Haunt Dead Wrong

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘Let me,’ I said, throwing my hands over his, applying the same pressure as I had with the steering wheel. We both concentrated, he with his human strength and me with my spectral. I closed my eyes, willing the leather to tear, feeling the power ripple from my chest, down through my arms and into my fingers. The train whistle sounded as it approached the station, an express. Not stopping. The leather snapped and I drifted clear with the effort, exhausted with the spent energy.

  ‘Go!’ I yelled. ‘Quickly!’

  As good ghostly intentions went, mine were up there with the best, surely guaranteeing me a pass through the pearly gates should the opportunity ever arise again. Sadly, not all ghosts are cut from the same cloth. Bradbury didn’t see him as he kicked open the driver’s door, the train almost upon him. Nor did he catch sight of the flame at the end of that long, dark pole, emerging from the dark arch of the railway bridge like the lure of an angler fish. But when the skeletal body and stovepipe hat separated from the shadows and danced toward the wreck, Bradbury saw the Lamplighter alright. The phantom was silhouetted by the onrushing light, terrible eyes burning with wicked glee. Bradbury tried to rise from the wreckage, screamed for help, for forgiveness, but it was too late.

  The Lamplighter leapt, the train whistle screaming at his back, his limbs twisting into impossible positions. Pinning Bradbury back into the Bentley, the spectre burbled over his victim like a hideous, hungry spider. My killer’s cries were of pure, unadulterated terror; not at his impending death, but the promise in the Lamplighter’s blazing gaze of horror and hell that awaited him in the great and grim beyond. I turned away as train hit car, Bradbury’s bloodcurdling screams carried away down the tracks along with the Bentley.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Loving and Leaving

  The children’s ward was a peculiar place after dark. By day, there was a positivity that was missing elsewhere in the hospital. Perhaps it was the unrelenting chipperness of youth, the glass half-full mentality that the older, more poorly patients struggled to capture. The relentless blare of computer games and duelling televisions rang out down the halls. Sure, there were some ill kids there – and I’m talking really ill – but even they managed to find the fun between the traumas and treatments. However, come nightfall it was lights out. Electronic mischief was banned and a curfew called on capering. The quiet was broken by crying, sobs splitting the silence and echoing down dark corridors. Away from home, from parents, sick and scared; as sleepover venues go, hospitals rarely make the list.

  I stood at the foot of Dougie’s bed, watching him sleep. Not so unusual; I’d spent the last eight months doing that very thing, permanently awake while he slumbered. That’s a ghost’s lot in un-life. We don’t get to sleep. A living human being would be driven insane having to endure my nightly routine. But for me, it was part of the gig. Dougie’s present condition wasn’t, though. Patched up, head bandaged, wired up with a drip in his arm; there was no getting used to seeing my best mate like that. It hurt like hell just to look at him, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away. I wouldn’t leave him alone. I wanted to be there when he woke up. He was going to wake up, wasn’t he?

  ‘There’s a special word for a guy like you.’

  I turned to find the Major stood behind me, just off my shoulder. I shrugged sheepishly. ‘I’m no hero.’

  ‘I was going to go with Jonah. It’s like you’re cursed or something! How many loved ones can you get into one hospital?’

  I appreciated the gentle ribbing. I missed it with my regular tormentor, Dougie, out of action.

  ‘How’s he doing?’ asked the American.

  ‘He’s sleeping a lot, which is understandable. Overheard what the doctors said; he has broken ribs and a fractured skull. Bradbury really put the boot in. Plus he’s popped the stitches on his shin, silly sod.’

  ‘Jeez, he really went to bat for his pa, didn’t he?’

  I nodded. ‘Saved Mr Hancock from an even worse beating. He’s paying for it now, though.’

  ‘He’s alive, ain’t he? That’s something. And his old man?’

  ‘He’s in a ward in the east wing.’

  ‘A family affair, huh?’

  ‘He’s been kicking off with them, wanting to come over and see his son. Sounds like they’ll wheel him over in the morning.’

  ‘You went over to see him?’

  ‘Yeah. Like Dougie, he’s in a bad way. Right leg in a brace and suspended over his bed. Busted kneecap, broken fingers and a dislocated jaw. I swear, they’re both lucky to be alive.’

  ‘And the femme fatale . . .?’

  ‘Femme-what now?’ I said, before realising who he was on about. I blushed. ‘Oh. You’re on about Lucy.’

  She was in another of the children’s wards, her folks having ensured she had a private room. I wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant for her relationship with Dougie. I’d a good idea though, having caught the glowering looks and furious words Mr Carpenter had unleashed upon arriving at the hospital and hearing reports of the night’s events. His daughter’s abduction followed by near-death crash and subsequent train-car-inferno were not going to reflect well on my pal. It was safe to assume Dougie and Lucy’s romantic adventure was firmly up in the air.

  ‘I heard the nurses say she’d be out tomorrow. Seems she’s doing better than anyone. Probably a blessing she’s suffering amnesia.’

  ‘So you went over there, to old man Hancock and your buddy’s beau without Sparky here?’ The Major looked impressed.

  ‘Yeah, a weird thing happened. Seems I’m not tied to Dougie any more. Whatever kept us together like Siamese twins seems to have upped and vamoosed. It was when Bradbury turned up at the Hancock house. Something switched in my head. The minute Dougie fought back I realised why I was still here, who I was supposed to be haunting. Following my mate night and day had led me to his father and the Bentley, and ultimately to Bradbury. He was the one I was meant to haunt all along.’

