by Amy Cross
“I suppose so,” Sally said, even though she was struggling to summon much enthusiasm. Deep down, she'd begun to accept that there was no hope left. “We just have to make sure that Jerry doesn't find out, because he's definitely opposed to any mention of ghosts. It's the one thing that's guaranteed to make him angry.”
“He'll never find out,” Jane told her. “It won't even take that long. I promise you, though... if there are any ghosts in that pub, any at all, we're going to find them tonight!”
Chapter Four
“Look who it is!” Nigel said with a grin, as he watched Matt making his way across the field. “Little Matt Ford has finally decided to show his face!”
“I was over at the Lark Road entrance,” Matt explained, looking ahead and spotting the usual police officers blocking the way. One of them was his uncle, Roger Ford. “I took a short-cut across the golf course to get here.”
“My wife used to work at that golf course,” Nigel told him. “Back in the sixties, Sheila was a waitress. And do you know what? She had to wear a pink bunny costume, and she had to be topless while she served the drinks.”
“Shut up, man,” one of the other strikers said with disdain. “No-one wants to think about your Sheila topless.”
“So what's going on here?” Matt asked, craning his neck to get a better view of a few more strikers on the other side of the road. “Any developments?”
“What do you think?” Nigel asked. “No-one's tried to cross the picket line this morning, if that's what you're wondering. Other than that, we're all out here freezing to death and waving these bloody signs while businessmen and politicians hundreds of miles away ignore us.” He paused for a moment. “I hope you don't mind me saying this, Matt,” he added cautiously, “but you don't half look like your old man this morning.”
“I'll take that as a compliment,” Matt muttered, looking past the crowd and seeing the pit headgear in the distance. “We should be down there working, not standing around here like idle buggers.”
“Blimey,” Nigel said with a chuckle. “Now you sound like old Fred too.”
***
One hour later, having taken his leave of the strikers at the Arlish Road entrance, Matt trampled across another field, aiming to complete a full route all around the edge of the site. He wasn't entirely sure why he was making this particular journey; he simply couldn't stomach standing still all day on the line, yet he also wanted to stay as close as possible to the action. Now, stopping at the edge of the field and looking down the hill, he had a perfect view of the colliery as it lay still and unused.
“There's enough coal down there for another hundred years,” he remembered his father telling him once. “There's no reason for anyone to close the place in our lifetimes.”
Now those words echoed to him through the years, and he couldn't help but wonder what his father would think if he could see the state of the pit now.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned to walk away, but then he froze as he suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of the pit's machinery starting up. Glancing over his shoulder, he told himself that he had to be wrong, but sure enough he realized he could see figures down there on the site itself, seemingly getting back to work. He watched, stunned, but he knew that the only possible explanation was that somehow the strike had been called off. After all, a few men might have crossed the lines, but he could see hundreds down there now.
He began to make his way back across the field, determined to find out what had happened, but at that moment he saw that a man was standing nearby, watching the scene with a curiously satisfied expression on his face. Clearly very old, leaning on a cane and wearing a dark coat with a hat pulled down to almost cover his features, the man seemed utterly oblivious, even as Matt changed direction and began to make his way closer.
“Hey!” he called out, waving at the man. “Do you know what's going on?”
Stopping, he began to realize that it was strange for him not to have noticed the man just a moment earlier. After all, he'd made his away across the field and he felt sure that he'd have spotted anyone else within half a mile or so. Besides, the man looked to be in his sixties, perhaps even older, and Matt figured that he most likely couldn't move very fast.
“Excuse me,” he said cautiously, worried about spooking the man, “I don't mean to trouble you, but do you have any idea why the pit's started up again?”
This time the man began to turn to him, although not all the way. A curious smile crossed the man's lips, and he kept his gaze fixed on the distant colliery.
“Is the strike over?” Matt asked. “Did they bus men in from somewhere else to get it going again? Please, if you know, you have to tell me.”
“What are you talking about?” the man replied.
“The colliery,” Matt continued. “There's been a strike for months, and I didn't hear anything about it being broken today. But now everything's moving again and I just don't understand how.”
“I think you might be mistaken,” the man suggested. “Nothing has changed.”
“But...”
Matt turned to look back down at the colliery, and in that moment the sound of the machinery came to an abrupt halt. There were no men visible down there now, nor was there any sign at all that the pit was back up and running. Feeling for a moment as if he was on the verge of losing his mind, Matt tried to figure out exactly what had just happened, but he knew that he'd definitely seen activity.
“I think I might be going mad,” he said finally, turning to the man again. “I saw... I mean, I swear...”
“You saw the place running at full pelt?” the man asked, raising an amused eyebrow.
“I didn't just see it,” he explained. “I heard it too. There must have been a couple of hundred men down there, they can't all have vanished!”
