"Why my good man, I am free now."

"No, you are trapped here. Why?"

"Why, my good fellow, are you here to save me?"

►▼◄

Jon entered the entertaining room and found the girl in tartan sitting on a chair.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi, yourself," she replied gaily.

"Drink?" he asked holding up the bottle.

"I'm a little young," she replied.

"Never too young to start," he shrugged and took a gulp. It was now empty and he put it on a table.

"So," she said.

"Right, so what happened to you? Why're you here?"

"Why are you here?"

"I'm not a ghost," he countered.

"Aren't you?" she asked. "Am I?"

"Far as I can tell," he shrugged. "I'm told you went mad in the upper room."

"Do I look mad?"

"Not for me to say, we all get a little mad sometimes; what happened up there? What did you see?"

"Don't ask me," she replied standing.

"I have to, I can help."

"Help?" she laughed a shrill laugh. "Help?"

"Why not?"

"Who says I'm the one who needs help?"

"Now that's a fair point," he waved a finger at her.

"I like you."

"That's great, look I need to help you to help my friend."

"Oh she wasn't your friend," the little girl said sitting down again. Her little legs swung freely.

"No?"

"She thought of fucking you, but she preferred Jack," and the obscenity, coming from a little girl, jarred him.

"Her loss," he shrugged, trying to keep his composure. He wouldn't have if his mind wasn't deadened by alcohol.

"Oh, yes, she has lost; another has her eyes on him."

"Who?"

"What about me?" the little girl asked. "Am I cute?"

►▼◄

Jack looked into the lounge, but there was nothing there, he walked in and spun in a slow circle. How was he supposed to get ghosts to appear to him?

He walked into the study to find it neat and tidy. That wasn't right, it should be a mess. Jon had seen a lot of activity in here, but it seemed empty.

Jon's noted were stacked neatly on the desk and it reminded him of the scribblings he'd come across earlier; the writing had changed, but ghosts couldn't do that. No, it was as he had said, haunted paper. Everything in this house was haunted, it was the house. Everything could be changed or altered. He could feel his mind muggling, his thoughts jumbling. It was too much to comprehend and so his mind fixed on the camera. He filmed the room.

In the back bedroom the story was the same. Nothingness. A large painting of the Houses of Parliament seen from over the Thames River hung on the wall.

He walked over to the bed and smoothed his hand over the quilt.

"Looks comfortable, doesn't it?" a woman's voice asked from the door.

He turned to find the woman from the bookshop, the one who had been with Ralph Higgens.

"How'd you get in here? What are you doing?"

It was all true, it wasn't ghosts; it was them all along, his mind chugged.

"Well, silly I live here."

"You live here?" she was strikingly beautiful with fine cheekbones and long, thick blonde hair.

"Of course, we all do," she smiled at him.

"You're..." but he was speechless.

"Adeline," and she curtsied. She was in a long flowing white dress with light yellow flowers on it.

"Adeline? Adeline?" his mind raced. "You. Your Uncle." It wasn't true, it was ghosts, they were ghosts, even from the beginning. His mind sped along so that he felt dizzy.

"Hush now," she said and walked towards him.

He backed away, but his legs bumped the bed.

"Ahh, to bed?" she asked and smiled.

"What?" he really couldn't think straight. What was happening to him?

She walked up to him and pushed. He fell backwards onto the bed and scooted up to be away from her.

"I can help you," he said or thought he said. How could he help her?

"I'm sure you can, you know what I want," she smiled again as she crawled onto the bed. Crawled over him.

"No, no, I can help you be at peace."

"I am at peace," she said and undid his trousers. He squirmed. "Oh, come now, this is not your first time."

"No, wait," he pleaded.

She grabbed his penis and he couldn't help but go a little hard. It felt good, her hands were cool while the room felt hot. He hardened in her hand.

"Now this is what I want," she smiled at him.

"Yes," he breathed, his mind blank. "Yes, I'm yours."

She moved up and kissed him on the lips.

"You left me in the basement, all alone," she said.

"What? No, wait," his mind snapped back.

The basement, the fear, the blackness.

But then she leant down and bit his bottom lip. He muffled a cry.

►▼◄

The man in the silver coat turned to him and again William winced, but his face was intact.

"What I want?" he asked. "What I want is out that there window. Something I can never get. Not now."

"But maybe I can," William stammered, his heart was thumping.

"It drives me crazy," the man said and then put his fingers to his face and pulled them down. He rent the flesh from his face in streaks and it dropped to the floor where it bubbled and dissolved.

"No," William breathed.

"Crazy, I tell you," the man said throwing back his head and laughing a hideous bubbling laugh.

The skin on his neck stretched and broke and blood gushed out.

William bolted from the room.

►▼◄

"You are cute, yes."

"Oh, that is good," the girl said standing again. "I like being cute. I always worried I'd grow up to be ugly, but I don't grow up anymore."

"What did you see?"

"I told you not to ask."

"I need to know," Jon pushed.

"You need know nothing," she said, but it was the deep voice of a man. It boomed throughout the room.

"I can set you free," Jon begged terrified.

"We will set you free," the man's voice said and then the girl giggled a little girl's giggle. "Free you in chains," she sang and Jon turned and ran.
CHAPTER XXI

Jack woke suddenly.

He was lying on the bed. Why? Had he slept? He must have, but why in here? Why would he do such a thing? Then he remembered Adeline and he jumped up and looked around.

No one.

Had he dreamt it? How long had he been asleep? How much of all of this had he dreamt? Amanda? The basement? Was everyone now sitting in the lounge or watching the monitors? He looked to the floor and there was a spot of something. And then something dripped down and he felt his bottom lip. He looked at his fingers.

Blood.

►▼◄

They had all run back to the control room. For some reason it was the one room they felt somewhat safe in.

"How'd we do?" Jon asked.

"Not well," William said, "I'm not sure they want our help."

"No, I got that impression too," Jon agreed. "Jack?"

"What?"

"How did you do?"

"No good."

"Are you OK, man? What happened to your lip?"

"Yeah, yeah. All good. Cut it."

"What did you see? What happened?"

"The girl. Adeline."

"Adeline?" Jon asked.

"The girl. The girl, the one from the basement, the one who's Uncle molested her," Jack said angrily.

"Hey, calm down, man," William said.

"So what do we know?" Jon asked.

"They don't seem to be dangerous," William said, "they haven't done anything to us other than being terrifying."

"I'd agree with that," Jon nodded. "I can see how people died of fright here."

"Yeah," Jack said almost to himself.

"Hey," Jon shouted, "Hey, wake up man, what is wrong with you?"

Jack shook his head. Yes. What? What was he thinking about? What were they talking about? The ghosts, right.

Right.

"Sorry," he said. "Got a bit frightened, I guess."

"We all did," Jon said softly.

Above them was a thumping of footsteps. They came down the stairs and through the bookshop.

"Sailor," William said simply.

"Amanda was right, they're on a loop, just repeating what happened here," Jon said.

"No, the man upstairs interacted with me," William said.

"Fuck. True. The little girl too."

A number of monitors fuzzed over with static and then came back.

"What do we do now?" William asked.

"Leave," Jon said.

"No," Jack said forcefully.

"What?"

"We can't, we need this. We need to pack up and everything else. Sun will be up soon anyway."

"And this will all end with the Sun?" Jon asked.

"I guess," Jack shrugged.

His mind was cloudy. He felt a deep longing, but he didn't know what for. Something churned in his mind, in his stomach. Perhaps in his soul. He didn't know what it was and he tried to think about their situation. He had been adamant that they didn't leave, but it wasn't really about the thesis. No, it was, wasn't it? They did need to see this through. After everything, they could have real evidence for ghosts.

But it wasn't that, something nagged at the back of his mind. What was it then? Adeline?

They heard a woman's laugh from somewhere in the bookshop and they all looked to the door. Nothing happened, no one came in, but a door, the basement perhaps, slammed twice as if in the wind.

"This is still fucked, you know that right?" Jon asked.

"Amanda," William said suddenly and they turned.

William was sitting back at the monitors and he pointed to one. Yes, there she was sitting in the lounge, a drink in her hand.

"Come on," Jon commanded and ran to the door.

"Wait," William commanded him and pointed again.

He walked back and looked. There she was, in the lounge, but also in the entertaining room, standing, looking at the camera and there again lying on the bed in the upper front room.

"Fuck, fuck," Jon said.

"It's not her," William said. "There can't be three."

"But one of them might be her," Jon challenged. "We have to go and look."

"We don't split up," William said.

"Like fuck we do," Jon said

"Yes," Jack said somewhat dreamily.

"You can't go into the upper bedroom alone," William pleaded.

"We have to," Jon said and rushed out of the door before anyone could argue.

Jack wandered to the entertaining room as William ran up the stairs. It was empty, no Amanda, just a sharp, sweet scent that stirred his loins

"Jack?" William demanded through the radio. After a pause he tried again. "Jack? Control room. Jack?"

He turned from the room and ambled back down the stairs.

►▼◄

William barged into the lounge, but it was empty. No Amanda, but a foul smell of faeces. He tried to raise Jack on the radio, but there was no reply. He tried Jon and got a shot of static. He turned and ran back down to the monitors.

►▼◄

Jon ran up the stairs and to the front room. There she was, lying on the bed completely naked.

"Amanda," he wheezed. "Thank fuck."

She looked down her body at him and then smiled.

"Come on," he said panting.

She licked her fingers and put them between her legs.

"Amanda, what the fuck? Are you OK? We have to get out of here."

"Come and join me; I know you thought of fucking me," she said enjoying herself.

"No, what? Are you OK? Where have you been?"

"Come and join us," she smiled at him and took her hand away. Spread her legs further.

►▼◄

William skidded into the control room to find Jack already there.

"He's talking to the bed," Jack said.

"What?" William asked and then looked.

Yes, there was Jon, he seemed to be talking to an empty bed.

"It's not Amanda then," Jack said nonchalantly.

"No shit, Jack," he grabbed the mic, "Jon? Jon? Can you hear me?"

Nothing but static.

"We've got to go and get him," William said urgently.

"Yes," Jack nodded.

"What is wrong... fuck."

William ran from the room.

►▼◄

"What do you mean us? What are you doing? Something happened to you, Amanda, your mind has let go instead of accepting it. We need to get you out. To a hospital."

"A hospital? Why would I need one of them? I have everything I need here," she said and put her hand back down between her legs. "Except your hard cock in my wet, wet pussy."

She seemed to be pushing her hand painfully far inside.

"Amanda."

"Come to me, cum in me, be with us."

Blood began to pool in her knuckles.

Jon's mind became blurry, what was happening? What had happened to her? But she wanted him, so that was something good from all this, right? He took a step forward.

And then William burst in and grabbed him by the arm. He yanked him out of the room.

The door snapped shut.

"The fuck?" Jon asked hazily.

"Not Amanda," William huffed.

"Who?"

"Amanda, not her."

Jon came to his senses, remembered what he had seen, how he had felt, how he had wanted to go to her, fuck her.

"She's dead then," he said slowly.

"Yeah," William said softly looking at the floor.

They walked slowly down the stairs to the first floor. There was a shrill cackle from somewhere above.

"I need some water," Jon said slowly.

"I'll come with you."

"No. No just give me a minute."

William looked at him and could see it was no use arguing. He needed to process what had happened. What was still happening.

"OK, just be quick."

William left him standing there and walked back down to Jack in the control room.

"We need to leave," William said defeated.

"No."

"Yes, Jack, she's dead. The house has killed her. Killed her, Jack."

"Only the Thing has killed anyone, and even then Blunden may have broken his neck falling into the basement."

"Jack, dammit, she's dead, she's a ghost."

"Aren't we all?" Jack asked.

"What does that mean?"

And then they heard the smashing and crashing.

They looked to the monitors and the kitchen was a blur of movement.

They sprinted out.

►▼◄

As they ran up the stairs they could see Jon standing in the kitchen. He stood stock still, a glass of water in his hand.
CHAPTER XXII

As Jon broke his thoughts in the hallway and walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Townes was pressed up against the wall in the neighbouring house. The wall that separated this room from the upper front bedroom.

