“Those are good questions, Kevin.” Sceptre was about to call Fishwick, but Lenny’s reappearance stopped her.
“The rotten sod won’t own up, whoever he is,” the technician complained. “They’re sending for someone to repair the glass.” He reached into a corner, alongside a stack of brand new, still packaged computers, pulled out a broom and began sweeping the floor. “It’s not as if I don’t have enough to do, either. Dunstan’s going through the roof again because that image is back, interfering with the videos, and if we don’t get it sorted, we’ll get nothing in the can today, and we have to be off site by Thursday, and set up down at the arena.”
Sceptre signalled to Kevin and he stood up. “The only thing I can suggest,” he said to Lenny, “is set up a different feed for the director, and leave the static monitor where it is. At least the joker who’s interfering will concentrate on that camera and you’ll get something done.”
“Yeah, thanks, Kevin. We’ve already done that, but it isn’t enough for Mr high and bloody mighty, super duper Hollywood director. I wouldn’t care if he had a decent track record, but the only thing he’s known for is making commercials for condoms.” Lenny swept the broken glass onto a dustpan and dropped it in the bin.
“We’ll leave you to it, Lenny,” Sceptre said.
*****
Pete was by the coffee stand again when Sceptre and Kevin emerged from the technical caravan. As they moved to join him, Dunstan left his director’s chair and scurried to them. To Sceptre’s astonishment, he bowed low.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked.
“Begging your pardon, your majesty, but —”
“Your majesty,” Sceptre interrupted and her eyes fell on Pete’s grinning face, as if to say, I’ll get you for that.
“I wasn’t sure how to address you, Ma’am,” Dunstan grovelled.
“Ms Rand will do fine, thank you, and there is no need to bow.”
“Thank you, Ma’am, you’re very gracious.” Dunstan straightened up. “I wondered if you had come to any conclusion regarding our video problems.”
Sceptre took a cup of coffee from Pete and sipped. “Oh, god, I needed that. It’s getting really cold here.” She focused on the director. “The problem here, Mr Dunstan, is not electronic, but supernatural. There is a disturbed spirit on this site, and he’s interfering with your camera.”
Dunstan’s colour rose and he looked as if he wanted to lose his temper again, but Pete’s advice that he was dealing with royalty caused him to rein it in. Instead, he looked to Pete as if to ask, is she for real?
“Our aristocracy are quite eccentric, Dunstan,” Pete explained. “It’s why we love them so much.”
“And our police officers, Mr Dunstan, are all eunuchs. We have them castrated at a young age, but in Pete’s case, it will probably happen later this afternoon.” She gave Dunstan a condescending smile. “It’s a punishment for impertinence.”
Dunstan withered. “Ouch.”
“Now,” Sceptre went on, “we’ve already set up our investigative base here, so we’ll keep you informed of any developments. Is that all right with you?”
“It’s absolutely fine, your highness.”
“Thank you.”
Dunstan wandered off and Sceptre rounded on Pete. “Do you have to play your silly games?”
Pete laughed. “Know your trouble, Sceptre? You have no sense of humour. Now come on. Nag won’t speak to me. I bruised her elbow or her ego when I saved her life. We’re on station here again tonight, and I need a nap.”
Chapter Eleven
Night had fallen and the movie crew had gone back to their hotels when the sect members congregated in the headmaster’s lodge.
“First this Brennan and his friends spend the night here and now they turn up during the day,” complained Trent, “trying to work out what is going on with the film cameras. This is worrying, Master.”
“There is nothing, Norman, that will lead them to the crypt again,” the High Master assured his members, “so I still see no reason to worry.”
“We thought that last night,” Minton pointed out, “but they still went into the crypt. I think we need to keep an eye on them.”
The High Master’s eyes fell on him. “And just how do you imagine we would do that, Alec? This Brennan has a reputation for being tough and smart. Our friend Danny verified that.” He gestured at Corcoran. “So how do you suppose we can watch Brennan without him realising and taking appropriate action?”
“I can do it,” Corcoran said. He grinned. “Getting in and out of places without being seen is my speciality, and if Brennan rumbles me, he’ll assume that I’m just robbing the place.”
The High Master drummed his finger on the cracked leather of the armchair. “There is the danger that this may be counterproductive. On the other hand, if Brennan and his friends are onto something, good intelligence may be valuable. Are we all happy to let Danny watch over the night’s events?”
There was a murmur of agreement from the assembly.
The High Master bestowed a beneficent smile on his disciple. “Your work will not go unrewarded, Danny. Just make sure Brennan doesn’t spot you.”
“Just trust me, Master,” Danny smiled. “I’ll be like the invisible man.”
*****
It was almost 9:30 by the time they had unloaded Kevin’s van and unpacked their equipment in the dining hall.
“I’ve put some powerful rechargeable flashlights in for tonight,” Kevin said, taking one of them out of the box and switching it on. “Two million candlepower and they’re good for about twenty minutes per charge.”
Pete took it from him. “I’ll use this while I’m doing Sherlock’s rounds.”
Even as he spoke, the light died.
