Ghoster

by Jason Arnopp

  Back on Tinder, I set up more self-defence dates, only to blow most of those off again. The one date I did turn up for, I bought the girl a drink, pretended to go to the toilet, then walked out. What an arsehole I am, albeit an arsehole with some kind of conscience when it comes to infidelity.

  Here’s a thing: me going on dates behind Kate’s back isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened lately. Are you fucking ready for this, TrooSelf?

  Ray broke into the flat last night and filmed me while I slept, using my OWN PHONE. The video he shot was over TWO HOURS long. What a fucked-up thing to do! I’m still shaking at the thought of it.

  On impulse, I deleted the video, then regretted it because it could be used as evidence if things get really nasty between me and him. Actually… knowing phones these days, it’s still lingering in the trash or something. I should check.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  8 October

  Takes me a while to figure out where that trash folder might be, but the video that Scott binned is waiting for me there, among a whole army of porn clips. Really wanted to keep reading The End, but the urge to find the video has proved even stronger.

  Two hours and sixteen minutes in length, the video plays exactly like the others, but with one key difference. Watching Scott sleep soundly, for what may have been the last time ever, makes me cry myself hoarse. I can barely skim my way across half.

  The more I know, the more likely it seems that Ray did film Scott. Which means he probably did the same thing to me, a few nights later. He must have filmed Gwyneth, Dieter and all the others, too.

  The case for Ray having killed Scott, among others, has strengthened.

  Did Ray deliberately wait outside the Van Spencer building for me to come home that night? During our small talk between here and the Amsterdam Hotel, he’d asked where Scott was. Did he hope to find out if I had called the police?

  Clock’s ticking. Must read more.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  The End

  When I phoned Ray to confront him about what he’d done, he completely denied everything. He called me crazy, but I know full well he was trying to intimidate me. Always thought my brother had something missing in his head, but I never realised he was this nuts. Basically, he was conveying a clear message: if I try to run out on the debt between us, he’ll find me anywhere. He has POWER over me. The fucker always fancied himself as a gangster or something, and now fantasy has become reality in his head.

  The whole debt situation with Ray reached crisis point over the last week, but we have reached a grim settlement. He threatened to get in touch with Kate on Facebook and tell her I’m a penniless porn addict, unless I allow him to take everything of value that I own so he can sell it off and cover a chunk of my debt to him. To reassure his paranoid self that I wouldn’t skip town or anything like that, yesterday I drove over to his Chanctonbury shithole and gave him a spare set of keys. Big mistake! That’s obviously how he got in last night and shot the video. Can’t believe he still did that, despite us having reached an agreement!

  Ray’s coming over later with the van to pick everything up, so I need to box all my stuff fast. God, how much do I now regret getting so drunk with this idiot, on the one night in years we’d gone out together? Why, of all the people I could have confided in about my problem – such as a pro therapist – did I decide to tell my untrustworthy brother? I should have known he’d hear that information and automatically think, Aha! Future blackmail material! On my birthday, too. Well, both our birthdays…

  What on Earth am I going to tell Kate when she turns up and the flat’s been gutted? One excuse could be that I wanted us to make a whole new start together and choose a new TV, new sofa, etc.… right down to the towels. Meant to go out and buy WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HOME banners, but I forgot, and they may not even exist. So I am improvising. Used one of my liquid chalk pens to draw a big smiley face on the window, but it looks weird and I can’t think of exactly what to write beside it. I Love You will do the job, won’t it? People always like I Love You.

  The thing is, I know that my cover story won’t wash with Kate. Especially as it’s not like I can afford to buy new stuff – I’ve even fallen behind on the rent! She’s already sold her own TV and all the bigger items like that, so this really is shaping up as a disaster of titanic proportions.

  Speaking of disasters, I’m doing BADLY with the porn. Even with Kate about to move in, I’m struggling more than EVER to stay clean.

  My periods of abstinence have yet to last more than one day, and even those feel like endurance marathons. I have lost so much potential work time to the smut, with people screaming at me over deadlines.

  The new phone really isn’t helping, either. I never even knew smartphones could pick up viruses, but mine must’ve already caught one from the dodgy smut sites I’ve visited. Either that, or the virus has somehow lingered from previous use. When I bought this thing from Gwyneth on Gumtree, the handset was full of someone else’s pictures and videos – thousands of them – and it wouldn’t let me carry out the reset procedure that would wipe the memory. Hmm, this might explain why Gwyneth decided to sell the phone, and pretty cheaply too. Thinking about it, this may also explain why she didn’t want to face me in person and made her nan come over here to deliver it instead. She hasn’t replied to any of my follow-up questions, either. Interesting…

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Thoughts racing, I wrench myself out of Scott’s diary, flip over to his browser and search for “Gumtree”. I want to confirm that the Gwyneth he bought the phone from is the Gwyneth Cooper I know all too well.

  Sure enough, here I am on a defunct sales page from mid-August that advertises the very phone I have in my hands. The seller’s username is “CoopG”.