Her and her husband hadn't been out so late since they were young, but friends of theirs had just returned from five years working abroad and there was much to talk about, laugh about, drink to, and catch up on.

So they had taken a taxi home and had stumbled drunkenly up to the bedroom. There had been talk on both sides about kids and Mr. Townes was feeling a little frisky, pinching his wife's bum as they walked up the stairs.

"How about a go at making babies?" he smiled slyly when they reached the room and she smiled back.

And so now she was pinned up against the wall by her husband. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, felling his dick pressing against her.

And then she felt it. It rang through her back and through her body. She dropped her legs and started squirming, started fighting.

Her husband thought at first it was play until she started thumping on his back. He let her go and stepped back in surprise and fright.

"Get them off me," she screamed batting at her body as if covered in ants.

"What is it?" he asked, but she was ripping her clothes off and flailing around the room.

He had to step back.

"Honey?"

She stopped, completely nude, and looked at him. He noticed some blood drip from her vagina.

"Honey? Are you OK?" he asked.

And then she looked at the wall and fled the room.

He looked at the wall and saw that the wallpaper had blistered. Was that it? Something in the wall?

He was in shock and walked slowly down the stairs calling her name until he came to the kitchen. There she stood, naked, holding a large sharp knife.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"IT has come back," she said simply and slit her own throat.

He went into shock and collapsed to the ground. He never even noticed as his heart gave up and he died.

►▼◄

As he did so the cupboards and drawers in front of Jon snapped open and the dishes and cutlery stared to rattle. He took slow steps backwards when suddenly everything flung itself at him. Nothing hit him, it looked like it was coming straight for him, but nothing hit him. He couldn't understand that.

That was what he was thinking when Jack reached in and pulled him out by the arm.

"What happened?" William asked looking at the broken crockery all over the floor. A large knife was stuck in the wall.

Jon blinked and then shook his head as if to clear it.

"Isn't that obvious?" he asked looking back into the kitchen. And then he fainted.

Jack caught him and they dragged him into the entertaining room.

As they got in they could hear the jingle of the service bells that were long since removed. It rang incessantly and then stopped. As they lay Jon on a couch a gunshot rang out above them.

He came to and sat up groggily. He looked around to see William and Jack arguing.

"We need to go," William was saying.

"This is what you wanted," Jack replied.

"No, not this. We've got enough."

"Then we need to collect all the cameras, all the equipment."

"No, we can't. It's dangerous."

"Well we can't leave it all here, can we?"

"We can come back in the morning."

"It'll be morning soon anyway."

"She's dead, Jack, and Jon could have been too."

"We don't know that, and nothing touched him, did it? It can't."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" William demanded.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jack spat back and stormed to the door.

"Jack," Jon croaked and Jack stopped. "She's no good for you, man."

"I'll be the judge of that," he snapped and walked out the door.

"Jon?" William asked and he waved a hand.

William looked out the door, but there was no one there. How had he got to the stairs so quickly? Had he gone up or down? What was wrong with him?

He looked back at Jon.

"Do you understand?"

"No," Jon shook his head. "They're happy here, I think. Or they, something, wants us to believe that."

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I," he sat up slowly. "I think the House has changed tactics. We're not scared so it's trying to seduce us."

"Then he's walking into a trap?" William gasped.

"I guess."

William shot out the door.

And into the bathroom.

What the fuck? he thought as he twirled around. The bath was full of red water and a body lay there submerged, the face a drained white. One of it's hands hung over the edge and he could see that he or she had slit their wrists. Suddenly the eyes opened and it raised it's head.

"Bath time," it sneered and William could only think that he didn't know this story as he bolted out of the door.

►▼◄

Jack had left the room, he didn't know what he was thinking or feeling, something kept threatening to overtake him, swallow him whole. He had stormed out of the room and into the bookshop. He stopped and stared at the bookcases. How the hell?

He turned and walked into the control room, but all the monitors were smashed.

He walked out again and there at the counter sat Ralph Higgens.

"Found what you're looking for?" he asked without looking up from his writing.

"No, not yet," he replied feeling strangely calm.

"She's a one isn't she?"

"She is."

"Lovely soft skin, such beautiful hair, pert breasts and oh, such a tight little," he stood and turned, "cunt."

His face was disintegrated. His lips were missing showing yellowed teeth, one of his eyes was missing, the socket collapsed.

"The Uncle?"

"Oh, once, yes, once. She loved it really, I told her so," it sneered. "She can't escape me now though, can she? We're locked together," its long tongue lashed out from between its broken teeth.

"She's not yours," Jack shouted at him.

"Oh, she's yours now is she?"

"You're fucked up," he shouted.

"Oh no, you're fucked," Higgens said and then it crumpled to the floor and turned to ash.

Jack ran for the stairs.

►▼◄

William appeared in the kitchen next door. It was no longer a mess. In fact it was sparklingly clean and a woman in a maids costume was at the sink washing up. Except he couldn't see any dishes in her hands, no water in the sink.

"I'd leave," she said.

"I can't."

"No, no you can't. Saw it once I did. Went mad with fright," the woman said calmly.

"You're the maid that slept up there?"

"I am, I am. It's better now though."

"Is it?"

"Oh, dear, no," she turned her head and she had no eyes, just bloody sockets. "IT is terrifying and IT comes. IT comes for you. I'm sorry, my dear."

"Help me then," William pleaded.

"Oh, no dear, that wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all. IT comes," and with that she turned back to the chores she had years ago stopped being able to do.

►▼◄

Jon stepped to the door.

"Don't," a voice said from behind him and he turned.

"Amanda," he breathed. "You're dead."

"Yes. I think so. I don't know, Jon. I'm not sure I actually died."

"But this isn't you."

"No. Well it's me now, I think. It's confusing and dark and there are people there. Terrified people. And something else, Jon, there's something else."

"I have to go and find the others," he said.

"They're lost, Jon, lost. If you go through that door you'll be lost too. Lost in the House."

He looked to the door.

►▼◄

He was in the upper back bedroom, how could this be? He had no memory of walking up here.

"Should never have come in," the man said looking out of the window.

"I'm not looking for you," Jack said.

"You shouldn't have been looking in the first place."

"Fuck you."

"I'm already fucked," the man said and turned to show Jack his ruined face. "I clawed my face off in terror, but I was too fool headed to tear my eyes out. What bliss it would be not to see."

"You're not who I want," Jack said again.

"You don't want her, you don't want this. IT comes even now."

"And what should I do?"

"Jump," the man in the silver coat said waving over to the window.

"No."

"Then you are lost."

"No, I am found," Jack said and turned to the door.

"Wait" the man said. "Help me and I'll help you."

Jack turned slowly to see the man had a writing quill.

"Take my eyes. I cannot."

"What?"

The man brandished the quill.

"Take my eyes."

"No," Jack said and turned.

"Where will you end up when you walk through that door? Will it be with her?" the man asked.

Jack turned back.

►▼◄

William was in the lounge and there was a man having sex with a much younger girl. She was bent over a chair, her skirt thrown up. She was screaming and crying.

"You love it really," the man shouted and slapped the back of her head.

"Stop," William said before he knew what he was doing.

The man did not but turned his head. His eyes were full of blood.

"Oh, you want a turn do you? Well you can't, not yet."

"Help me," the girl whimpered.

"Get away from her," William said with more courage than he felt.

The man looked away and started fucking her harder. She screamed in pain.

William wanted to run forward and pull him off, but he was afraid, he couldn't move. She started sobbing.

"Help me."

The man stopped and pulled out. He turned to William and he could see that the man had no penis.

"You're a little late to be helping don't you think?" the man asked him.

William backed to the door.

"Oh, come now, have a turn, she is young and tight."

"No," William whimpered and backed out of the door.

►▼◄

Jon stood in the entertaining room and looked around. Amanda had gone.

The gramophone scratched to life and the Moonlight Sonata started playing again.

He looked at it and couldn't see a record on there. There hadn't been one earlier when he had found it. All those hours, days? Months? ago when he had sat in here with Amanda. When the world was a different place, when he thought of screwing Patty Hawkins. Was that world still out there? Was the world he had left ever going to be the same?

He had come here to do a thesis for a qualification that really didn't matter anymore. He had stayed here to try and find someone who he didn't even call a friend. Now she was lost. He was lost. They were all lost.

He had to find the others, he had to get down to the control room.

No, he had to get to the front door. Amanda had warned him. He laughed out loud and it sounded hollow and far away. A ghost had warned him not to go out of the door. It was insane.

Or maybe he was. Somehow he'd gone completely loopy. From a man of science to a man listening to the advice of ghosts. It was all too fucking strange. The world, he realised was stranger than he could ever have thought.

All was lost.
CHAPTER XXIII

Jack stretched out fearfully and took the quill. He was ready to pull back his hand. Expecting the man to grab him, but he didn't.

When he had taken the quill the man had relaxed and with it his wounds had started to run with blood. The room started to vibrate.

"IT is close," the man said.

"I can't do this," Jack pleaded.

"IT is close," the man said again. "You'll never find her without help."

And then Jack suddenly stabbed the man in his eye. The eye burst and splattered the man's cheek with pus and goo. And yet the man smiled, the goo dropping onto his bottom lip.

The room began to vibrate more, began to shake.

"Again," he urged and Jack vomited a little in his mouth. "Again."

Jack stabbed again and the eyeball exploded over his hand.

He dropped the quill and ran from the room.

►▼◄

William was in the control room, the kettle was somehow fixed and bubbling away. He looked at the laptop and all the temperatures read 0˚C. He looked at the monitors.

In the second floor bedroom he saw Jack having sex with a blonde girl.

In the lounge was himself, himself stabbing a man he didn't recognise.

In the upper back bedroom there was nothing. In the kitchen was Amanda and Jon leaning against the counter with tea cups, but in the study there was Jon punching and slapping and beating Amanda.

There he was in the study holding a knife, Jack, Jon and Amanda bloodied and dead on the bed.

In the bookshop was Jack standing smiling at the camera. He was smiling with his arm around a blonde girl.

No. No! None of this was true. Except. Except in the entertaining room. There was Jon. Just standing there looking from the door to the sofa.

The real Jon, he knew it, he could tell by the confused, hurt look on his face. He'd carried that look since the study had vibrated around him. William stared at the screen and froze the image in his mind. The other monitors went blank, but he didn't care, he had only one image in his mind.

And then he walked through the door.

►▼◄

Jack had fled the room, but had found himself in the upper front room. He didn't want to be here.

There was Sir Robert Warboys, lying on the bed. They looked at each other.

"Who are you?" Warboys asked slowly coming up from the bed.

"You're Sir Robert," Jack said.

"How do you know me?"

"You're not who I'm looking for."

"What dress do you wear?"

"You're not who I'm looking for," Jack shouted and Warboys hand darted out to the bell pull and pulled it.

"Where have you come from?" Warboys asked frightened.

"Where is she?" Jack asked angrily and stepped forward.

Warboys pulled the bell cord again as Jack walked towards him.

"Leave me be," cried Sir Robert.

"Give her to me," Jack screamed and grabbed out at Warboys.

Warboys dodged back pulling and pulling the cord until Jack shoved him to the corner and stepped back. He was seething, the man said he would help, this wasn't helping. Warboys scuttled into the corner, his eyes bulged at Jack.

"You fear me?" Jack said triumphantly.

"IT comes," Warboys blubbered and shot at Jack. The bullet passed through him and Jack ran from the room.

►▼◄

William stepped into the entertaining room and Jon shouted in alarm.

"It's me," William said.

"Is it? Is it?" Jon demanded.

"It is, it is, everything's fucked."

"You're telling me," Jon slumped.

"I just keep entering other rooms, every time I walk through a door."

"Then stay here."

"What about Jack?"

"I don't know, I don't know. This is fucked up, man. Fuckedy fucked, man."

"I know, I know, I was wrong. This House is evil, it does what it likes, it can kill us all," William blabbered.

"Then what do we do?"