“No,” the man replied, “I suppose they can't. In that case, exactly where do you think they are now?”
“Is this some kind of trick?” Matt asked. “Is someone trying to make us go nuts, so they can swoop in and shake it all up?”
“I'm not sure that I follow how that would work,” the man told him. “Exactly who do you think would be able to orchestrate something on such a grand scale? Not to mention, how would they sneak so many men onto the site, when all the entrances and exits are being watched by members of the strike? The idea simply makes no sense whatsoever.”
“I know that,” Matt said, looking over at the colliery again, “which is why I don't get it. It was as if, for a few seconds, everything just went right back to how it was before.”
He watched the scene for a few more seconds, lost in thought.
“Oh,” the man said suddenly, furrowing his brow, “I'm terribly sorry, I think I... Yes, I mistook you for someone else.”
“For who?”
The man simply stared at him. Matt turned to look at the colliery again, then back at the man.
“Is it -”
Stopping suddenly, he realized that he was all alone. He turned and looked around, but the elderly man – who'd seemed so frail and had barely been able to stand – had disappeared in the blink of an eye.
“Hello?” Matt called out, but he already knew that he was all alone.
He looked back over at the colliery, but the site still appeared dead and unused. Whoever those people down there had been, and whatever they'd been doing, they were gone now and Matt couldn't help but wonder whether they'd really been there in the first place. Sure, it was technically possible that they'd all ducked into one of the main buildings while he hadn't been looking, but that explanation wasn't exactly very likely. He knew that ghosts weren't real, however, so on balance the most likely explanation was simply that – in a moment of madness – he'd imagined the whole thing.
After glancing around one more time to look for the old man, Matt turned and hurried back across the field.
***
“Great,” Nigel said as he spotted Matt returning to the picket line a short while l
ater, “just when you think things can't get any worse. What are you doing back here?”
“Just checking to see what's going on,” Matt said uncomfortably.
“Been on another of your perimeter wanders, have you?” Nigel asked. “I don't know why you bother, lad. Come across anything interesting this time?”
Matt hesitated for a moment, but he knew he'd only be laughed at if he told anyone about what he'd seen.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Are you sure? You look a bit pale there, son.”
“I'm fine,” he replied, keen to cut down any further discussion. “So what's the plan here? If no-one's coming or going, who's even going to know that we're protesting here today?”
“That's not the point,” Nigel replied, nudging him in the ribs. “You know that. We're here to make a stand, and we're also here to make some noise. So how about less sight-seeing and more protesting?”
As those words left his lips, another police car slowly drove around the corner. The other strikers all began to jeer, and Matt – not wanting to seem as if he lacked conviction – joined in and starting shouting too.
Chapter Five
“Jane,” Bradley said as he opened the door to his bedroom, “what do you want?”
“I need to borrow something,” she told him, pushing the door open and stepping past him. “Man, you could open a window every now and then, this room reeks.”
“You know, you could always ask instead of just barging in.”
“I knocked, didn't I? If you've really got a problem with it, you should see about getting that lock fixed.”
Picking her way across some piles of clothes, she made her way to the window and pulled the curtains open, letting midday light flood into the room. She turned and looked around, and for a moment she could only stare at the complete mess that covered every inch of the floor. Carrier bags full of old food packets had been left piled on the bed, and a home computer was running on the desk. The room was filled with so many books and old clothes and bags of 'stuff', there was barely any room for a human being to fit.
“What do you do on that thing all day?” she asked him, peering at the computer's screen.
“I'm learning to write computer code,” he replied, somewhat defensively. “Computers are the future, Jane. One day everyone'll have one.”
“I won't,” she told him. “I'm not that pathetic.”
“One day you won't be able to live without one.”
“You really believe that kind of stuff, don't you? How... cute.”
“Just because this is a shared house,” he said with a sigh, “doesn't mean that you need to share your opinions on everything that goes on in it. What do you want?”
“Something I saw in here once,” she replied, climbing over the bed and dropping down on the other side, next to the desk. “You know, Bradley, this time your hoarding might actually come in useful. Do you happen to have everything categorized, or is it a case of fumbling around until you find what you're looking for?”
“You're not borrowing anything.”
“Relax. If I'd just come in when you weren't here and taken it, you'd never have noticed it was gone.”
“That's not the point!”
“You're just panicking because you're not used to having a girl in your room.”
“That's so not true.”
“No self-respecting girl would ever want to be in a room like this,” she told him.
“You're here.”
“Not for sexy times, Bradley. Besides, do I actually strike you as the self-respecting type?”
She pulled some boxes out of the way.
“Careful!” he snapped.
“What? Am I going to mess up your very elaborate filing system? Give me a break.”
“This is my room,” he said again. “You don't see me storming into your room, do you? Even before you fixed the lock on your door.”
“And if you've never tried to go in there, how to you know about the lock?”
