by David Hatton
Silence followed Frederik’s harrowing story. A gasp escaped Terri’s lips and a tear stemmed from Charlotte’s eye.
‘Now if you don’t mind, I have some living to do.’ Jackie paced up the stairs, followed by Michael who ran behind. Holding his arms out, he covered the iron door, preventing the spirit within Jackie’s body from escaping.
‘I will not let you past, Frederik. Not until I get my friend back.’
‘Move aside, earwig.’ Frederik pushed Michael aside, but he held on to her arm, leading to a scuffle. Groaning echoed from the struggle and Drew intervened.
Forcing himself between the pair, Drew pushed them apart, forcing Jackie to lose her balance. She hovered for seconds, her heels seesawing on the corner of the stone step and her arms reached out to grasp on to safety. Gravity pulled at the hovering visionary and she tumbled down fifteen steps like an avalanching stone. The crack of bone smacking the rocky floor was followed by a whistling wince of the bystanders. They turned their heads away, closed their eyes and hissed through their teeth.
Doctor Stevens ran to her side, placing two fingers around her throat and raising his hand over her mouth to feel her breath. A small smile confirmed life and the sighs of relief breezed past the group. The doctor lifted his mobile phone from his pocket and began to dial but paused to establish the moans of their wounded host.
‘Where am I?’ Jackie’s Scottish brogue returned. Michael ran to her side and grabbed her hand, rubbing the sweaty palm to comfort her.
‘I’m right here for you, Jackie. We all are.’
To the doctor’s dismay, Jackie sat up and wrapped her hands around her neck. She groaned, stretching her arms to rid the pain which the fall had delivered. A purple bruise stained her pale arms and a light gash sprouted above her right eyebrow. The framed supports of her glasses had bent, shoving her vision off balance, and the lenses had scratched.
‘I’m calling an ambulance.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Jackie protested. She turned to Michael and embraced him. ‘Thank you, all of you. Now come on, let’s get Frederik home.’
Holding on to Michael’s arm, she slowly rose up, leaning onto Drew for support. She brushed herself down, straightened up her glasses and led the group on through the tunnel, away from the secure allure of the iron door.
‘You took quite a tumble there,’ Michael said. ‘Are you sure you don’t need to go to hospital?’
‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’ She turned to him and squeezed his hand.
‘That was quite scary. That guy just overtook your body.’
‘I’m used to it by now. You can’t go around enticing ghosts without a few enticing you.’
‘I used to have fits as a kid. It was awful, not being able to control my body.’
‘Well you survived it and so will I.’
The group passed through the tunnels, the light fading further away with every step they made. The light from Jackie’s torch remained the only source of luminous support as they tackled pot holes and stony hurdles. The smoother rocks provided a slippery ride for the group who battled the damp to take Frederik home. Five hundred yards into the entrapment, they were greeted by an arch. It was fifteen feet in height, towering over the shivering gatherers who huddled around the gateway.
‘It’s here,’ said Jackie. The huddlers peered into the gateway but struggled to see through the black hole before them. ‘This is where we need to guide Frederik into the next life. He’s been trapped down here for two hundred years but now we can release him.’
‘What is it?’ asked Drew.
‘It’s the entrance to the next life. Frederik’s exit out of the tunnel.’
‘Can’t we just open the door where we came in?’ Michael enquired.
‘I’m afraid not.’ Jackie chuckled. ‘The spirit world is a little different to ours.’ Jackie shook her head and turned back to the gateway. ‘Now let us reform.’
The group returned to their places within the circle and rejoined hands. They jiggled their arms up and down like a New Year’s celebration and chanted.
‘Frederik! Frederik! Frederik!’ they shouted in harmony. The stamping of their feet caused the cave to rumble. Loose rocks crumbled from the ceiling, narrowly missing the chanters below.
A gust of wind blitzed the archway. Dust hurtled past, nipping the bare necks of the huddlers. Darkness followed.