"I don't know. Listen to me, I saw you here on the monitors, I kept the image in my head and I stepped through the door. And it worked, I'm here."

"So what? We imagine the front door?"

"I don't know what else," William said desperately.

"We stay here until sunrise," Jon said.

"No. IT comes, IT comes," William said building into a panic.

"Just calm the fuck down, what comes?"

"I don't know, I don't know, the Thing."

"You're not making any sense, man."

"That's what they say, something is coming, the Thing, Jon, the Nameless Thing is coming."

"Just come and sit down," Jon said.

All through the house was a slamming of doors, thumping above and below them, the sound of feet running in the hallways.

William staggered over and sat down.

►▼◄

Jack was in the second floor bedroom. On the bed Adeline lay on her back, her head hung over the end of the bed. She was naked and a man was fucking her, head down.

"I really do love it," she smiled at him upside down.

"No," Jack shouted.

"I'm not yours yet."

He ran from the room, tears blinding him.

►▼◄

"We have to see it, we have to see the front door, we have to picture it together before IT comes," William was standing back up, building up his panic.

"You have to sit down, man," Jon said, his own fear building.

"IT'll come!"

"Where's Jack? We have to find Jack."

"Gone, gone. Lost, lost, Amanda, Amanda, same," William wailed.

Then he turned and grabbed Jon by his shirt.

"We have to get out of here," he slobbered. "We have to imagine the front door, we have to picture it, we can beat the House, we can, we can. We can come back in the morning, get our stuff, maybe Jack and Amanda will be here then."

"You're losing your wits," Jon shouted at him and he pulled away.

William crouched over by the door, looking at it and then Jon, over and over again.

"We must leave," he shouted and then darted out of the door.

Jon ran after him, but was stopped again at the door by a little girl's voice.

►▼◄

And now Jack was back in the front bedroom. There were two sailors in there, the two sailors. Jack couldn't remember their names, didn't care.

"Where is she?" he shouted as one of them was getting up, terrified.

Jack moved forward and one of the sailors stepped away and to the left. The other sailor was just now waking and gasped in horror as Jack moved forward.

They were both up now, but the first one was dodging past Jack as he reached out and grabbed the other one by the throat and started choking him.

"Where is she?" he roared. "She's mine."

►▼◄

William was standing in the control room, he flicked the kettle on for a cup of tea; he needed something to quench his parched throat.

He turned, his finger still on the button. There he was by the monitors, his head darting back and forth searching the monitors. He turned to look as the kettle started boiling, but then turned back. He remembered this, this was when Amanda disappeared. He could see his past self frantically searching the screens for any sign of her. The water boiled, but he still had his finger on the button and it began boiling up through the spout. He didn't notice.

In another minute his past-self ran from the room, ran to the basement to find the others.

He ran after it.

►▼◄

"He didn't get to the front door, neither will you," the little girl in tartan said and Jon turned.

She was standing in the middle of the room.

"Where are they?"

"Lost."

"Bullshit, where are they."

"It's too late, IT comes; you will be lost if you walk out of that door."

"Well, I have to risk that, don't I?"

"No. No you don't. You never have, but you did anyway, didn't you? Stayed to find her even though she was lost, even though she wasn't your friend."

"Oh, come on, just fuck this," Jon shouted. "Please?"

"Be calm."

►▼◄

Jack was running in the hall, but it seemed to go on forever, he never seemed to get closer to anywhere. Where was she?

►▼◄

William was in the bookshop, the books flew around him in a swarm, he walked to the basement door and as he turned the handle the books dropped to the floor around him. He flung open the door and stepped through.

►▼◄

"IT is come," the little girl roared with a man's voice.

►▼◄

Jack found a door, and threw himself in, away from the never ending hallway. He was in the back bedroom on the second floor.

She stood there, Adeline, beautiful in her flowing white dress. Her thick, blonde hair hung around her shoulders.

"IT is come," she said.

"My friends," he said, his mind finally clearing.

"It is better that you come to me now. Out there now is only death and madness," she opened her arms to him.

"Yes," he said and walked towards her, part of his mind noticed that it wasn't flowers on her dress, but spiders.

"You looked after one of us, so I will look after you, save you."

"Yes," he said again and stepped into her arms.

She wrapped them around him and whispered in his ear.

"This is the best I can give, but it is no salvation. You are damned with us now and forever."

And then he saw everything, saw the Thing, saw what had happened to each and every one of the people who had stayed here, saw what waited for him and his mind burnt out there in her arms.

"It is better this way," she whispered to his corpse, "for IT comes."

►▼◄

He was in the upper front bedroom, the last place he wanted to be. He turned back to the door to find it closed. In the door seemed to be some sort of slot.

"We have visitors," a voice rasped from behind him and William turned. In the corner was a huddled man.

"Who are you?"

The man stood, he was dirty with ragged clothes and long shaggy black hair.

"Who am I? Who am I? Who are you to come to my room? You are a visitor, yes?" Company, yes?"

William turned back and tried the door. It was locked.

"Locked, yes, locked, not allowed out am I. Too dangerous they say. Too dangerous.

"You're Dupres' brother."

"I am the only Dupres," the man shouted at him stepping forward. "I had everything before I was locked in this infernal room."

"OK, OK, I believe you, maybe I can help you get out."

"No hope anymore is there?"

"Yes," William said desperately, "Always hope."

"You think?"

"You have to get out, you have to, you went mad in here."

"Mad?" the man asked curious. "Am I mad now? No. Not mad, just angry."

"We could knock the door down," William said barely hearing his own voice over the thumping of his heart.

"Oh," the man said and looked down at his hands. He was a hulking brute of a man and William could see that he was mad; mad and afraid. "IT comes."

"What comes?"

"IT came to me in here, I couldn't escape, the door is locked and reinforced, it came to me and it spoke to me and I was so scared. So scared that I lost my mind, did I."

"We can do something, get out of the window," William said looking over at it.

And then the man was next to him, seemingly without moving and he had William's arm in his grip.

"You know what it asked me?"

"No, no I don't," William said too terrified to even try and break free.

"IT asked me if I believed in God. Do you believe in God, William?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Do you?" the pressure on his arm increased.

"No, I don't," he wept. "I'm sorry."

"Went mad, did I. One," he grabbed William's little finger and pulled it off, "by one."

Williams screamed and blood pumped out of his hand.

The man took the next finger.

"Slowly," he pulled that finger off, "but surely."

Another finger went.

And he couldn't pass out, couldn't faint; couldn't leave the horror behind. Even when he had no fingers, no toes, lay bleeding on the floor. Even when the great brute of a man pulled his left arm off. Still he didn't lose consciousness.

"Body and soul 'til there's nothing left," the brute sang as it sunk it's fingers into Williams chest, breaking the ribs.
CHAPTER XXIV

"It is only you now," the girl said as Jon paced the room, he didn't know how to help, what to do. William had said of appearing in different rooms.

"Help me," he said.

"IT comes."

"So help me leave, none of you are with it, it killed you all."

"The punishment is great already," she said and sat back down. And as she did she dematerialised.

"Oh well, that's just great, isn't it?" he shouts to the empty room.

He walks a circle, what does he do? If he leaves he may never get out, but if he stays will he? She said it comes, would IT come in here? And she said all his friends were lost. Could he not find them? If he got out of the house maybe it would break the spell, maybe they would all come running out, OK and forgetful.

William had said that he had focussed on this room and had found it. Had he found the front door? Was he now waiting for Jon outside, free in the fresh night air?

"No," said a voice and he turned.

Amanda sat on the couch. She was naked and grotesque. She had no nipples, just open wounds and she spread her legs to show that her vagina had been sewn up.

"A woman's body gives life unto the world. Evil takes that away," she mourned.

"I'm... Amanda... I'm sorry," Jon wept.

"William didn't make it out," she said closing her legs. "Jack didn't make it out. I didn't make it out. All is lost."

"Am I?" he asked and she smiled.

He had to look away from her pulped and bloody teeth and when he looked back she was gone.

He walked to the door and slowly reached out for the handle. He had to picture the front door, had to see it in his mind. But would it work? It had worked to bring William here, but according to Amanda he hadn't made it out.

He rubbed his eye. Everything that had happened had sobered him up, but the alcohol was still in his system and it was making him tired. Maybe if he just lay down on the sofa and slept? It would be morning soon and surely this would all end then? Didn't ghostys only come out at night? He didn't know, he couldn't think straight.

He turned the handle and walked out...

►▼◄

...into the control room.

William sat looking at the monitors and Jon felt relief despite what Amanda had said.

"Will," he breathed.

William held up a hand, but didn't look around.

"Shh."

"What is it, man? We need to go."

William shook his head and after half a minute pointed to one of the monitors.

"Look."

There was a man wandering along a hallway. He turned into the study, looked in and then continued to wander. They watched him across multiple cameras.

"And there," William said and pointed.

In the upper front bedroom a brute of a man walked in an aimless circle, sometimes beating his chest or hitting a wall.

"And there," Jon said.

He pointed to the monitor that showed the silver coated man staring out of the upper back bedroom window.

"Misery," Jon said.

"Yes," William agreed. "The House thrives on it. Was it fed until it gained an appetite or had it had it from the beginning?"

"You think it just, I dunno, sucked in the misery? Absorbed it into it's bricks?" Jon asked.

"Perhaps, but there's something we're forgetting."

"What?" Jon asked flicking his eyes to the door. They had to try and leave.

William swung around in the chair, his face had been ripped off; what was left of the muscle hanging; his eyes punctured and running down the bloody skull.

"IT comes."

Jon didn't have the energy to scream, he just bolted out of the door.

►▼◄

"Evil loves misery."

He was in the upper back bedroom and the man in the silver coat and periwig was looking out of the window.

"And misery loves company," Jon choked on a laugh and the man began to turn. "Please don't."

But he did and it was Jack.

"Jack..."

"One big happy family here," Jack said and grinned.

His cheeks split open and worms and maggots spilled out.

Jon vomited onto the floor.

"IT brings misery," Jack boomed. "IT was here before, IT will be here after, nameless and terrible."

Jon stumbled through the door.

►▼◄

And into the kitchen.

The maid was there still washing up dishes.

"Not gone so well for you, has it?" she asked not looking up.

"Not the best outcome," Jon agreed. He noticed that the knife was still in the wall from earlier.

"It's the great truth that few know," she said.

"And what's that?"

"Evil will enslave you, use you, strip you of anything good," she pulled her hands from the water and held them up. They were bare of flesh, held together by tendons. "Work you to the bone."

She screamed with laughter and then began smashing her hands to pieces on the edge of the sink. Blood and bones splattered as she cackled and Jon slipped through the door.

He'd lost his edge, his desire. He was resigned to this. Resigned to ghosts and horror. But even then, he pulled up short when entered the entertaining room to find Jack, William and Amanda sitting on the sofas with a drink each.

"Jon," Amanda cried and jumped up.

"Is it really you?" Jack asked with obviously relief.

"Of course," Jon said slowly.

"Wait a minute," William warned. "It could be a trick."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked as the other two took a step back.

"We thought you were dead," Amanda said.

"What?"

"You disappeared, Jon, in the study," Jack explained.

"No I didn't," Jon said and he found tears springing up on his cheeks.

"What are you?" William asked suspiciously.

"What does that mean?"

"Are you a ghost?" William asked seriously.

"No. What? No, of course not."

"So where have you been?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"What?" Jon's mind couldn't take it.

It whirled and blurred and he felt sick and wanted to sit down. No lie down. They were back, but what were they saying? That he was the ghost? That he and not them had disappeared? Could that be?

"No," he said. "You disappeared, not me."

"Now that's fascinating," William said rubbing his chin.

"What? No, it isn't," Jon began to cry.

"Well, you're here now," Amanda soothed. "All back together."

"Yes," Jon breathed and took two steps forward. "I thought you'd all gone," he began to laugh.

"We've been here," William said seriously. "We've learned a lot."

"Have you?" Jon asked with a delirious grin.

"Oh, yes," Amanda said. "We really understand the House now."

"Really?"