  As I try to digest what Gwyneth’s prior ownership of the phone could mean, a pop-up notification wrecks my focus.

  Way to go, dude! Your upload to SikkFuxx.com has been approved.

  Huh?

  A fierce rumble of thunder sounds like the pier caving in on itself. Slanted rain lashes the balcony decking. Some of the water even manages to drizzle the mound of broken glass that I failed to clear up, just inside the window-door.

  When I tap the SikkFuxx notification, I’m taken to the browser, where the site opens up. The uploader’s name is a random string of letters and numbers, but this registers only subliminally because the auto-playing video already freaks me out.

  The camera pans slowly over a burnt corpse, curled up on a scorched domestic carpet. Most of the body has been burned right down to the bone, although the legs appear to be intact. Reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of supposed spontaneous human combustion cases.

  One detail consumes me. Around the corpse’s neck hangs a metal pendant, shaped like a grenade.

  Oh Christ.

  My sandpapered throat refuses to swallow. Outside, the skies unleash a fearsome thunder-crack.

  This is beyond me. How did it happen? And why has the video been uploaded from Scott’s phone?

  Scott’s voice comes back in all its urgency. Kate, get rid of this thing. I’m begging you to throw it away.

  The video ends with a brutal close-up on the open-mouthed terror baked into what’s left of Tyler’s face. Had it not been for the pendant, I might not have recognised the poor bastard. Likes and comments are already piling in. Feeling horribly complicit, I shut the browser down and fight a strong urge to hurl the phone out into the storm.

  Scott bought this phone from Gwyneth and they both ended up dead. What does this tell me?

  Stay calm. All I have to do is keep my head together and read.

  Tyler threw this phone into the sea and now he truly is toast.

  Shut up and let me focus. Let me get through the final chunk of The End.

  Someone snatches the phone out of my hand.

  I cry out, through frustration as much as shock.

  “What the fuck, Kate?”

  Izzy towers over me, her face
quite the picture. All those growls of thunder made sure I didn’t hear her coming back. On the floor between her and the archway sit two bags of shopping, right next to my hammer.

  “I’m almost done, Izz. Let me read the rest.”

  Izzy hobbles a few steps back, wanting to put distance between us. She goggles at Scott’s phone like it’s an impossible object. “Bloody hell, this really is the same handset. How the fuck did this thing survive the sea?”

  I edge towards her, nice and easy, like someone trying to talk down a rooftop suicide. “The case is really well-made, that’s all. It’s watertight. Can I have my phone back, please?”

  Izzy matches each of my movements with a backwards step of her own. She’s looking at me like I’m a bloody stranger. “No, you can’t.”

  “Tyler’s dead,” I say, so badly wanting her to finally understand. “And I don’t know how, but a video of his dead body has been uploaded from this phone.”

  “Serious? Kate, this is all way too fucked. Seriously, I’ve had enough.”

  When I speak, it sounds like someone else. “That makes two of us, honey, because I’ve also had enough – of you trying to tell me what to do.”

  Her despair gives way to stunned surprise. “Are you kidding? Someone telling you what to do is exactly what you need.”

  Go and pick up the hammer. Nothing changes the dynamic in a room like someone picking up a hammer.

  “What I need right now, Izzy, is my phone back. Something huge is going on and—”

  “If it wasn’t for me, mate, you’d still be halfway up a fucking hill. Remember that?”

  I give her the same humouring smile Tyler gave me when I threatened his phone. Poor, deep-fried Tyler. “Sorry, honey. I promise you, I really appreciate everything you’ve done, but I really need my—”

  “I don’t think you appreciate owt at the moment, mate. How many addicts have we dealt with over the years? Are you seriously so far gone that you can’t hear their words coming out of your mouth?”

  I remember how smooth the handle of the hammer feels. “Give me the phone.”

  “Ray was right, Kate. You just can’t handle Scott leaving you, and that’s what this whole thing’s about. This flat does seem haunted, but he’s not dead.”

  The molten heat inside me melts the smile off my face. “So you’re saying I imagined seeing his ghost? Fuck you. You’re supposed to be my friend.”

  A full-force tornado flies out of Izzy’s mouth. “Oh my days, you wanna talk about friendship, you stupid bitch? Listen up, and listen so much harder than ever before: I am never gonna walk again, okay? I’m on crutches for life. And yes, that’s partly my fault, but it’s also yours because you were fucking around on your phone that night.”

  Oh my. The sheer size of this, it blots out the sun.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” she spits. “I saw you, all preoccupied. And I thought to myself, It’s okay, the patient doesn’t seem so dizzy now. I can start him off down the stairs and Kate will catch up once she’s got her precious update on who Rudolpho’s screwing. So that choice is on me, but you weren’t there when I needed you. What’s even worse is, I knew you’d feel so guilty, and you’re always in some kind of crisis, and I still loved the bones of you. And that’s why I never told you my diagnosis. But if I’d told you the fucking truth, then none of this Scott crap might have happened.”

  This must be what they call a moment of clarity.

  I have no idea what to say. Sorry would feel inadequate.