‘My torch died,’ Jackie said. ‘Frederik must have taken the light with him to find his way on the other side.’
‘What do we do now?’ Charlotte asked with a shaken voice.
‘We have to make our way out, slowly and carefully.’
With one hand holding the person in front and the other behind, the group walked blindly in line into the unknown. An occasional slip caused a sickly slump in Michael’s stomach. Moisture coated his hands as he grabbed for support which he wiped off onto his trousers. That’s going to stain, he silently grumbled.
‘Pot hole coming up!’ shouted Drew.
A scream rattled through the tunnel. The group stopped in their tracks and turned around towards the direction of the cry. Darkness kept a lid on the terror behind.
‘That was Jackie,’ said Michael.
‘Run!’ she cried and the group adhered to her instruction. Picking up the pace, they let go of each other’s hands and sprinted over the bumpy terrain. Rocky missiles hurled past Michael, one clipping the back of his skull. He yelped and felt the back of his head to stroke the moist bloodstained hair where the stone hit.
The wound sparked a frenzy. The group blindly ran towards the exit, climbing over each other to ascend the stairs. Light tore into the tunnel as Charlotte forced open the hefty iron door, allowing the flustered ghost-hunters to leave the doomed underground.
Outside they reformed their circle. Terri took count of the squad, registering each member to ensure they had all made it out alive. Sixteen shaken souls hovered around her, leaving one absentee: Jackie.
Without hesitation, Michael returned to the tunnel. Hurrying down the stairs, he skipped alternate steps to bring him closer to his lost friend. With just a sliver of light sneaking through the open entrance he paced through the underground calling Jackie’s name.
‘Over here!’ she cried.
He followed the echo of her call and located the medium resting on a rock. Blood dripped from her forehead and she held on to the gash in her leg. Grabbing her torch, Michael flicked the switch and the light resumed.
‘It’s working again, Jackie.’
He shone the torch towards her and yelped as he witnessed the deep purple tint in her eyes. Her dilated pupils swallowed the atmosphere out of the abandoned abode.
‘Dies Irae!’ Jackie hissed with a croaky voice. ‘Dies Irae!’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Dies Irae! Dies Irae! Dies Irae!’ Jackie continued to chant.
‘Jackie!’ Michael shook the psychic vigorously, attempting to snap her out of her entranced state. ‘Jackie, can you hear me?’
Three shakes later and she returned to normality but her eyes remained hauntingly deep. She collated her belongings and grabbed on to Michael’s arm as she elevated herself off the ground.
The rumblings of an avalanche crawled behind. Michael grabbed Jackie’s arm, yanked her up and pushed her towards the exit. Light tore into the room, becoming brighter with every push of the iron door from Tony’s muscly arms. Gasping for breath, they climbed the stairs to freedom and the group collectively forced the door shut. Sweat and blood poured from Jackie’s forehead but a smile stretched across her moist face.
‘I need a drink.’
They met at a green bar beneath the railway arches besides Deansgate station. Large bay windows provided a glimpse over the canal where Suzanne allegedly lay beneath. Michael bought a round in for the group and together they discussed the afternoon’s extraordinary events.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Michelle, a witness to the séance. She had a large frame, sunflower blonde hair and sported a
black puffy jacket despite the summer heat frazzling her acquaintances. ‘That was scary but one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.’
‘I agree, but those tunnels should remain abandoned. Nobody should go down there, it’s too dangerous,’ Nicola argued. Her tiny figure provided little defence against any intruding ghost.
‘In all fairness, we did provoke them,’ Stuart piped up. His jet black hair was gelled down to the side and square specs covered his eyes. Like the others, he remained informally dressed for the potentially muddy event, protecting his body with jeans, hiking boots and a blue hooded top with patches stitched to the elbows. He’d remained quiet throughout the séance and he’d spent most of his time in the pub on his electronic tablet. ‘I run tours down there all the time and this has never happened before.’