"Oh yes," William said authoritatively. "It feeds on despair. More than that, it creates it, sucks away hope."

"Hey," Jack chided. "It doesn't matter; here we all are. Together again, one big happy family."

"What?" Jon halted.

"What?" Jack asked back.

"What did you say?"

"Come on, Jon, don't be a dick," Amanda smiled at him.

"This is hope," he began to back away again. "Isn't it?"

"No," Jack shook his head.

"This is despair," William smiled.

And then the three of them began to melt. Their skin ran with blood as their features disappeared. Their flesh, blood and muscle pooled on the floor around them as their skeletons beckoned to him before tumbling to the floor.

Before they did Jack's skeleton shouted, "IT's here," and the other two cackled.

►▼◄

"We haven't much time," William said.

He was in the study and William was sitting in the chair with Jon's notes in his hands.

"I've mentioned that this is fucked, right?" Jon smiled and then snorted and swallowed his snot. He dried his tears with the back of his arm.

"Yes. And you were right, weren't you?" William asked looking out of the window.

"No, man, you were right. All of this shit," he gestured to the room, to the whole House, with his arms.

"But we shouldn't have known should we? We should have stayed oblivious to it. Once we saw it we were doomed."

"Come on, man, who could have thought this?"

"We did. This is what we wanted to see," William said looking out of the window. "But not this. The Nameless Thing, Jon. We wanted ghosts, but not that."

William looked at him and his eyes beseeched.

"But it's all real."

William shook his head.

"It's always been real, but that doesn't mean we should know it. What good has it done us?"

"But we can beat it," Jon said.

William laughed. He began separating his fingers from his hand and laying them on the desk. He looked at them and then back at Jon.

"You can only get out. It worked for me once, when I really wanted it, to find you," he picked up a finger off of the desk and waggled it at Jon.

"I don't know," Jon said staring at the dismembered finger.

"Oh that's not the worst of it. Evil takes your heart," he opened his shirt to show where the ghost had smashed a hole in his sternum and ripped out his heart. The ribs were broken and stuck out at odd angles.

"William," Jon beseeched.

"And your mind," he popped out his eye and stuck a finger in there. "See? Empty," he laughed.

"Oh, fuck, William. What did the House do to you?"

"Took me apart," William laughed and his arm fell off and plopped to the ground. "Body and soul 'til there's nothing left," he sang.

Jon watched as William bent down to pick up his arm and blood poured out of the cavity in his chest. An impossible amount, splashing onto the floor and spreading. It was close to his feet and he moved back to the door, grabbed the handle and hesitated.

"Picture it," William said and he closed his eyes and did as he was told.

He could see the front door, he could feel the draught coming from it; he could see the first faint rays of the new day's Sun.

"Lost. Lost. All is lost," the little girl sang.

And he opened the door.
EPILOGUE

He was there. It was the front door. He could feel the morning air. There was no Sun yet, but the feeling of the air, the crispness of it, he knew it was not far off. He could make it. His mind flooded with relief, it washed over him like the cool air coming through the cracks in the door.

He almost wanted to turn and go back. Surely everything was alright? This was normalcy, it still existed. The outside world. There was no such thing as ghosts and monsters. He laughed out loud and it rang hollow in his ears.

But then to his right the basement door started to creak open and he knew IT was coming, the Nameless Thing. He could smell the foul stench, like nothing he had smelt before, like nothing on this Earth. It smelt of death, but in a way that told Jon that death was a good thing, an end to life; something that gave life a meaning, an impetus. He knew that because this smelt of the opposite. Death as a terrible extension of life. He could feel IT in the marrow of his bones, the Nameless Thing. He felt cold.

Chilled,

Frozen.

IT was terror incarnate and IT was coming.

He looked back to the front door, but now instead of being just in front of him, it seemed to be down a long corridor. He took a step forward, but he knew in his heart of hearts that he would never make it. It was an illusion, the outside world. The House was the only reality he had.

"Run, rabbit; run, rabbit; run, run, run," the little girl sang.

The basement door was now nearly fully open and he ran.

Into the bookshop where the books flew all around him. He batted them away as they crowded around and dive-bombed him.

At the counter sat Ralph Higgens, but he looked away, sobbing and cowering in terror. He ran past him and to the stairs. He ran up, something bumped in his hand and jarred him, he looked down to find he still had a camera in his hands. He stopped. Where had that come from? Had he had it all along? Did it matter?

There was something coming to the foot of the stairs, something awful; something that slithered and squelched. The stench of death and decay flooded his nostrils.

He ran up to the first floor and along the hallway. In the doorway of the entertaining room stood the girl in tartan.

"No, not in here," her face a rictus of terror and she slammed the door.

He ran back to the stairs instead.

And then the lights went out.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckedy fuck," he cursed.

He stopped.

He could hear it coming. He hit the on button of the camera.

"Can't you give me light?" he called.

"The punishment is already great," William said.

"But still..." he pleaded.

He used his finger to switch to night vision and popped out the screen. He looked down the stairs, some kind of mist was billowing up. He turned and used the camera to run up the stairs. There was the study. His refuge, but refuge no more. In the doorway stood a man.

"This place be damned forever, I damned her and her love and in doing so I damned us all, I let something in, something evil, something that will damn you, me, her, all of us," Myers laughed. "I was a heartbroken fool AND YOU WILL DIE," he suddenly screamed.

Jon ran blindly on using the jarring, jiggling screen for a guide in the blackness. He looked back and there was nothing there. He slowed.

There was the lounge, but there in the doorway was Jack standing with his arm around a blonde girl. The girls they'd met when they first entered.

Jack beckoned to him to come and join them, but then the girl stepped back, on her face fear, and pulled Jack in. The door slammed shut.

Jon turned back, looking at the camera screen and the mist was thicker and seemed to pulse.

Was that a tentacle in its midst?

Was that an arm?

Was that a claw reaching up from the stairs?

He tried the door handle, but it was freezing and he jerked his hand back. He could feel that the cold had burned his skin, left some stuck to the handle.

He had to go back to go up.

"Help me, give me light," he pleaded as he ran back to the stairs.

Into the mist.

Through the mist.

He ran up for up was the only option as he felt something grope at him from the stairs, thought he heard a high pitched laugh. A gurgle, a scream, a roar and a shriek of terror. The sounds of Hell all at once.

And then he was free from the fog, above it as he clambered up the stairs; groping the bannister rather than using the camera to see. He could feel his trouser legs, tattered from the knee down and could feel the sting and the wet blood from a thousand little cuts from the Stygian fog.

And then he was up and there was nowhere else to go. He tried the back bedroom door, but it was locked. Behind it he could hear someone chanting. He banged on it, but the mist was darkening, forming, solidifying around the top of the stairs.

He ran into the upper front bedroom.

He ran the camera all over it and there seemed to be nothing in there. Not just nothing out of the ordinary, but nothing there, nothing there at all. No bed, no wardrobe, no paintings on the wall.

The lights suddenly blared to life and he dropped the camera as he threw his hands up to shield his eyes.

He brought them down and looked around. There was dust and empty cobwebs and nothing else.

He flattened his back to the wall as he watched the door. There was nothing. Nothing at all. His mind was going into overdrive, he could feel it loosening from its fastenings, to fall free from sanity into madness. Into the strange.

And then the mist came, a brown mist and it filled the doorway and through the doorway came ultimate terror, it seemed human shaped, but then a mass of tentacles, and then a cloaked figure and then as if it was spreading wings and then a tall dark man and a clawed hand reaching for him out of the mist.

And he thought it was lost. All was lost.

And he smiled as his mind snapped. It broke in two and then shattered into the wind.

IT had come.

►▼◄

Outside, Berkeley Square was silent. The first rays of the Sun were peering around gaps in the buildings, but most was still dark as the man stops on the pavement next to the park. He looks at the house and then at his pocket watch.

A nightingale dares to sing.

And then the body of Jon Baker smashes through the upper window and falls. Falls four stories and is impaled on the iron railings. His face, not a rictus of terror, but a relaxed smile.

The man by the park puts his pocket watch away. He is a tall, thin man in a black suit. He has greyish skin, but black, black hair.

He crosses the road.

Just time to put things in order before the booksellers open in the morning, he thinks.

And smiles a wicked, wicked smile.

FIN

Bonus short story!

ONCE THE MORNING COMES

Though the stars twinkled in the misty heavens blindly lightening things they either did not understand or simply chose to ignore, the night was still dark. The moon was up there somewhere giving off a lazy light. It is no surprise evil flourishes in the dark; the Sun is active, wishing to fill the world, banishing shadows at every opportunity whereas the moon was happy to leave a world of shadows and darkness, weary of the job forced upon it.

In those very shadows the man runs, sweat flying away like a vapour trail, want and need fired from his throat in short gasps. How long had he been running? It seemed like hours, but that was impossible. His mind tried to bring back how he had got to this point, where had he been when he had started? But it was a muddle, a frosty mist across his mind, as he thought he slowed and as he slowed he heard the running behind him, the panting and his terror like wasps under his skin forced him to speed up again. What was behind him? He hadn't really seen it; from its noise he imagined a large dog. Why was it chasing him? Surely a dog would have given up by now? Surely he should have. He whipped left down another alleyway looking for a main road and people. But he saw none ahead; somehow he had become lost in a maze of alleys; not knowing where he was going, where he was or what followed him. He heard trashcans crash to the floor behind him, too close, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, too close.

He turned right at a four way intersection of alleys and before him was a five-foot fence with full trash cans at its base and a duvet of garbage across the floor. Despite his fear the fence made no impression on his mind or state, he merely leapt placing one foot on a trash can and vaulting. His hands pushing him over the top of the fence and into another alleyway that called to be run down. At the end of which was a T-junction. He ran into the wall hands first and stood gasping, letting his heart slow; sweat drenched him like the warm wet caress of a woman in heat. He wondered know that maybe he had escaped, that the fence, or his meandering path had thrown the beast off his scent. The beast; that was how he thought of it. Something horrific, something primitive, something with no thought for him other than to feast.

An explosive crack sounded behind him as the beast broke through the fence, without thought the man pelted left and again along the grim gloom of the alleys, his thoughts scattering like his sweat, his scent on the air, the beast lapping it up as it followed, gained, hungered.

Finally the left wall of the alley became a fence, a fence that held the backyard of a condo building. And there was a gate, an open gate, there was a God and he was smiling tonight after all. The man whips through the gate and barely notices the swimming pool to his left that takes up most of the small yard, instead he sees the wall to the building has a glass patio door and he runs and fumbles the sunken handle pulling the door sideways. It slides silently and he is into a room, a sofa and TV are all he notices as he races through the silent moonlit room and towards stairs where he climbs, staggers, falls up the three flights to the top condo where he locks the door behind him and shuffles back to the wall, to the large windows that overlook the pool. It briefly crosses his mind that the whole building is empty and unlocked and wouldn't that be strange in another place, another time.

The door bangs, the door bends, then there is silence. The door bangs, the door bends and then there is silence. The beast is trying to get through. His back pushes against the cold window, the sweat freezes him trying to pull him to his senses, but they will to obey as the door bangs and bulges and begins to crack. He momentarily wonders at the insanity that the beast broke through the fence in one, but now struggled with a flimsy condo door. His hand slides up the window searching for the catch and finds it as the beasts muzzle breaks through the door, it is drenched with saliva and lust as it pushes through trying to open it's mouth and the crack wider. It begins to bang again with its paws as the man turns and desperately fumbles with the catch and slides the window open so hard it shatters and without looking back he leaps form the window and down into the waiting waters of the swimming pool.

\---

The Alarm rings loud and bright next to his bed as he jerks up to wakefulness. His body and bed soaked with sweat, not chlorinated water. He lands a hand on the clock shutting the alarm up for another day. His mind races, swirling mists and memories, trying to recapture the dream, the fear, the substance, but it escapes him like a lost love from childhood. The sun is still weak through the gap in the curtains yet it is time to get up and get ready for work, at least it is Friday he thinks, just today and then the long weekend. A weekend of friends, beer, good weather and better laughs. He walks to the bathroom and reaches in flipping the light on before entering. As he steps in, the beast decapitates him in one lazy sweep, his head rolling lazily back into the bedroom to soak the new carpet with its owner's blood.
If you enjoyed this book, perhaps you would consider helping a brother out and rating or reviewing it? IT really could change my life...