“That’s the fastest twenty minutes in history,” Sceptre commented digging into the cartons and coming out with three handheld CB radios.
“Must have a faulty cell,” Kevin said taking it back and handing Pete another. As his oldest friend wandered off to make the security rounds, Kevin asked Sceptre, “Where are we setting up?”
“Library again, definitely,” Sceptre replied without thinking about it. “I think we should also set up in the chapel again.”
“But not in the crypt?” Kevin wanted to know.
“Why not? We had good results there last night.”
“Yes, and I needed to change my underpants this morning because of those results,” Kevin protested. One look at Sceptre’s face told him he was not getting through. “Oh, all right, so we set up in the crypt again, but I’m not going down there on my own. I want Pete with us.”
Sceptre smiled. “All right, if you’re scared, we’ll wait for the incredible sulk to come back.”
Satisfied with the arrangement, Kevin dug into his toolbelt, came out with a couple of fine screwdrivers and began to dismantle the faulty flashlight. “Sceptre,” he asked as he worked, “why are these ghosts picking on me? I mean, I know you were in the library last night, but I was the only one who saw the man in black. And if you remember, it was the same at Melmerby Manor. One of them threw a CD at me and I was the one who kept getting text messages from Bilko after he was snuffed.”
“I remember,” Sceptre said, “and I’ve said before that I think you have channelling abilities of which you’re not aware. We really must find time to investigate you, Kevin. Trouble is, you’re always so busy with one job or another.”
“I work for myself,” he reminded her, “and I’m not like Pete. He can charge a couple of grand a time for big jobs and even when he works for lawyers and stuff, he won’t turn out for less than one and a half a day. That means he can work when he chooses. At the side of him, I work for peanuts, which means I have to do more.” He rived at the flashlight base, but it refused to move.
“Perhaps,” Sceptre teased, “when you eventually negotiate that TV deal you keep talking about, we’ll find more time.”
He put down the screwdrivers and the flashlight.
“Bloody thing. I can’t even get into it, never mind mend it.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “Don’t take any notice of Pete, you know. When we have enough half decent footage to go for it, I know how to approach the TV johnnies. And I don’t need contacts. I’m a salesman, Sceptre. I can meet a bloke for the first time and sell him a new house within half an hour.”
Sceptre laughed, recalling how he had persuaded her to move in with them. She had almost walked away when she realised that the tenants advertising for a third to share their apartment were both men, but over the space of an hour, Kevin convinced her that it was the right move, and despite Pete’s caution that many of Kevin’s promises were empty, she had no cause to regret the decision.
“I don’t take any notice of Pete,” she told him, “and I’ve always believed that if anyone can get us into the lucrative world of television, it’s you.”
Kevin was already busy setting up his laptop computer. “Trouble is,” he said as he waited for the machine to go through its boot routine, “the footage we have is mostly poor. We could do with a decent camera, a pro job, instead of these muppet digi-camcorders we’re using.”
In order to highlight the problem, he called up footage from the library landing the previous night.
“They lack quality, see,” he told her. “They’re like home movies.” He stroked his chin. “I wonder if we could borrow one of the movie team’s cameras. They’re all out there in the trailers and Pete has the keys.”
Sceptre shook her head. Her frown told Kevin all he needed to know of her opinion. “That is borrowing without permission, Kevin, and it’s called stealing. If you wish to borrow some of their equipment, you ask permission first.”
He clucked. “You’re worse than Pete. At least he doesn’t mind the iffy things if there’s a point to it.”
“Well,” she suggested, “why not have a word with Mr Dunstan tomorrow? He has some respect for me, thanks to Pete, and that may be enough to persuade him. I can’t do anything tomorrow, anyway. I have two classes to teach in college, so we won’t be doing much in the way of investigating.”
Kevin nodded. “Happen you’re right.” He turned his attention to their equipment. “We’d better start getting the gear together for when mighty mouse gets back.”
When Pete returned, it was with the news that Kevin’s flashlights were not all they were made out to be.
“Twenty minutes?” he asked dropping the offending item on the table. “It lasted less than five.”
“I’ll put it on charge,” Kevin said and took it into the kitchen.
“We’d better get set up,” he heard Sceptre say. “Are you right, Pete?”
“Yep. You fit, Kev?” his buddy called out.
“Right with you.” Kevin plugged the charger into a mains outlet, and inserted the jack into the base of the flashlight. He paused to check that the article was actually charging, then strode out of the kitchen, back into the dining hall, only to find they had already left.
“Rotten sods,” he grumbled. “They know I don’t like being on my own.” He snatched up his toolbelt and hurried out into the corridor. He looked right and left and could see no sign of them. He looked left again and his eyes fell on the chapel doors. No way. If they were there, they could stay there and if they were not, no way was he going in there alone. The doors, he realised were closed and probably locked.
“Where the hell have they gone?”
The library! Sceptre had said she wanted a set up there, hadn’t she?
He turned right, wrapping the toolbelt around his portly waist as he doubled back and up the stairs near the entrance.