‘Stuart’s a historian. His focus is local history. He was the one who assured us access,’ Jackie explained. Her perspiration had calmed but she continued to dab at her wounds with a towel. Following a trip to the bathroom to wash her face, the blood had cleared and her eyes had reduced to her usual emerald tinge.
‘I’ve seen tours are given down here.’ Michael lifted the leaflet which Jackie had handed him earlier. ‘Don’t they do specially themed ones for Halloween?’
‘I’d rather distance myself from that. It’s a little cheesy. I like the history.’
‘Touché.’ Michael raised his glass and clinked it against the tip of Stuart’s bottle.
‘And here it is…’ Stuart called and turned his tablet around to show the group his screen. ‘Frederik Gilmore. Died 1843 in the canal. His body was found crushed to death behind a boat. His colleagues were on lunch and failed to hear his screams. Jackie Wallace, once again you’re our little star!’
The group applauded Jackie’s success and a light whooping circulated the medium as they cheered on another correct hit. Her eyes met with Michael, who gave her a warm smile that screamed confidence in her abilities to find his wife. She returned a smile and gently rubbed his knee.
The electronic tablet was passed around the group. Michael glanced at the article, reading up on Frederik Gilmore who had both petrified and entertained them throughout the event. Frederik worked down in the tunnels transferring goods between boats before they continued their adventure on a nearby canal. He was only thirty-two, younger than Michael. A reminder of his encounter with Frederik brought on a sudden concern for his friend’s welfare.
‘Jackie, we didn’t ask how you are?’ he said before passing the tablet along.
‘Oh I’m fine, my lovely. Only a wee cut on my head and my leg. I’ve suffered worse.’
‘You gave us a fright back there,’ Terri said.
‘Yeah it was really scary, especially when I came back in the tunnel for you. It was like you were in a trance. You kept shouting something at me. I’m trying to think what you said…’ Michael scratched his head. ‘… Dies Irae. What the hell does that mean?’
Jackie shrugged her shoulders. Nicola, who was busy reading the history of Frederik Gilmore, opened up a new browser on the tablet and typed in the two words which Jackie had called.
‘Day of wrath,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s Latin. The day of wrath is a day of distress and anguish, a day of trouble and ruin, a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and blackness.’
‘Delightful.’ Jackie laughed.
‘Scary,’ Terri said. ‘I think there’s a lot more down there than we initially thought.’
Spooked by the possibilities of the dark underground, the group dispersed, scattering across the room to engage in small talk in their smaller clusters. Michael nipped upstairs onto the bar’s balcony and lit up a cigarette. He was joined by Terri, who introduced herself properly to Michael; when she wasn’t ghost hunting, she taught at a school in Didsbury where his son attended.
‘Did you know Jason?’ Michael enquired.
‘I met him a few times. I taught him once when I covered for his teacher who was off sick. He was a sweet boy. To be honest, I don’t remember much of him. It’s always the naughty kids you remember, sadly, and Jason kept out of trouble. But he was well liked and the school was devastated when he passed.’
‘How did you end up here today?’
‘I’ve been visiting Jackie for a while. I went to one of her shows with my friend and she gave me a message from my mum. After that I had to see her more and more. She invited me along today as I’d expressed an interest in seeing a séance. How about you? How did you end up here?’
‘Jackie’s helping me find my missing wife.’
‘Oh I see.’ Terri looked down at the floor, as sadness rained over her face. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. How are any of us connected to Jackie? Loss. Why else would we be here?’
The alcohol oozed into his concentration, calling time on the fun he’d shared with the group. He thanked his acquaintances and left the pub, taking a stroll down the canal towpath towards his apartment. Despite the horrors which lay beneath the waters beside him, the sun provided a colourful tranquillity to Michael’s walk. A telephone call disturbed his serene stroll.
‘Mr Walker?’ a voice said on the other end.
‘That’s me.’
‘It’s Detective Robinson here from Greater Manchester Police.’
‘Oh, how I can help you?’