Still, while you're here, why not check out the following extracts by the same author:

The ADVENTURES IN SPACE series

The TSAR Trilogy

Book 1

The Trimedian

A NOT SO QUIET SATURDAY (extract)

"Jase? Where you been? I've been trying to call you," It was Jason's best friend Milk. Though he had no idea why he was called this and neither, seemingly, did Milk.

"Yes, that's why I've had my phone off."

"Well it's not off now."

"No, I can see that. I'm trying to have a peaceful Saturday."

"Ahhh," came Milk's voice down the line, it was one of those 'ahhh's that says I'm about to ruin whatever it was that you were doing before I came along. "Well, we need to meet up and chat, well I say chat, more like incredibly long, serious conversation that is best taken place in a pub over a number of beers, the effect of which will help you to believe it was all a dream the next day until I turn up and say it again."

"I've got a free Saturday," said Jason frowning.

"Great, I'll come over now."

"No, I mean I have a free Saturday and I'm enjoying it that way."

"Ahh, valkswagon. A free Saturday is hard to come by in this day and age."

Milk was vexed, he had seriously life changing news for Jase, news that could not wait; but at the same time you don't want to be the person to spoil a free Saturday.

"Weeeeelllll, why don't we just go to the pub for a pint or two? That's still regular fare for a free Saturday, is it not?"

"I guess..." said Jason feeling lured.

"Brilliant, see you at the 'Horse's Arse' in thirty minutes," and he hung up the phone.

Jason turned his phone off and got back to his sandwich. His phone promptly switched itself back on to pass on the information it had just heard, little did it know that this was the beginnings of the best piece of gossip in history, gossip that would make the phone famous across the globe, or at least as famous as phones can be.

As he ate, Jason thought about his friend, Milk. He had known him five years, which equated to his whole life as Jason had come out of a coma five years ago with no memory about anything before. The only thing or person he vaguely recognised was Milk who filled him in with everything and helped him get back to life.

Allegedly Jason had been in a car crash, though he had no knowledge of how to drive when he woke up. The doctors were quite frankly astounded that he could remember absolutely nothing and more astounded that despite this he made a full recovery. And even more astounded that said full recovery took him a mere ten minutes after he awoke. Jason Wellgood, they would say, was a strange case. Just how strange a case the man himself was about to find out over a pint of local bitter.

***

"Well," said Milk once they were seated with a pint each, "where to begin? Hmm, I think I'll begin with a drink."

He began tipping the booze down his neck and Jason took the chance to peruse his friend. Milk was a quite frankly huge Indian guy who had a penchant for wearing a turban merely for the look. 'Makes me feel like a real Indian' he was want to say. Milk must have been seven foot if not a bit more and was built like a brick outhouse for want of a more polite turn of phrase. He also had an incredibly posh voice when they first met, though that had slowly included more London mockney as the years went by. He was dressed in a silver tracksuit that was beyond hideous, but how do you go about telling a seven foot Indian he looks like a nonce? Jason, himself, was wearing the classic American combination of white T shirt and jeans along with his standard faded red leather jacket.

He took a deep drink of his own beer, which was logical, and asked, "So?"

"Right, yes, well. More beer?"

"No."

"No, right, well, so, er... the accident, then, five years ago."

Jason suddenly had a deep sense of unease, he also had a shallow sense of unease, but no one ever seems to care about them, do they? Did Milk know something that he wasn't telling him?

"Do you know something you're not telling me?"

"In a word, yes. That whole accident thing was a bit of a lie."

Jason put his pint down a little too hard. "A bit of a lie? What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, basically, it never actually happened. We wiped your memory."

"You... you what?"

"Wiped your memory."

Jason sat in bewilderment. He'd never been there before and though it seemed an interesting place in a Jackson Pollock sort of way, it was not a place he wanted to stay in for more than a few minutes. Much like student poetry recitals.

"Wait a minute. We? You said 'we' wiped my memory; who's we?"

"Well, I think we ought to come back to that later. There are more, er, puzzling things for you to discover first. Go and get us a pint each whilst I collect my thoughts."

Jason could have argued, but there didn't really seem any point, and he could do with more booze. Milk sat there staring at the back of his huge hands, he slowly turned them over and let his eyes follow the lines of his palms, more like crevasses than lines really. He sighed; he would miss Earth and this thought surprised him, he was disappointed to come here five years ago, hidden away from the rest of the Universe, but he really didn't have much choice if he was honest with himself and it was a cushy gig. That was what he couldn't work out, and still hadn't, why those in charge had let him come, done something so, well, nice. It was out of character.

Still he'd grown to like the planet; it was famous for a number of reasons, despite its backwardness. For one, Earth seemed to have a regenerative effect on those who did not live there and so had many famous (and hidden from Earthens) spas. Just a week on Earth could have you looking and feeling a year younger.

Secondly, the thing with Earthens was that their backwardness meant they concentrated on things no one else did. Like perfecting a good pint, inventing the guitar, jokes, TV. No one else in the Universe bothered too much with TV because if they wanted to escape, wanted adventure, they just went out and found it rather than get it vicariously through a box. On the other hand, you'd never find Jimi Hendrix on any other planet as no one would spend that much concentration on a musical instrument. He was glad Earth was as it was for this reason; the Universe without Jimi wasn't really a universe at all.

Jason plonked himself down with two pints and a packet of pork scratchings.

"So where were we? Ahh, yes, you were drivelling on about wiping my memory. I'd think you were joking, but you don't really get jokes do you?"

Milk was aggrieved. "I think I've gotten a lot better at understanding them over the last five years, I even made that girl laugh last week at the Jamestown Club!"

"Well, I'll give you that; it was pretty funny, though I can't actually remember what you said."

Milk sighed, no he couldn't either, damn his penchant for vodka jellies. He just remembered the warm surge of pride as they all laughed and now he was glad he had got one good one in before they left.

"Anyway, we're getting away from ourselves."

"I'd like to be getting away from you."

"Not going to happen anytime soon. Listen your name isn't really Jason Wellgood, you're not really a writer, and you don't even really come from Earth."

"Excuse me?" Jason didn't really believe his ears, his friend had always been a bit odd, but it seemed he had finally snapped.

"Your name isn't really Jason Wellgood, you're not really a writer, and you don't even really come from Earth."

Best to take this calmly, don't freak out, help your friend, listen to his delusions and then ever so gently suggest some help.

"So what is my name?" this was an ever so wrong moment to take a sip of his pint.

"Chase Darkstaar."

Jason splat his pint across the table, gagged and coughed at the same time, belched and then laughed. "Chase Darkstaar? That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, I know," said Milk somewhat gloomily.

"You're serious aren't you?" Jason frowned.

As previously mentioned Milk wasn't the greatest punster and this kind of trickery would be beyond him even if he had gone mad. Jason didn't know why, but something in his friend's face convinced him that Milk was telling the truth. I guess that is what friendship is, isn't it? Being willing to trust your friend on a look; believing the most farfetched truths.

"Your name is Chase Darkstaar and you are an intergalactic hitman. Basically you hid something very important and then came to Earth and had your memory wiped so that even if someone found you, you couldn't tell them where it was."

"Er... why?"

"That I have never been able to work out."

"Right and so a/ where do you come into all this, b/ why are you telling me now and c/ what did I hide?"

Despite the obvious lunacy Jason kind of wanted it to be true so that he would not lose his friend to an asylum and so that his life might be somewhat more exciting.

"Well, c/ I don't know; a/ I'm your friend and assistant in all things, when you chose this job I had to come and make sure everything was OK. Make sure you settled into Earth life etc. and b/ I'm telling you this now because there is an intergalactic WAR brewing and it is very possible that people will come looking for you to get whatever it is that you hid."

"Right. Sooo..." He took a long gulp of beer. "What's the plan?"

"Well, I have to prove all this to you I suppose."

"Good place to start."

"Then we need to try and get your memory back so that you can find whatever you hid and divert the WAR."

"Right. So how come nobody on Earth knows about said intergalactic shenanigans?"

"It's a long story best told in space, but you will quickly discover that Earth is a very backward planet, heck Earthens still war against themselves. Idiots."

"But we are Earthlings."

"Well yes and no. We are human, our ancestry is on Earth, but neither of us were born there. Again I will fill you in in space."

"In space?"

"In space." Milk got up and Jason followed suit.

"Tell me one thing."

"OK"

"You say I was a hitman?"

"That's right, the best."

"Was I a nice guy?"

Milk blushed and looked at his canoe-esque feet. "Erm, no not really."

"Oh."

### Pray for Rain

Part 1

The Casinos of Haffir

CHAPTER 1

"This has to be your worst idea yet," Rainsford Tsyrker shouted into her comms.

" _Worse than Tornin?"_ Stephen Regrette asked.

"It's OK for you, you're not out here."

The 'out here' she referred to was crawling along the roof of the high speed train between the cities of Rachain and Faloo. It hovered over a rail that was held high above the ground by boosters and she could only be thankful that the entrance hatch was on the roof and not between the train and the rail. She was on the roof of the cargo carriage and though she was close to the loading hatch the wind was making it hard to get anywhere.

She unlocked one of her grip magnets and pushed it forward before locking it again. Then she did the same with the other hand. How had she gotten this job? Grant was in the train somewhere comfortably while Regrette was in high altitude ready to swoop in once the package was secured.

It was her own fault, back on Lancow II, the last job they'd done, she'd poked fun at them for nearly failing because they weren't fit enough to cope. They hadn't said that, but she knew that was why it was her stuck on the roof. Though to be fair, she smiled to herself, either of them would have been sucked under the train by now.

"I'm at the hatch," she said.

" _Nicely done,"_ Ben Grant replied.

"How're the cocktails?"

" _A little sweet for my liking, but I'm surviving."_

"Poor you."

" _I know, but taking one for the team."_

He sounded smug, she knew he was baiting her and she wouldn't let him.

"How's it look in there?"

" _Hard to get too close, but the guards seem bored, but alert."_

"OK, well attaching the breaker now. Gulch?"

" _I've got the signal,"_ Gulch said from the ship. _"Breaking the alarm now."_

The breaker made a helpful _ping_ and a little light went from red to green.

" _Now for the lock,"_ Gulch said as the light went back to red.

The hatch was big, used for cranes to lower large cargo in and she was going to have to use the slipstream from the train's velocity to fling it open. That would alert the guards and then they had a very small window of opportunity to grab and escape.

" _Ahh,"_ said Regrette.

"Ahh, what?" Tsyrker said angrily as she was trying to manoeuvre into position.

" _Readings on the long range scan. Moving in fast."_

" _Company?"_ Grant asked

" _Looks like Durden Raiders."_

" _Shabbus. Come to steal what we're stealing,"_ Grant swore.

"We're not stealing it," Rainsford reminded him.

" _Retrieving didn't have the same ring to it."_

" _Either way, you need to move,"_ Regrette urged.

"Gulch?"

" _There, lock is open."_

Rainsford had left one of her grip magnets down by her leg and held onto the other as she pulled a crowbar from her suit and pried open the hatch. She let go of the grip and skidded back before grabbing the other, just far enough away not to get smashed by the hatch as the wind got under and yanked it open. She then threw herself forward, grabbing the closer grip and swung herself inside.

***

As she was doing this Ben Grant was sauntering up to the guards at the door to the cargo carriage. They were bored enough not to notice him until he got nice and close.

"Stop there."

"About that," he said when there was a loud crash from the roof of the cargo carriage.

The two guards pulled guns and as they did so Grant fired an electrode at each. Hitting them in the neck it sent through enough electricity to knock them out.

He ran up and attached a breaker.

"Gulch?"

" _Easy this one,"_ Gulch replied and then the breaker beeped and the light went green.

Grant pulled open the door to find Rainsford already in.