“That's not the point,” he replied, although now he seemed more awkward than ever.
“Gross!” she added, holding up a pile of dirty magazines. “Is this what you do with yourself in here all day, Bradley? Will being able to write computer code ever help you get an actual girl who doesn't have staples in her belly?” She let one of the magazines fall open, revealing one of the naked models. “You don't get stuff like that on a computer screen, do you?”
“Maybe one day,” he suggested.
Setting the magazines aside, she pulled a couple of bin bags out of the way and then began to rifle through a pile of board games. After just a moment, she spotted what she was after and began to wriggle it out from the very bottom of the pile.
“I'm not giving you permission to take anything!” Bradley said firmly.
“Then I'll steal it.”
“No. You've got no right to be in here! I ought to go to Mr. Sullivan and complain!”
“Bet you don't.”
Once the box was free, she stood up and turned to him so that he could see the front.
“A board for contacting the dead?” he said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “What do you want with one of those?”
“That's none of your business, Bradley,” she replied. “I only need it for one night, just to do some light contacting of the dead, and then I'll have it back to you first thing tomorrow. It won't get damaged in any way. Do we have a deal?”
“What do I get out of this?”
“Absolutely nothing other than my undying gratitude,” she replied, clambering back across the mess and heading to the door, where she stopped next to him. “There are some very disgusting-looking socks under your bed, Bradley. I think they might be the primary cause of the smell. If you clean the place up a bit, I might be tempted to stay a little longer next time I come into your room. We could chat, maybe have something to eat, and you could show me a little bit of that computer coding that keeps you busy all day. Maybe. Think about that.”
She poked him in the chest, and then she carried the board over to the stairs.
“That's my private property!” he called after her. “I don't give you permission to damage it in any way!”
She turned back to him.
“Does it come with instructions?”
“A friend of mine made it a few years ago,” he told her. “She was trying to come up with some new way of talking to spirits, something a bit different. Of course it doesn't come with instructions.”
“Do you know how to use it? Beyond the obvious, that is.”
“Not really.”
“Okay, but are there rules?” she continued. “Come on, Bradley, you know everything! You must know something about this! Why do you even have it if you're not interesting in how it works?”
“I just thought it looked cool.”
“You're tragic,” she told him. “You know that, right? Really tragic.”
“I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be careful with those boards,” he added. “Not that I believe in any of that stuff, of course. It's clearly nonsense designed to titillate immature minds. But if you do believe in all that ghost rubbish, then you should definitely not just start messing about with a board like that. People who believe in it tend to think that there can be very serious consequences if you do it wrong.”
“Huh.” She looked down at the board for a moment, before shrugging. “Can't be that complicated. I've seen them being used in movies. Catch you later, dude!”
***
“Seems easy enough,” she muttered a short while later, standing in the kitchen and moving the marker across various letters on the board. “Talk to a ghost, get it to move the thingy, work out the message. Job done.”
She continued to play with the marker for a few seconds.
“Spirit, I summon thee,” she continued with a faint smile. “Man, there has to be more to it than that.”
For a moment, she tried to think back to any horror films she'd seen that included a spirit b
oard. She understood the basics of how they worked, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there might be certain special words that she was supposed to use.
“Spirit, are you here?” she asked. “I don't know, is that enough? Spirit, I conjure thee and demand that you talk to me and...”
Her voice trailed off.
“Whatever,” she added with a sigh.
She set the marker aside, before heading to the fridge and grabbing a carton of orange juice. She took a swig straight from the carton, which she then placed back in the fridge. With her eyes still fixed on the spirit board, however, she couldn't help but wonder whether the stupid thing might actually work. It wasn't exactly like the ones she'd seen in films; rather, it seemed to have only a few letters and numbers on its surface, along with various other symbols.
Then again, contacting the dead wasn't exactly the primary purpose of her plans.
Making her way over to the chair in the corner, she sat down and took the receiver from the phone. She looked through the address book on the shelf, and then she dialed one of the numbers. She waited, and after a few seconds she heard somebody pick up on the other end of the line.
“Hey,” she said, “it's me. Jane O'Neill. I know I told you I'd ring on Saturday, but I've managed to get things into gear a little quicker than I planned.”
As she listened to the voice on the other end of the line, she twirled the phone cord with her fingers and looked back over at the spirit board.
“Did you put the money in my account?” she asked. “Because I'm going to pop down to the bank later and check. I'm not doing anything until I know that you've kept up your side of the bargain.”
She smiled as she listened to the voice.
“Everything's going according to plan,” she continued after a moment. “Don't worry, I'm certain that by this time tomorrow, I'll have exactly what you want.”
She listened for a moment longer.
“No, I told you not to worry,” she said firmly. “It's all going to be taken care of. I promise you, Sally doesn't suspect a thing.”