His heart raced. Had Pamela returned to the station and made her statement? Would Theodore finally be brought to justice?
‘We’ve found a body today in the Rochdale Canal.’
14.
“When thoroughly reliable people encounter ghosts, their stories are difficult to explain away.”
- C.B Colby (1963)
Michael entered the police station and asked the reception desk for Detective Robinson who’d called him only an hour earlier. His heart raced and sweat poured down his forehead as he rushed to the lure of potential answers to his wife’s disappearance.
Robinson walked into the reception munching on a sandwich and asked Michael to follow him into the back. The detective had white hair and a black moustache. He was dressed in a black shirt and blue tie, which had crumbs from his dinner rolling down. They took a seat behind an interrogation desk.
‘I don’t understand, detective. Last time we spoke I was told we couldn’t search the canal based on a psychic medium’s recommendations.’
‘Well that’s still true, Mr Walker,’ Robinson said with his mouth half full. ‘It was a dog-walker who found the body this afternoon. It was floating beneath a bridge. We’ve been trying to call you this afternoon.’
‘I had no signal… I was…’ But Michael stopped himself from explaining his whereabouts. He’d been laughed at enough. ‘I was busy.’
‘I’d like you to come and see the body, but from the description you’ve given us previously and the age profile, there is a chance this could be her. Although I have to say, she hasn’t been down in the canal for six months like you’d suggested.’
‘She hasn’t?’ Michael squinted.
‘No, she’s… how can I put this? Fresh.’
‘Let’s go and see the body.’
Michael followed the detective into a separate room where a hospital bed lay. A turquoise sheet covered the body. The inspector walked over to the bed and lifted the sheet. Michael took a deep breath before glancing at the person before him.
‘Is this your wife, Mr Walker?’
Michael examined the body. The face was oh-so familiar, instantly recognizable. It hadn’t changed since their last encounter.
‘No,’ Michael said, shaking his head. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
‘It’s not?’ Robinson gave out a small gasp, but remained calm. ‘I see, thank you, Mr Walker…’ He replaced the sheet and placed his arm around Michael to escort him out of the room. ‘I really thought it was her to be honest, but never mind.’
‘I know who it is though.’
The detective turned to Michael with an open mouth. He glanced back at
the covered body before turning to the claimant.
‘You do?’
Michael nodded his head.
‘It’s Suzanne’s sister… Pamela.’
He entered the interview room. Robinson loaded a new tape and after providing Michael with a cup of coffee, he pressed record.
‘When was the last time you saw Pamela?’
‘It was just this afternoon. She came to see me. She was worried this would happen if I said anything… and I did. I’ve let her down.’ Michael’s eyes watered.
‘What was she worried about?’
‘This!’
‘She thought she was going to die?’
‘Yes.’ Michael gulped. ‘She told me a secret and was convinced that if I told anyone, the person who killed Suzanne would come after her.’
‘And just who is that?’ The detective shook his head and widened his eyes.
‘Her father, Theodore. Pamela told me today that she was abused throughout her life by her dad. He impregnated her once but she got rid of it. She told Suzanne and she thinks Suzanne confronted him as she later disappeared. I brought her here yesterday to tell the police but she didn’t come in. And I couldn’t find her after that.’
‘And did you tell anyone about these claims?’ Robinson stroked his chin.
‘I told the policeman on duty. He said there was nothing they could do without a statement from Pamela herself.’
‘But did you speak to her family?’
‘Yes.’ Michael hung his head. ‘I called Jane, her mother. She was furious, wouldn’t have any of it. Told me to leave it alone.’
‘And you believe this…’ he checked his notes. ‘…Theodore may have come and killed her?’
‘Potentially… he lives in Stratford but he could have driven here I suppose?’
‘Mr Walker…’ Robinson slammed down his pen. ‘It doesn’t look good that you were the last person to see Pamela alive. In fact you were the last person to see Suzanne alive too as far as we know.’