"Where?" she shouted over the din of the wind.

He looked around.

"There."

He turned around as she went for the case.

"Trouble coming," he shouted.

Guards were coming down the train. Heavily armed guards.

"Get us out of here," Rainsford shouted.

" _Here we come."_

Above them their ship, The Wraith, dropped through the sky and thrust forward until it was keeping track of the train. A rope with harnesses fell through the open hatch and they both strapped in.

"Up," Grant commanded as the guards closed in.

The rope retracted and they were pulled through the hatch. As they did so Tsyrker dropped a smoke grenade through.

"Definitely Raiders," Grant said and she looked behind her.

There was one larger ship with three fighters and they were closing fast.

"How'd they know?" she asked.

"Let's worry about that later, shall we? Can you hurry this up a bit?"

" _The winch winches as the winch winches,"_ Gulch philosophised.

"Nice," Grant replied.

"Worse than Tornin," Rainsford said to herself.

She swung around and managed to pull her machinegun off of her back as the Raider ships got ever closer.

"You'll make us a target," Grant shouted over the wind.

"You don't think we already are?" she shouted back.

"What? Little old innocent us?"

Rainsford humphed and tried to get aim on one of the fighters. She opened fire just before their ship did and the Durden Raiders split up to avoid the laser fire.

Grant looked down to see guards in the now smoke free cargo carriage aiming up at them. He pulled Tsyrker's pistol and fired down at them. He tried his best not to actually hit them as they swung wildly on the rope.

One of the fighters was coming around behind them and Grant twisted his body so that they swung around on the rope and Rainsford blasted at it. Not that her laser fire would dent the ship's hull, but they couldn't just dangle there. It would look unprofessional and a little lazy.

The ship peeled off as it got blasted by Regrette from The Wraith, but that left the larger ship to try and swoop in.

"4 o'clock," Grant shouted and watched as Regrette re-aimed.

They were finally reaching the ship as the Durden ship tried again to get close enough to snatch them off of the rope. Or at least the case they had taken from the train. A door was opening in the Durden ship as Regrette focussed his firepower on the two fighters. Rainsford could see a man with a long range rifle in the doorway and she sprayed at him with her laser. The man ducked inside and then reappeared, but it was too late, they were finally being taken up into The Wraith.

"We're in, let's go," Grant shouted as they stripped off the harnesses.

The hatch slid shut below them and they ran to the bridge.

"Take the guns," Regrette ordered as they entered.

He was vacating the gunner's chair and taking the helm. Rainsford took the gunner's chair and pulled down the screen. From here she could control all the guns, front, roof and hull, using a joystick on each of the chair arms. There was a second gunner's chair to make the whole thing a lot easier, but she could cope on her own using a three-way split screen.

The ship pulled up and away and she spun the hull guns to blast at the larger Durden ship as it wheeled around to give chase.

"Be ready for more in space," Grant warned.

"Long range scanners aren't picking anything up," Gulch said from the navigator's seat.

Gulch was a Petruthsian, a race of large slug-like creatures who could raise up on their stubby tails to use a number of tentacles.

"Probably keeping back for exactly that reason. Didn't want to tip their hand," Grant said leaning over to look at the scanner.

"Well, game's up now, they'll be moving in."

"Not just them," Regrette said. "InterG ships inbound."

"Great," Grant sighed. "Don't shoot them."

"What am I, a criminal?" Tsyrker shot back.

"They seem to think so," Grant shrugged and walked out of the bridge.

The Wraith shot through the atmosphere and into space. The Durden Raider ships followed with the InterGalactic Police ships behind them. Neither were giving up the chase.

"What's so damned important about this thing?" Regrette said angrily.

"One of the Stones of Tampala," Gulch said. "Very rare, very expensive. Stolen from our client. Very interesting, the Stones, go way back in the mythology of the Kadinar people. You see..."

"Mssh, time and place, Gulch," Regrette said tersely as he jinked the ship left to dodge laser fire. "Coordinates plotted?."

"Right, yes, well, another time perhaps. Plotting now."

"Look forward to it," Regrette ironicalised as he dodged more laser fire from the Durdens. "Can't you do something about them?"

"Surprisingly, they're being evasive," Rainsford sarcasticised.

The arrival of the InterG was to her advantage though. The larger Durden ship had held back as the faster fighters dived in and out trying to cripple The Wraith. With the InterG ships coming up behind them, the Durden ship was forced closer and the fighters were forced to hang back and protect it from front and rear. She got a good shot at the Durden ship as it dodged fire from the InterG.

"Here we are. Durden cruiser on the long range, closing in," Gulch said.

"They won't get involved, just rescue their ships from this mess," Regrette said.

"Agreed," agreed Gulch.

"We still here?" Grant asked from the door.

"Just about to leave," Regrette said spinning left to avoid laser fire. "Coordinates?"

"In," Gulch told him.

"Then let's get out of here," he said and hit the lightspeed boosters.

***

They slowed down in the black void of deep space. Except it wasn't completely void. There was a ship there. Much larger than The Wraith which came and docked in it's hanger.

"Not using the secret hanger?" Grant asked.

"I'm not sticking around," Regrette replied.

"Busy busy."

"I actually think I need a holiday; I only get shot at when I work with you."

"Hey, now, that's because you hide in the shadows normally," Grant said.

"Use, not hide. We've been through this," Regrette chided. "Sort of the point about assassinations, y'know?"

"What about you, Rain?" Grant asked.

"I also don't get shot at. Unless I'm with you," she added as they walked down the ramp.

"What about my money?" Regrette asked.

"I've made contact, you'll have it in a few days."

"Good," Regrette nodded to himself and then turned and walked back up the ramp and into his ship.

It took off as they reached the end of the hanger bay.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Rainsford asked.

"What?"

"What he does."

"You thinking calling it Naval Special Forces is better?"

"Yes," she replied angrily. "I work to protect the UTN and it's people."

"Different packaging, same product," Grant shrugged.

"Oh, get off your high horse, Ben."

She strode off.

"You're mouth moves faster than your brain, Ben," Gulch said.

"Yeah," Grant sighed and ran a hand through his short mop of curls. "Valkswagon."

"I'll get us moving, go and apologise before making contact. I do think we should return the package before it kills us," Gulch said and slithered off.

The Book of Five Worlds

Book I

The Foreshadow of Balance

CHAPTER I

It was a horrible day, not because it was cold, but because Brandon had taken his money again. He still had his secret money so that was OK, but Brandon hadn't left it there. He had been teased through English for answering too many questions and then they had ruined his science experiment and he had been sent out by the teacher. By the time he came home he was miserable and went straight out into the garden. His Dad had some big talk coming up and was still busy in his study and that suited Dylan just fine. The evening was cold; his Dad had taught him that heat goes up from the ground and gets trapped by clouds keeping it warm when the Sun goes down. But there were no clouds this evening and it was still light outside though not for much longer.

He was playing with his plastic knights plus an evil wizard and a big stuffed toy dragon. He had gone through the portal in the shed and the red dragon was a lot bigger than him and his fellow knight and there was no way they were going to beat it unless they could convince the evil wizard to help.

He looked again at the shed; he hated school and studying and those stupid bullies. They thought he was stupid, but he wasn't, he was smart and they didn't like him for that. He wished he really could go through a portal; he wished he could find the magic on Earth and use it to go away. Take him and his Dad somewhere, bring his Mum back.

But she couldn't come back, not even with magic. He didn't really understand it, but his Dad said she had gone to a better place. If he could learn magic, maybe he could take him and his Dad to that better place to be with Mum.

And then the shed door exploded out and a great big grey pig ran out into the garden squealing, steam coming out of its nose, its snout, in great clouds and then it stopped suddenly. It looked left and then right and then straight at Dylan. He wanted to scream, but nothing would come out and then a huge man ran out of the shed.

He wore thick fur instead of a coat and Dylan could only think that he looked dirty. The man stopped just like the pig and looked around. He looked at Dylan and moved towards him and then stopped and looked at the pig which was looking between them. They both looked surprised.

And then Dylan screamed for his Dad.

The pig turned in a circle looking for somewhere to run, and the man moved again toward Dylan, who could now see he had long thick hair and a beard to match with some kind of dirty green trousers on and a metal shirt under the big fur coat thing. And on his back a big two bladed battle axe.

"Dad! Help!"

And then Dylan's Dad ran into the garden with a cricket bat in his hand and stopped as suddenly as the pig and the man had.

"Who are you?" Dad demanded.

"How do we go?" the man asked back in a deep voice.

"Get out of my garden now."

"Your garden?"

"Get out now or I'll use this," he held up the bat, but the man unslung the axe.

"And then I would have to use this. But I don't want to," at the sight of the axe the pig finally made up its mind and ran back to the shed and disappeared inside.

"Now I've lost my dinner," the man said and seemed sad.

"Sorry," said Dylan.

"It wasn't your fault, I should have grabbed it. But where am I?"

"I'm going to call the police now," Dylan's Dad said.

"The what?"

"What's wrong?" Dylan asked the man.

"Dylan, come here," his Dad said. "This man has been drinking."

Dylan understood this. When you drink something called booze you got funny in the head and did stupid things. Sometimes Dad drank booze and got sad about Mum and cried. He didn't like that.

"I haven't had a drop all day," the big man argued. "I wish I had some now for this is greatly vexing."

"Dad has some booze."

"Dylan, stop talking and come here," and Dylan walked past the man, as far away as he could, and Dad relaxed a little when he was next to him. "OK, put the axe away, man."

"Once you put down your... what is this strange weapon you carry?"

"It's a cricket bat, it's for a game," Dylan told him because the man didn't seem dangerous, just confused.

And then the man threw back his head and laughed.

"You threaten me with a bat from a game?" and he laughed again and Dad lowered the bat.

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

"From the shed," Dylan answered.

"The shed?" the man asked. "No, I come from the forest town of Capel in Collyshire."

"Right," Dylan's Dad said.

"And where am I now? Is this Shed?"

"No, that's the shed," Dylan said and pointed. The man looked at it and then slowly looked back at them.

"What world am I on?" he asked slowly.

"That's enough," Dad started.

"What world am I on?" the man asked more angrily.

"Earth," Dylan said and the man seemed to go white through the dirt and suntan.

"No."

"Yes."

"The Fifth World."

"What did you say?" Dad asked.

"The Fifth World."

"You better come inside."

"What's going on Dad?"

"What's your name?" he asked the man, but he didn't answer, just looked around. "What's your name?"

"What? Lucas."

"You better come inside, Lucas, we need that booze."

{+}

They sat in the study, it wasn't very big and it was stuffed with books, a desk and two comfy chairs. It seemed even smaller with Lucas in there. He stood and just looked around while Dad poured him a glass of something which he took in his big hands. Everything seemed small compared to Lucas, Dylan thought.

"Sit down, Lucas, let me find something," Dad said and started looking through his books. Lucas took off his axe and squeezed into a chair and Dylan stood next to him.

"Why do you need such a big axe?"

He looked down at Dylan. "I don't if I think about it, I just like it."

"Do you kill people?"

"Sometimes, if needs must."

"Right, here it is," Dylan's Dad said holding a big old book.

"What is this?"

"It's a collection; most people thought the writer was an idiot. He put together all the ancient references to the Five Worlds. Look," he flipped open a few pages and showed them to Lucas while Dylan craned to see.

"This can't be true," Lucas shook his head.

"But it is, isn't it? You come from a different world."

"No, this is some magic cast upon me," Lucas shouted and stood up. Dylan staggered backwards and trod on the remote control switching the TV on to the news.

"AARRRGGGHH!" Lucas cried staring at the box. "What by thunder is that?"

"It's a television," Dylan said.

"How do the people get inside?" he was scared.

"They're not inside, silly, they are somewhere else, we can just see them."

"Like a Seer's Orb?"

"No," Dad said, "it runs on electricity, look," he bent down and picked up the remote and showed Lucas how the channels changed.

"Quickly, man, what is your name?"

"Connor James and this is my son Dylan."

"Connor James, explain quickly what this electrickery is."