  Izzy cracks open the phone’s protective case, then sets about opening the phone itself. “You can have the phone back if you like, but I’m keeping the battery.”

  Stop her. You have to stop her. Hardly asking for much, are you? All you want to do is read the last few words that your beloved ever wrote.

  Yes, but I played a big part in my best mate being disabled for life. And just now, I seriously considered threatening her with a hammer. I’ve wandered so far off the path, I don’t even know how to find my way back.

  You have to read the final part of The End.

  Too late. Izzy pops the phone’s battery out onto her palm. “There,” she says.

  The intense relief I feel is matched only by the pang of deprivation.

  Don’t worry. You can read the diary on another phone. Or in a net café. Everything’s going to be all right.

  A flash of lightning strobes the room.

  With Scott’s phone in one hand and its battery in the other, Izzy frowns at the screen.

  “That’s weird,” she says. “Why hasn’t it died?”

  She drops the handset on the floor. “Fucking thing.”

  The charred corpse of Tyler flashes before my eyes. The guy who threw the phone into the sea, then ended up dead. “Izzy, no! Don’t, please don’t.”

  Izzy says, “It’s the only way to save you, Kate.” She raises one of her crutches, then powers the end down towards the phone.

  And now she’s gone.

  Swept clean off her feet, as if struck by a passing juggernaut, Isabella Clarke has left my field of vision.

  My brain flounders, desperate to catch up.

  Across the living room, in appalling slow motion, Izzy slides down the wall beside the archway. The impact of her body has dented the brickwork and snapped one of her crutches in half.

  Coming to rest on the floor, stunned, with her head lolling back against the wall, she struggles to focus on me.

  When she opens her mouth to speak, only blood comes out.

  I dash across the room towards her, but I’m nowhere near fast enough.

  Something unseen and horribly powerful hauls her back away from the wall and into the air.

  When she sails past me, I do my best to catch her, but she might as well be a bullet.

  Out through the hole in the window she goes, then keeps on going, off into the storm.

  I run headlong out onto the balcony, as if there’s still time to save her.

  Already so very far away, my best friend’s body flies among a flock of gulls. Seen against this torrid purple sky, her silhouette has become indistinguishable from the birds. For one crazed second, I dare to dream that she might fly on with them forever.

  My child-logic weakens, along with Izzy’s trajectory. She narrowly misses the peak of the zip-wire tower, then plunges out of sight.

  Thunder rumbles.

  Twin forks of lightning slice right through me.

  A cruel wind snakes into my gaping mouth, then burrows down my throat into my chest, as if trying to pulverise what remains of my heart.

  How am I supposed to deal with what I saw? I may as well have the entire ocean poured inside my head. And even my powers of denial can’t handle a task this gigantic.

  The beach and rain-lashed streets are all but deserted. No one may have witnessed Izzy go, which makes this even harder to take. No fucker should be allowed to carry on with their daily routine as if nothing happened. Izzy’s death should matter. The whole world should stop turning and pay its respects.

  I’m one big shapeless tremor. All I seem able to do is stare at the zip-wire tower, at the beach, at the sea, while desperately wanting to look somewhere else, anywhere else.

  Why? Why did this happen?

  She was about to damage the phone. This cannot be any kind of coincidence – not when Tyler threw the phone into the sea and he died, too.

  Something wants to protect this phone. Why?

  Might it kill me next?

  Not if you behave yourself and look after the phone…

  I hate looking back over my shoulder into the living room, because I can’t bear to see the dent that Izzy left in the back wall, and yet I need to know where the phone ended up. The fucking thing was right there on the floor, but now it’s nowhere to be seen. Where did it go? If I’ve lost the phone, the invisible killer may be displeased and—

  There’s something in my right hand.

  Christ, it’s the phone.

  Don’t even remember
picking the handset up, but here it is. Did I really grab it so mindlessly before dashing out here to see what would happen to Izzy?

  Probably. You did, after all, try and retrieve the thing by jumping into the sea.

  I have no idea what to do.

  The same thing you were doing before Izzy grabbed the phone. Let’s find out how Scott’s diary ended.

  I don’t know… Izzy body’s is crumpled up on the beach… and I’m supposed to stand here, looking at a fucking phone?

  This is the safest option and you also know it’s what you want. Two birds, one stone.

  Shaking from head to toe, I stay put on the balcony as the storm rages on.

  Pausing only to wipe my tears off the screen, I read the end of The End.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  The End

  Here is the big, weird problem with this phone. At any time of the day or night, the bloody thing decides to auto-play PORN, of all things! It even tried to start playing this stuff in front of Kate one day, when we were sitting on the pier talking about ghosts. My God, that was such a close call.

  This is really fucking mad porn, too. I’ve never seen anything like it. Women, men and bizarre… I don’t know how to describe them. Creatures? Things? Slimy beasts with tentacles and tits and insect bodies and serpentine cocks and gaping mouths, making these insane animalistic noises as they have sex with ecstatic humans and semi-humans. I mean, I know it MUST surely be fake, but it looks so astonishingly real, like unbridled filth from another dimension.