Arriving on the first floor landing, he could see the library door ajar, but when he looked further along, to the end of the corridor, the door in the bulkhead wall, the access to the roof was also open. Could they have gone up there?
He hurried along and paused by the library door, listening. He could hear sounds from within. In that case, why was the roof access open?
Kevin hovered on the edge of courage and cowardice. Pete was always insulting his manliness and most of the time, Kevin took it in good part; the gentle jibes of close friends. But equally, there were those times when Pete actually meant it. He could score several brownie points by going up to the roof and finding out why the door was open.
“But what if someone closes and locks it while you’re up there?” he asked himself.
Simple. He had his mobile with him and he could bell Pete.
He strode towards the open door.
“But suppose Pete’s turned his phone off?”
As the thought occurred to him and he gave voice to it, he hesitated. Looking through the open door, he could see a flight of stone steps, and at the top of them, the blackness of the night sky. The upper door was open too.
“Well, Kevin, someone has to check this out.”
Taking a deep breath, he marched through the door and hurried up the staircase.
He emerged into the icy cold of a December night, and looked around.
Four flagpoles struck up into the night sky. Kevin recognised them instantly. They were the same poles he had seen in his two visions, but in them, only one flag had been flying: Loki. The standards hanging limp from the poles now were the Union Flag, the Cross of St George and the School Coat of Arms.
The base of the roof looked as it had done in his vision, too. An area marked out as a basketball court, or something, but without the baskets, and a great circle of a polymerised material bolted over the concrete.
“Safety surface,” he said to himself, “so the snooty little sods won’t hurt themselves if they fall when they’re playing games.”
He could not see the great seal, as Swede had described it. The huge depiction of Loki etched into the concrete.
With a check back down the stairs to ensure that no one had closed the lower door, he walked around the barren rooftop and still could not see it.
“Maybe Swede was dreaming,” he muttered and walked to the front battlement.
Leaning on the wall in the gap between two crenellations, he lit a cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke into the freezing air and looked out over Ashdale.
He had been born and raised in the town and he loved it. He knew almost every street of this former textile haven, and to him there was no finer place to live. He was less than ten miles from the heart of Manchester with all its trading opportunities, and only two miles from the Saddleworth Moors. Civilisation and raw wilderness both within easy reach. In the last ten years he had been all over Europe; all the major cities, all the favourite resorts, as far afield as the Canary Islands, and while he liked travelling, he was always happiest here, in his home town, where he knew the people and the crack. He had long ago decided that even when he eventually became rich and possibly famous, he would not leave Ashdale.
Below him, the movie company’s trailers were scattered about the school greens. Kevin took another pull on his cigarette and pined. Movies. TV. That was where his future lay. That was where the fame and fortune were located. Hadn’t he just said so to Sceptre? All he needed was a foothold.
“Vali.”
Kevin froze. The voice was no more than a whisper in his left ear. His hand trembled and the glowing end of the cigarette described tiny wobbles in the night.
“Vali.”
Not again. And he was totally alone this time. Pete and Sceptre didn’t even know he was up here.
“Vali.”
The voice was getting louder, coming nearer. Kevin noticed that a glow of light had developed behind him and was gaining in strength.
“You have to face this, Kev,” he said to himself.
“Vali.”
He took another drag on the cigarette then tossed it over the battlement. Expelling the smoke, then pulling in a deep breath to charge himself with oxygen, heart thumping in his chest, he slowly turned back to face his tormentor.
Kevin stared, his eyes wide in a combination of fear and fascination. This was no man i
n black … well it was, but it wasn’t black. The shape was undoubtedly that of Swede, but he was a dull glow against the backdrop of night. There was no substance to him. Kevin could see straight through to the ventilation shafts and access door of the roof. It was almost as if Swede were a drawing, the lines formed of incandescent white.
“Vali.”
The apparition began to draw near. Kevin trembled. He had nowhere to go other than over the battlements and a thirty-foot drop to the concrete below. He pulled in his breath again. “All right,” he said to the apparition. “You want to tell me something, go ahead. I’m all yours.”
The manifestation surrounded him and his vision swam.
*****
Low wattage bulbs lit the dark alleyway. Two of the disciples carried the dead body of Swede to its final resting place, another carried a short, stout block of wood.
The High Master gestured at the stone coffin and the three artefacts resting on it. Another disciple removed the tankard, coin and pocket watch. The gorilla-like squat individual pressed his powerful hands to the stone lid and heaved. The stone rose revealing the grinning skull and bleached bones of the Reverend Emmet. Another disciple propped the lid with the block of wood and two of the disciples backed off from the horrible sight.
“They’re bones,” said the High Master. “They can’t hurt you. Drop him in.”
They manhandled Swede’s body into the sarcophagus, left him face up on top of Emmet’s bones. As they backed off, the gorilla knocked the block of wood away and the stone lid fell, sealing in its macabre secret.
The artefacts were replaced on the lid and the disciples filed out, leaving the High Master alone for a final few moments.
“I thought you were my friend, Swede. I was wrong.” The High Master turned and walked away.
A Spookies Compendium Page 47