"Well, you burn coal to make it and then it powers just about everything we use."

Lucas stood and thought about it.

"Coal comes from the ground?"

"Yes, it's animals that died millions of years ago."

"I must go," Lucas said.

"No, stay," said Dylan.

"I will be back, but this is all too much for me. I am not a clever man."

They followed him through the house as he looked at everything, touching things here and there until they were back at the shed. And then he stopped.

"I don't know what to do. Who can I talk to?"

"I don't understand," Connor James said.

"This is too big for my understanding, yet I understand that this is important. Who will use this information for good? The wrong people would use the portal to change the Balance. What if the Chinerthian Queen finds out? But maybe we can use this to defeat her, but, but I don't know."

"Who is the Chinerthian Queen?" Dylan asked.

"I will be back, I don't know how long, but no longer than a week," Lucas said. "Farewell Connor and Dylan of The Shed," he said and then strode through the shed door and disappeared.

Dylan moved towards it, but his Dad grabbed him.

"No. We don't know what is on the other side, or whether we could get back again."

{+}

The next day at school went past as if in a dream. The bullies tried to take his lunch money, but he didn't even notice them.

"Where's my money, pussy?"

"What?" Dylan asked not really even hearing as he continued to walk around the playground.

"My money. What are you deaf?"

"Hmm, no," kept on walking.

"Hey, come back here!" they ran around in front of him, but he changed direction and kept walking and thinking about Lucas and the shed and, what was it called? The portal.

"He's talking to you," someone shouted, but they gave up chasing him as he wandered. He thought he heard someone say something about being 'crazy'.

That evening he stood in the cold back garden staring at the open shed. The doorway was pitch black even though there was enough light coming from the house to see inside. He tried to remember all the things that he should be able to see, the lawn mower, their bikes, a hose, some gardening tools. But he could see nothing. He wondered what was on the other side really. A forest he thought. Lucas had said he came from a forest town and he'd been chasing a big pig. Would the forest be bright and green or dark and scary? Was it winter there too? Lucas had been wearing big furs so he thought it must be. But what he had been thinking about all day in school was what his Dad had said about five worlds. Not just one, but five.

And now he heard his Dad come out of the house, felt him come and stand next to him and they both stood and stared at the shed.

"Can you believe it?" his Dad asked.

"Can you?" he asked and looked up at his Dad. He wasn't sure he could, but if his Dad could...

"Come inside and let me show you a few things."

They walked inside to the study and his Dad sat down at his desk and lifted Dylan onto his lap. Then he opened the big book he had shown Lucas.

"OK, so throughout all the old mythologies; you know what they are?"

"Like a story?"

"Yes, exactly. Throughout them all there are hints and thoughts and stories about the Five Worlds. From Old Norse to ancient Chinese. They were never very big because even back then people thought it was silly, right?"

"OK."

"But this guy, Dr. Fozz..."

"That's a funny name."

"Yeah, it is; anyway, he studied it for years, all the clues, travelled the world and wrote this book. You see a lot of stories and myths never got written down, but they got passed on verbally."

"Verbally?"

"Verbally means speaking. So what Dr. Fozz found was that there are five worlds all connected by portals."

"Like in our shed."

"Exactly, but as people on Earth became more interested in science, medicine and money, they stopped believing in myths and magic and the portal to Earth closed."

"Why?"

"Because something can't exist if no one believes in it. If someone was walking in the forest and they thought they saw a unicorn in the forest, just somewhere in the trees, they wouldn't believe they saw a unicorn, they would believe they saw a horse and the light or the trees made it look like it had a horn. You see?"

"I think so. But why would there be a portal in our shed?"

"I don't know. But we have to be careful; we can't go through the portal, OK?"

"OK."

"Really."

"OK, OK."

"And we have to be careful; we don't know what might come out. Remember the pig?"

"Yeah, that was scary."

"Right."

"Do you think Lucas will come back?"

"I don't know. I think so, but I didn't really understand what he was talking about before he left, I need to read more now, OK?"

"Yeah."

His Dad put him down and turned him so they were looking into each other's eyes.

"Don't go near the portal. We wait for Lucas, OK?"

"Yes, Dad," he turned to leave. "Can I at least go out and look at it?"

His Dad smiled.

"If I said no, you would sneak out anyway," he got up and found a metal poker from the fireplace that had never been used. "If you do, keep this with you in case another animal comes out. And then shout for me," he smiled and Dylan smiled back.

In the Valley of Elah

CHAPTER ONE

The door creaked open in the same way my secretary does her job, stubbornly half-hearted. It couldn't even be bothered to open all the way and the man who was trying to enter had to give it another push. I wished straightaway that it had been better at keeping closed, or that my secretary was better at telling people I was out to lunch.

"Mr. Harker," the man said holding his hat in his hands.

I held a palm out to the chair in front of my desk and he walked over and sat. I scratched my throat with the back of my fingers.

"What can I do for you, Houngan?"

"So you know who I am," the man said simply.

I did, his name was DeSalle, he was a good twenty years older than me (which tells you nothing at this point, though my secretary might tell you that only makes him thirty) and had skin so dark it had a blue tinge in the dusty electric light. His eyes were dark and the sclera, you know the white part, was more a milky yellow, like cigarette stained wallpaper that used to be fancy. He wore a cheap suit with a crumpled pork pie hat that I admired before answering.

"You're a Houngan, a Voodoo priest. It's DeSalle, isn't it?"

"It is. I'm not local so I'm impressed you know me," he nodded to himself in some form of approval.

"It's kinda my job," I shrugged. It was on the door, I mean what's the point of words if people aren't going to read them?

"It is, and that's why I'm here."

"So you can read."

"What?"

"I like your hat," I said and I did. I like hats.

"You like hats."

I said that.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

He pulled a crumpled newspaper from inside his suit.

"I get the paper," I said, but I often didn't. Have I mentioned my lazy secretary?

"Then you will have seen this," he opened the paper and showed me.

Maybe he had already heard about my secretary.

"Voodoo sacrifice."

"That's what the papers are saying," he said, but not before a tired sigh.

"And you disagree."

"I do."

"And what's it got to do with me?" I asked.

"You're a private detective specialising in the occult," he said and the sign on the door paid for itself.

"So I'm thinking you want me to show it had nothing to do with Voodoo."

"Yes," he nodded earnestly.

I shook my head for effect.

"Can't do. This is murder, this is police business."

"I don't want you to trouble them. I just want someone who knows what they are talking about to point out that this is not a Voodoo sacrifice. We don't do things like that, Mr Harker."

"I know that."

"So you already know that we are being targeted unfairly," he was getting more upset about it so I looked at the article.

"All the hallmarks of a Voodoo sacrifice," I said.

"Which you know we don't do."

"Someone in your congregation might have."

"Then you don't know my congregation."

"I know you are meddling with Satan, Houngan."

"We do good; Voodoo does good, Mr. Harker."

"You're playing with spirits, Houngan, there's only one type that would go along with another religion," I said in my best stern voice.

"I was told you would be like this," he said.

"Celebrity," I said.

"And I was told to come to you anyway because you wouldn't let innocents suffer, because you know the truth of these things," he kneaded his hat.

"Alright," I said with hands up.

He was right. Practitioners of Voodoo didn't go around sacrificing people, at least not anymore, and even a quick read through of the article made the whole thing seem suspicious. It was too much like what you thought a Voodoo sacrifice would look like. It was Voodoo in a way that anyone with a little knowledge (probably from a film) would not look any closer at.

"You think someone is trying to pin this on your temple," I said.

"Yes," he seemed relieved. "Who we are and who people think we are is very different."

"Yes, it's much worse," I frowned.

"We see things very differently," he said.

"Yes, you are wrong, dangerously so, and I am right," I said leaning back in my chair.

"So be it," he said looking down.

"No," I said forcefully. "Not so be it."

"I was told you would be like this," he said as if it was a mantra.

I tossed up between angry and resigned and went for the latter, as I so often did.

"They won't let me get in the way of a murder investigation," I said.

"Not one of us can stop nor change the media, but we can present the real facts anyway. I worry that we will be persecuted, or someone will be prosecuted just because of how the media sees us," he said.

I felt sorry for him. Voodoo was famous in the media, especially films, and none of it was positive. It was all witchcraft and Voodoo dolls and actually they had quite a positive religion. They thought they were doing good for their god, Bondye, a bastardisation of Bon Dieu. The problem being that they were deceived. Being deceived by evil spirits to keep them away from the one true God.

I looked to the print on my wall, Hopper's 'Nighthawks'. I was being asked again to help someone, asked to do His work. Oh, yes, I already knew it was His work, I could feel it. This wasn't Voodoo, this was something else that they wanted people to attribute to the movie version of Voodoo. It was a cover and the question that burned in my gut was, for what?

"Alright. I should be able to see the body, should be able to show that this wasn't Voodoo."

"Oh, thank you," he almost deflated in my chair, you know, like someone had put a pin in him. "You don't think it is Voodoo."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. It has all the hallmarks of Voodoo, the problem here is that it doesn't have any meaning behind it. I don't want to find that meaning, Houngan."

"You won't," he said standing.

"See yourself out, my secretary won't," I said.

"My card," he said putting it on my desk before leaving. He stopped at the door. "Thank you, Harker."

"Get out," I said staring at the ceiling.

He left and seconds later my secretary entered.

"You're surprisingly eager," I said to the ceiling.

"This isn't the Mash is it?"

"I don't think so."

"You think we're on, don't you?"

"What makes you say that?" I asked looking at her.

"The sad resignation on your face."

"You say that with scorn, Adelaide, but you haven't seen the things I have," I said deciding to look at the ceiling again.

She left. I played the game of trying to decide how old she was. At least ten years older than me, but she was in incredible shape and that twisted things. Much better shape than I was in now. Her face was unlined and that made me think younger, but the way she carried herself, talked to people all pointed to older. She could be twenty years older than me. I really didn't know her that well at all, knew little to nothing of her past.

I stared at the ceiling. My chair had a good recline feature, and thinking of it now, Adelaide chose it for me. Apparently she knows me better than I know her.

This wasn't the Mash, of course it wasn't, this was murder. The Mash, if you must know, is what I do most days. Nix that, what I do most days is very little. I like to stare. At things, in things, out of things, it's not much of a hobby, but a man has to have something.

When I'm not staring at things I'm investigating the paranormal. Well, I say 'paranormal' and hell, I say investigating, but as ghosts and the like don't actually exist I don't have to do much investigating. You might be surprised though at how little time I have for my hobby; spirituality and a belief in the occult has risen steadily in the last howevermanyyears despite the progress of science and technology. So I charge people to tell them that their ghost is a banging water pipe or tricks of light and/or sound.

You know of infrasound? It's sound below 20Hz, which is the limit of our hearing. Basically noises below this can cause feelings of fear and dread and some can cause hallucinations. A lot of the time my job is finding out what in the building is causing those sounds.

But then there's the other work I do, the real work. The whole paranormal stuff is just a front, a way to pay the bills. This was definitely the other stuff if it was anything at all. I really hoped it would be nothing; that I could show that it wasn't Voodoo so the police wouldn't bark up the wrong tree and then go home. Maybe stare at something for a while. But I had a feeling in my heart that told me different.

†

I'd managed to get an appointment with the detective leading the case, a Detective Garrett, and she hadn't sounded too enthused at meeting with me. It's tough to get taken seriously when you're a ghost hunter and I can appreciate that. No wonder Adelaide was so grumpy, what would her friends think of her job? Or future boyfriends?

"I don't have time for this," Detective Garret told me.

"It is prime staring time," I nodded and she gave me a quizzical glare as we entered a little office.

"What?"

I sat down without being asked.

"I just need to see the body," I said as I had on the phone.

"So you said. Not happening."

"It's not Voodoo," I said.

"That's not what I'm told."

"It kinda looks like Voodoo," I replied.

"I already know that," she frumped.

"But it isn't."

"Oh no?"

"Nope."

She sighed and stared at the corner where the ceiling met the walls.

"I have work to do," she said.

"As do I."

