by E. E. Holmes
“Milo, you ready?”
There was a brief stirring of energy, and then Milo popped into existence beside me. “You’re done already?” he asked, looking surprised.
“Yup. They’re on board. There’s no way they’re going to miss a chance like this,” I told him.
“Great!” Milo said.
“Yeah, I know they’re excited, but I owe them bigtime. Maybe you could come along to the investigation and make sure they get some good action?”
Milo arched one eyebrow. “What are you insinuating, madam?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Milo chuckled. “Yes, I do, and I’d be happy to rattle some door knobs and levitate some candlesticks, or whatever. Just don’t ask me to wear one of those white sheets. They clash with my aesthetic.”
I snorted. “What’s your aesthetic? Non-corporeal chic?”
“You know it, sweetness,” Milo said with a little twirl. “And no one does it better than me.”
“That’s true,” I said. “Well, let’s get going, your Chic-ness.”
“Hold up,” Milo said, looking suddenly concerned. “I just thought of something. Charlie told you he works Thursdays, right? Aren’t you afraid that we’ll run into him?”
“Nope,” I said confidently. “Tia told me last night that he’s still sick. He told her he was staying home again today.”
“Oh, good,” Milo said. “I’d feel like shit if we scared him off before Tia even got to go on a date with him.”
“I know, I thought about that, too,” I said, biting my lip. “Obviously, he’s going to find out about the investigation eventually, but I’d like to delay that as long as possible. It would be nice if he got to know us all a little better before he finds out what freaks we actually are.”
Milo snorted. “A girl can dream. All right, then. Let’s get this over with. Freak squad, OUT.”
§
A short Tube ride later, Milo and I turned into the forgotten little anachronism that was Gough Square. It looked like a scene stolen from a Sherlock Holmes mystery, with the rain kicking up a misty fog that swirled around the block, covering everything in chilly condensation. It was easy to see why tourists and locals alike seemed not to know the museum existed—it was tucked away so securely from the foot traffic that, unless you set out specifically to find it, I couldn’t see how a single customer would ever stumble upon it. As we approached Pickwick’s, Milo sucked in a loud breath.
“You feel that?” I asked dryly.
“What the hell?” Milo whispered. “It’s… damn, it feels like a Gateway but… different.”
“Different, how?” I asked him.
Milo frowned, trying to find the right words. “It’s… I mean, I can feel the Aether, but… it’s like it’s twisted. Like, I’m sensing it on the other side of a funhouse mirror. Does that make sense?”
“Not even a little,” I told him. “But none of this makes sense, so you’re par for the course. That’s why we need to get in here for a really good look around.”
I peered in the window. The place was almost deserted. One elderly man was shuffling toward a display of film negatives in the back corner, but otherwise there seemed to be no other customers. I spotted Shriya over at the cash register, flipping through a newspaper and sipping a mug of tea. I could also see at least half a dozen ghosts floating around, drifting in and out of walls, all with that same mesmerized, disoriented look.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I said to Milo, who didn’t reply right away. “Milo!” I snapped my fingers in front of his face and he shook his head.
“Sorry. Yeah, let’s go,” he said, a bit dazedly.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head as though to clear it. “It’s just… it feels really strange.”
“Are you sure you can come in? I can do it myself if—”
Milo waved me off. “No, no, I’m fine. I can handle it.”
I gave him one last, concerned look, but decided to take his word for it. I pushed the door open and felt his chilly presence follow behind me as we entered the lobby.
Shriya looked up hopefully from her newspaper at the sound of the bell. She smiled when she saw me.
“Well, hello, again,” she said. “Back for more already?”
“Hi, Shriya,” I said. “How’s it going?”
She gestured around, smirking. “Packed to the rafters, as you can see. I’m beating the hordes back with sticks.”
I walked up to the counter, throwing a glance over at the one living customer in the place, but he was not paying us the slightest attention. His Coke-bottle glasses were pressed to the glass top of a display of lens caps. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. I’ve got an idea that might get some more people in here, but… well, it’s a bit unorthodox.”
Shriya sat up straighter on her stool. “Unorthodox is kind of what we do here,” she said. “If you’ve got an idea, let’s hear it. I’d be willing to try almost anything at this point.”
“Well, before I tell you my idea, I have a question to ask you. It’s going to sound odd, but just go with it, okay?” I said.
Shriya eyed me suspiciously, but flashed a quick smile all the same. “You’re making me nervous now,” she said. “All right, what’s the question, then?”
I took a deep breath. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Shriya blinked. “Sorry?”
“I said, do you believe in ghosts?” I repeated calmly.
“Yes, that’s what I thought you said,” Shriya said with a nervous half-smile. “I was rather hoping I’d misheard you.”
“Sorry to just spring it on you,” I said. “But I’ve asked people that question probably a thousand times. I promise you, no matter how gently I ease into it, it never seems to help. So, do you?” I asked again. “Believe in ghosts?”
Shriya gave a slightly hysterical laugh. She glanced around the room, not at her only living customer, but just into the space around her, as though trying to sense invisible eavesdroppers. “I… I never used to.”
“Used to?”
“Before I inherited this place. I never was the kind of person to hear a strange noise and panic…”
“And now?” I prompted.
She bit her lip. “I… I’ve never told anyone this before, but… things have been happening here since I opened it back up… really strange things.”
“What kinds of things?” I asked her.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Doors opening and closing. Coming in mornings and finding lights on, when I know I’ve turned them out. Footsteps. Putting things down in one place and finding them in another.” She stopped and shook her head. “Listen to me, crying ghost when I know there could be a logical explanation for every one of those things. What must you think of me?”
“I don’t think you’re—”
“No, no, it’s silly. Paranoid. It’s an old building, full of noises, and I’m just being ridiculous.”
I reached through the connection. “Milo? Give her a little something.”
“You got it,” Milo replied cheerily.
He floated over to the counter and, a moment later, as Shriya reached for her cup of tea, he gave a grunt of effort as he used his energy to slide the mug several inches across the counter, away from her outstretched hand as she made to close her fingers around the handle.
Shriya did not startle or scream. Indeed, she barely reacted at all, at first. She just stared down at the cup for a long, silent moment, her hand still hovering where the cup had been a few seconds before. Then she looked up at me, her eyes filling with tears.
“Did… did you see…” she whispered.
I nodded solemnly. “Yes, I did.”
She dropped her face into her hands. “I’ve gone mad, haven’t I?” she mumbled into her fingers. “I’ve actually gone mad now. This is just bloody brilliant.”
“You’re not mad,” I said, reaching out and pulling her
hands away from her face, so that she was forced to look at me. “In fact, you’re likely to think I’m mad once I tell you why I’ve come here this morning.”
Shriya began chewing nervously on a fingernail. “Why have you come here this morning?”
I pulled a nearby stool up to the counter and sat down so that just the counter separated us. “I’m a member of a paranormal investigative team. Have you ever heard of that before?”
Shriya narrowed her eyes. “They’ve got some on the telly, right? They’re those nutters who spend the night in haunted places and video it, aren’t they?”
“Guilty,” I said, with a shrug. “We investigate locations that have a history of paranormal activity. We use all different kinds of equipment to try to gather evidence of the haunting.”
Shriya was shaking her head like I’d just told her that I jumped out of airplanes without parachutes for fun. “How in the world did you get mixed up in something like that?”
I smiled grimly. “I didn’t have a lot of choice, actually. That thing that happened just now, with the mug? That kind of stuff happens to me all the time. No matter where I go. I guess you could say I’m sensitive to it.”
“So, you’re like… a psychic?” Shriya asked.
“No,” I said firmly. “I know the types you’re talking about—the ones with hotlines who offer to communicate with your dead relatives and read your fortune for $5 a minute. I’m not involved in anything like that. I’ve just… experienced more than my fair share of what you’re experiencing now, and it got me interested in getting to learn more about it.”
Shriya’s face betrayed both awe and horror. “You’re pulling my leg, yeah?”
“I wish I were,” I told her, smiling sadly.
“You… you think it’s real, what’s happening to me here?” Shriya asked.
“It’s definitely real,” I told her firmly. “You aren’t mad and you aren’t imagining things. The other day when I stopped in, I knew the place was haunted right from the moment I walked in. Remember the cash register?”
Shriya nodded, wide-eyed. “I… I told myself that was just because it was old. I’ve been telling myself a lot of things like that lately.”
“And the clocks?” I reminded her.
“That wasn’t the first time, either,” Shriya said. “They’ve been going haywire since my first day here.”
“And there were a few other little things that caught my attention while I was walking around the displays—”
“Excuse me.”
Both of us whipped around, startled. The little old man who had been touring the museum was standing directly behind me. How a man with a cane and a distinct wheeze in his breathing had snuck up behind us, I had no idea.
“Yes, sir, how can I assist you?” Shriya asked.
“I’d like to see the displays upstairs. Have you a lift?” the man inquired politely.
“No, I’m sorry sir, there are no displays upstairs. The upper level is only used for storage,” Shriya told him.
“Are you quite sure?” he asked, squinting at her.
Shriya darted a look at me and then, continuing to smile politely, said, “Yes, I am, sir. You see, I’m the owner and proprietor of the museum.”
“Oh, I see,” the old man said. “Well, then you ought to tell those children to come down.”
Shriya’s smile became very fixed on her face. “I’m sorry?”
The old man picked up his cane and pointed it toward the staircase. “Those two little whippers who just went upstairs. You’d best go and collect them.”
At that moment, two sets of feet could be heard running around over our heads, followed by two giggling voices.
Shriya looked at me, her eyes wide, and then swallowed hard before turning back to the man. “Right you are. I’ll do that, sir. Cheers.”
The man nodded in a satisfied way, then shuffled over to the display of souvenirs to the right of the counter and selected a package of postcards. I took advantage of Shriya’s momentary distraction as she rung him up to check in with Milo.
“Did you have anything to do with that?” I asked him through the connection.
His smugness wafted through like a strong perfume. “I may have encouraged it. Too much?”
“No, that was perfect. Thanks,” I told him.