"Do you?" she looked at me.

"Well, outside of this, no. Not really."

"Then I'm the only one here having their time wasted."

"I'm here to save you wasted time. That and to help the Voodoo community," I said.

"Because this isn't Voodoo despite our experts saying that it is."

"Did they?"

"I just said they did."

She had a point there.

"They said it was definitely Voodoo, did they?"

She thought about it briefly.

"Not definitely, no."

"Here's my issue, the issue of my client. Why would they do it? Why would you do a Voodoo sacrifice and make it so public? There's nothing in Voodoo that says a sacrifice should be public; as long as it's done, it's done. There are plenty of places to do it and never get caught."

She thought about it and I liked her for it. Thinking is becoming overrated in society and that's a problem.

"Criminals aren't smart," she said finally.

"This isn't a criminal activity to them, it's part of their religion."

"Why would anyone else do it? Why make it public and try and frame someone else? Like you say, there're plenty of places to do it secretly."

"I'd need to look at the body, the crime scene photos, the crime scene if I could, to answer that question."

She laughed.

"You really think I'm going to let you go to the crime scene?"

"No," I shrugged. I was used to this.

She looked around the room again. There was still nothing to see so I guessed she was weighing it up. In these instances it's wise to keep your mouth shut. Says a lot about me. I had a quick stare out the window.

"I'm not trying to jump in on your investigation, my client just wants something to say to the media when the inevitable happens."

"Oh yeah?" she turned on me. "And what is that?"

I stood up, this was a standing moment. I paced for effect and to not look like I was challenging her.

"Two things bug me. One is that the media already has this and has so much detail," she grimaced about that. "The second thing is a minor detail in the form of a Star of David."

"What of it?"

"It's got nothing to do with Voodoo. People connect Voodoo with Satanism and so don't think about it."

"So it's done by amateurs, but it still begs the question why."

I didn't answer, but thought about it again. It was really the sole reason that this wasn't the Mash, wasn't just something linked to the occult. There were plenty of murders that got linked to Satanism and other such things, and no doubt Satan got a kick out of them, but they weren't for or by him. The idea that Satan wants human sacrifices is a myth, that's not what he's interested in, that's lowbrow for him.

A little off topic, but I remember a case I was asked to advise on where a Christian had been killed in a supposed satanic ritual. I pointed out that the last thing Satan would want is a Christian to be killed and go to Heaven before Satan had a chance to break their faith.

"It's a sign," I said at last. I didn't want to say it. I didn't want it to be anything more than the Mash.

"A sign?" she asked with eyebrows raised. "For who?"

"That doesn't matter to you, it really doesn't."

"If you know something you'll be obstructing justice by not telling me," she said.

I laughed. I shouldn't have, I didn't mean to, but I did. When it came to justice I often didn't, couldn't, work by the Law's definition.

"All I need is to see the body and then I've done what I've been paid for. I won't get in your way after that."

She looked at me and I looked at her, our eyes pierced each other until she looked away.

"OK. I can't see the harm, but if you're holding out..." she left the threat hanging.

I plucked it up.

"I'm not."

†

There wasn't much of the body left, but there was more than would have been if it had been a Voodoo sacrifice. You see, in Voodoo the sacrifice means something, every action and the way it is performed, means something. This body was roughly hacked up and anything to point it to Voodoo was at the crime scene rather than on the body.

This wasn't a Voodoo sacrifice, this was all about the show, there was one reason and only one reason for this sick murder and that was for it to be found, to be seen.

I sighed when we got back outside.

"So?" she asked in the cold air.

"So it's not Voodoo, there's no precision, no meaning to it. In Voodoo every cut means something, is special, part of the ritual. This was a hack job.

"And like I said, they don't do this kind of thing. At least not officially, so they don't flaunt it like this."

"So someone is trying to frame them."

"No."

"No?"

"Look, it doesn't matter. This is what is going to happen; you and your fellow officers are going to follow the Voodoo route and you're going to find a suspect. Everything is going to fit despite the person strenuously denying it all and then you are going to suddenly find a piece of evidence that ties them in. It'll be a lucky break that closes the case and it'll be forgotten."

"Except that the church..."

"Temple, it's called a Hounfour," I taught.

"The Hounfour will deny it is Voodoo thanks to you."

"And everyone wins. Except whoever you send to prison for it."

"But you have more information."

"No," I said looking at her directly for the first time. "That's it. That's everything."

I turned and walked away. She had done as I had asked and I really didn't have anything more to tell her. We were done, or so I thought. She wouldn't, couldn't believe anything else that I had in my mind; and it had nothing to do with her investigation. It was my investigation now.

I shouldn't have baited her though, shouldn't have told her how I thought it would have gone down; that was foolish because I was tired and annoyed at getting pulled in again. I was frustrated that I couldn't tell her more, frustrated that I couldn't tell anyone outside those that already knew.

## Southern Hunter

PROLOGUE

It has been said that only ten percent of the Bush remains in Australia since Westerners arrived, but it still covers vast tracts of land. Enough that each year, even in this day and age, people get lost and some die. There is still Bushland that isn't crisscrossed with roads or tracks; areas that no one goes in where undiscovered flora and fauna are living and dying in the circle of life. And it is on such a part of thick Bushland in the South West of that great country that two men find themselves.

"Was this worth the boats?" the man asked sitting in a small area where the undergrowth was sparse enough to set up a little camp.

"It's just for now," his companion answered. "We're illegal, we can't expect a job in a nice office in Perth, can we?"

"No, but this? This, what do they call it?" he raised his arms to the trees.

"Bush."

"I mean we're in the middle of nowhere, no roads, no people. And you hear stuff about Australia, all the dangerous creatures."

"Snakes and spiders are more scared of us than we are of them," the other man said.

"Not when we're asleep. The Sun will set soon and then what? Kangaroos, crocodiles."

His companion laughed.

"One, kangaroos are not dangerous and two there are no crocodiles this far South."

"I still don't like having to sleep out here."

"Well it's just a few more nights. We've marked the trees and surveyed the land, tomorrow we'll start hiking to that track and get picked up. We'll be paid more money for this than we've ever been back home."

They both sat there around the small fire as the Sun sank to the tops of the trees.

"Do you miss it?"

"What?"

"Home."

"We haven't been here long enough to."

"I do," the man shrugged. "This country doesn't smell right, and it's all so, I don't know, neat and tidy?"

The other laughed again.

"It's the food, Australians eat pies and chips and drink beer. They don't cook like us, they don't live like us; you'll get used to it."

"I guess," he said and looked out into the darkening Bush.

He didn't really know what would happen. They had paid a lot of money to get here on a boat and he was glad they were one of the lucky ones, lucky not to die, lucky to land without being caught. He'd rather die than go to a detention centre.

Then they'd been moved around, from here to there, all the while disorientated by their new surroundings and finally he and his friend had been taken to a mining company.

They'd done odd jobs for awhile, they were told they would work on a mine, but couldn't fly there, so they had to wait for a chance to be driven. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of a mine you had to fly to, it would have to be in the middle of nowhere, out in what the Australians called the Outback. It would not be comfortable living, but he had to think of the money, and his family back home who would receive most of it.

But instead they'd been taken south to a small town in the hills. It was surrounded by trees, Bush as they called it, and the company wanted them to look at a certain area, mark trees for cutting down so that a road could be cleared. Survey the area where they could to work out the best place for crews to come in and clear land. They were digging a new mine here or something.

He hated it; every minute of it out in this strange Bush with its strange animals and snakes and spiders. Australia was famous for all the ways it could kill you: the animals, the reptiles, the plants, the sharks, or you could just get lost in Bush like this, it went on for ever, the same in every direction.

Was it worth it? Life was hard back home, hard to have enough, but there was television. Television that told you of all the things you could have, _should_ have. The West taught the rest of the World one thing, that you should own more things. More things meant more happiness and where once people had been content with their traditions, now they were unhappy and poor.

Yes, he was the same; that was why he was here. He wanted a good life for his family, he wanted good schooling for his children, but that was never going to happen tending bar to tourists back home. He had to do this for them, he had to remember that. There was a reason for this and maybe, maybe he could get legal, somehow bring his family here; have a good job.

But for now he was stuck in this _Bush_.

"It's not so bad," his friend said.

"What isn't?"

"This. No distractions, no noise, no complaining wife or begging children, just peace and quiet. And we get paid for it," he relaxed out on his swag.

"I miss them," the man said morosely.

"What is it they say here about glasses being half empty?"

"I don't know what you're talking about; do you really not miss them?"

His friend sat up angrily.

"Why do you think I'm here? For my family, to give them a better life. Of course I miss them, but I know that because I do this they _will_ have a better life."

"I'm sorry," the man said.

The Bush stirred behind him and he looked back sharply.

"Relax."

"What was that?"

"Who knows? We're in a forest."

"What's out there?"

"Nothing that can hurt you."

"That's not true."

"Not this again. Snakes and spiders aren't going to come here and once you're in your, what are they called?"

"Swag."

"Right. It covers you completely, nothing can get to you."

Noise came from the darkening Bush again.

"And that?"

"Wind? A kangaroo? Who knows, but it won't bother us, it's not like they have tigers here."

"No, you're right, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just worried."

"There's nothing out here."

"Not that. I mean this job is nearly over, what if they drop us?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we're illegal. We don't have any rights here."

"I don't know, I try not to think of it."

The Sun sank below the tree tops and the spaces between the trees went from bright and beautiful to dark and ominous. Those creatures that lived by the light began to scurry home as those night hunters awoke and readied themselves. Kookaburras flew and called to each other in their distinctive monkey-like laugh. One began to wind up as others joined it until the trees around the men were full of the laughter of the birds, as if mocking the men their fate.

"I'll never get used to that sound," the man said.

"I can't believe they are birds and not monkeys," the other agreed as the birds fell silent as one.

There was a crash in the Bush and the man looked that way.

"Just a tree falling."

"You've an answer for everything."

"Did you never camp back home? Forests make noises."

"I preferred the comforts of the city," the man complained.

The Bush was silent as if waiting to see what might happen next. The man turned back and began to get into his swag, a sleeping bag with a semicircular tent pole at the head so that the person could be completely enclosed. And that was what he wanted now, to be enclosed, shut off from the world and whatever might be out there in the dark.

The Bush rustled and twigs snapped. Something else cracked, a branch maybe and he was sitting up again peering around in the last of the light.

"It's big," he said and saw that his friend was also sitting up.

"Yeah. There are some big kangaroos, maybe we should make a noise to scare it off?"

"Yeah, OK," he replied, though the last thing he wanted to do was make noise out here. It was irrational, he knew, but that wasn't going to take the fear away.

His friend whooped and he cringed before shouting out himself.

They listened. There was not a noise, not the sound of something coming nor something running away.

And then the whole Bush around their little clearing shook and thrashed and he couldn't believe his eyes as a giant head, mouth open, hundreds of razor sharp teeth, burst out of the dark trees and grabbed his friend. His head disappeared into the gaping mouth and it bit into his chest. Two clawed hands appeared and grabbed his friend, tearing him in two. Blood sprayed and poured as the beast flicked its head up to swallow his friend's torso.

He shrieked, struggling up out of his swag, hands up and forward to protect him, as if that would help.

No one knows we're here, no one will ever know or care. We're illegal, was his last thought as he staggered backwards and the giant beast leapt forward and sunk its giant claws into his chest.

WELCOME TO THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSES

WHAT IS THE LIBRARY?

The Library was built at the centre of the Multiverse and contains histories, biographies, treaties and stories from all the Universes. Particularly those involving the likes of the Righteous, the King Imminent and those that play their parts in this wider story such as the Ten Kingdoms and the Five Worlds.

Read the book sand you will find clues and truths of this greater story within them. But beware that you don't' gain too much knowledge as knowledge is power and power gets you noticed by dark and terrible beings.

THE BOOKS

Each book is written to be read as a single story (or series), but there are overlaps so that the more books you read the more information you build of other stories.

Not only that, but they gradually build a bigger picture, a meta-narrative, a greater tale of good vs evil.

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