“No problem, sweetness. Do you think you could hurry up, though? I’m not sure how much longer I can stand to be in here,” Milo said, and pulled out of the connection again, leaving my head clear to turn back to Shriya, who was just holding the door open for the man and bidding him a good afternoon.
She closed the door behind him, then put her back against it, looking horrified. “Those aren’t real bloody children, are they?” she asked me in a hiss.
I shook my head solemnly. “Nope.”
Shriya dropped her face into her hands again. “Blimey. What am I going to do? I can’t keep this museum open if ghosts have the run of the place! They’ll scare away the only customers I’ve managed to scrape together!”
“Don’t panic, it’s okay,” I told her. “Come sit down. Remember we started this whole conversation because I had an idea that might help with that problem, remember?”
“Right. Right. Yeah, pull yourself together, Shriya,” Shriya muttered to herself, wiping fiercely at her damp cheeks. She crossed back to the counter, sat down, and took a very shaky gulp of tea. “Okay, this idea, then. Let’s hear it.”
“Well, like I said, I’m part of a—” I began, but the tinkling of the bell interrupted me again.
“Hiya, Shriya. I know, I know. I’m not supposed to be in, but—oh!” Charlie Wright froze halfway through the door at the sight of me. He looked stunned for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide, cheerful smile. “Jessica! What a pleasant surprise!”
“Oh, hey, Charlie,” I said, trying to grin back.
Milo’s panicked voice rang through the connection. “Charlie?! Oh shit!”
I tried to block Milo out, along with his sudden burst of nervous energy, as Charlie said, “I didn’t expect… is Tia here?”
“Nope, just me, I’m afraid,” I said, watching the expectant look slide adorably from his face.
“Of course, she’s got class, hasn’t she?” Charlie said, a bit sheepishly. “Did you come by for the tour? I’d be delighted to give you one, but I’m afraid I’m not on shift today. I just popped in to drop these boxes by for Shriya.”
“No, actually, I took the tour Tuesday,” I said. “I just happened to be in the area, so I figured, why not? Sorry I missed you. Shriya said you were sick. Are you feeling better?”
“Getting there,” Charlie said with a shrug. He certainly looked ill. His complexion was chalky, and his eyes were bloodshot and ringed with deep purple circles, like he hadn’t slept in days. He gestured to Shriya. “Well, I’d introduce you two, but clearly you’ve already met!”
“That’s right,” Shriya said “Yeah, we’ve just been having a nice chat.”
“Well, don’t let me interrupt,” Charlie said with a little bow. “I’m just going to leave these for you.” He placed a battered cardboard box on the counter. “It’s the negatives from the Hamilton estate sale. I’ve finished organizing them.”
“Oh, thanks, Charlie, you’re a lifesaver,” Shriya said, peering into the box. There were several large, neatly-lettered manila envelopes inside. “You didn’t need to do all this when you were sick. It could have waited.”
“Nah, I was glad of something to do. I’ve been terribly bored, holed up in my sickbed,” Charlie said. “And now that it’s sorted, we can get that new display started when I get back on Sunday.”
“Yes, but why have you brought them all the way down here?” Shriya said, sounding for a moment more like Charlie’s mother than his boss. “You’re supposed to be in bed with your feet up, remember? Doctor’s orders.”
Charlie hung his head a little sheepishly. “I meant to be, but… well, it’s a bit embarrassing, but I got all the way to the
druggist last night and I realized I didn’t have my wallet. I’ve torn my flat apart, but it’s not there. I thought I might have left it behind when I closed up on Sunday. I just wanted to pop into the back and see if I can find it.”
“Yes, of course, go right ahead,” Shriya told him, gesturing over her shoulder to the door that led to the storage areas and office. “I don’t remember seeing it, but have a look-see.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, and headed back through the door.
Shriya and I sat in silence for a few minutes, until we heard Charlie’s voice call out, “Found it!” Then he emerged from the back room, shaking his head and laughing. “Up on the shelf next to the lens polishers. Must have set it down when I was cleaning.”
“Glad you found it,” Shriya said.
“Me, too,” Charlie said, swinging his backpack around so that he could deposit the wallet into the front zippered pocket. Then he swung it back onto his shoulders and looked pleasantly between the two of us. “So, Jessica, what do you think of the place? Didn’t I tell you it was great?”
“Yeah, it’s… unique,” I hedged, looking at Shriya for some hint as to what to do. I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to say anything to Charlie about why I was really there. I wasn’t sure I wanted to either, but it seemed I may not have a choice.
Shriya drained her tea and turned to Charlie. “Actually, Jess was just about to tell me a marketing idea she had for the museum.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows, looking between the two of us. “Really! Brilliant! I think we need all the help we can get, frankly. What’s the idea, then?”
Damn it. Poor Tia was just getting to know this guy and I was going to scare him off with my paranormal proclivities before they could even go to dinner. I should be quarantined—I screwed up other people’s relationships just by being around them.
Shriya and Charlie were both looking at me expectantly. What could I do? If Shriya agreed to the investigation, Charlie would find out about it anyway. I sighed.