  ‘And he’s gone now,’ said the Major, patting my back. ‘How do you feel about that?’

  How did I feel? I hadn’t given it much thought, being too preoccupied with my friend’s fate. Those odd occasions when I’d thought back to that awful night left me nauseous. The beatings, the car crash, the Lamplighter and Bradbury’s screams. I may have been a ghost but those scenes would haunt me to the end of my days, whenever they finally came.

  ‘I try not to think about it.’

  ‘Understandable. But what of your tricksy predicament? With all that’s passed and the bad man dead and gone? How do you feel now?’

  ‘Kind of . . . empty, I suppose. If I expected his death to bring some kind of closure, I was mistaken. If anything, it’s just thrown up more questions.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, why haven’t I moved on? I thought my killer’s demise might be my ticket out of here. But here I am, going nowhere fast. I was convinced that if I solved my death and set wrongs to rights that I’d be sorted. Bang! Out of here. Yet here I sit, still waiting for the call.’

  The Major sighed. ‘Son, I don’t have the answers, I’m afraid.’

  I chuckled. ‘You never do. Unless the question pertains to swing music, retro hair products or the films of Jimmy Cagney—’

  ‘Up to and including summer of 1943,’ he added. ‘I’m not so strong with my movie trivia after that . . .’

  ‘Funny that,’ I said, twigging the reference to his own untimely death. ‘I wonder what happened to him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bradbury.’

  ‘He’s dead, ain’t he? Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.’

  I shook my head. ‘But where did he end up? What’s his punishment for all the terrible things he did in his life? Does he simply blink out of existence, swallowed by death’s vast darkness?’

  ‘Cheery thought.’

  ‘Or is there a reckoning? Does he pay for those crimes?’

  The Major clicked his teeth ruefully. ‘I like to think that a monster like t
he Lamplighter knows exactly what he’s doing. There’ll be a special place in hell for Bradbury, kid, don’t you worry about that.’

  I shuddered at the thought. ‘Is that it then?’

  ‘What do you mean, Will?’

  ‘This. Us. Being here, left behind. Did we not tick all the boxes for the big guy upstairs? Did we come up short when the winners’ names were read out? Why else would we be cursed to stay here in limbo when others can move on?’

  ‘We’re not cursed, Will,’ said the Major, seizing me by the arms and turning me so we were face to face. ‘This is a gift, son. A second bite at the apple, if you will. We’re not being punished. We have a job to do. We’re left here to do some good.’

  ‘And the Lamplighter?’

  ‘Well,’ the Major shrugged. ‘Different big guys leave different agents behind to do their work. But never doubt that you serve a purpose here.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘Damned if I know,’ said the Yank. ‘Which brings me to this.’ He hugged me, hard. Well, as hard as one ethereal being can hug another.

  ‘What was that for?’ I grunted.

  ‘That’s goodbye,’ he said, pulling away and straightening my trailing scarf. ‘You’re gonna be OK, you hear?’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ I said, ever slow on the uptake. A second later and I understood all.

  She stood at the end of the corridor by the lift, waiting for him. Like us, she shone with the same, pale blue hue. Oddly, though, she wasn’t a frail old lady any more. I didn’t know how any of this ghosting nonsense worked. I probably never would. Ruby Hershey was young again, her stylish hair tied up, her hospital nightgown replaced by a vintage polkadot dress. She smiled at me and waved. The Major waved back.

  ‘Ain’t she a picture?’ he whispered, his grin dazzling.

  ‘She’s that and then some.’ I wasn’t lying. If the Major thought he could’ve been a movie star, then the flickering image of Ruby Hershey could’ve just stepped out of the silver screen. If I wandered the planet to the end of time I’d never see a more beautiful woman.

  ‘How do I look?’ he asked, jutting his jaw out and dusting down his uniform. It was my turn to straighten his tie.

  ‘Like a million dollars. Now go kiss your girl.’

  He walked into the corridor, turning on his heel as if he were on parade. Ahead, behind Ruby, the lift doors slid open, revealing an incredible light within. It bathed the woman entirely, almost swallowing her right there and then, but she was going nowhere. She was waiting for her man. Ruby extended a hand and beckoned him. The Major paused, and looked back to me. He clicked his fingers.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Y’know . . . you could join us.’

  ‘Join you?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, a look of sheer bloody-minded joy illuminating his face. ‘What’s stopping you?’

  Good lord. He was right. What was stopping me? Here was my chance, the thing that I’d missed the night I’d died. I was already walking, leaving the ward and heading into the corridor.

  ‘Do you think they’ll mind?’ I asked, unsure of who “they” even were.

  ‘What’s the worst they can do? Chuck you out on the ground floor? Come on, Will. Step in line and leave the talking to me.’

  He winked.

  I laughed.

  He set off toward Ruby and the light, me just off his shoulder. The closer we got to the glowing doorway, the more I was enveloped by its radiating warmth. It was the sun and I was a speck of sand on the beach. I could swear, at that moment, beyond that magical portal, I could hear the sea lapping upon a distant shore. I could hear Yellow Bird being played by a steel band, accompanied by merrymaking and laughter. Turns out heaven was Antigua. The Major walked ahead of me, looking back when he noticed I’d stopped.

  ‘What?’ he asked, the smile slipping.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You . . . can’t? Of course you can. Here, take my hand.’

  He extended it toward me. I could just seize it, right there and then, let myself get led out of there. But that wasn’t who I was. It isn’t who I am.

  ‘Unfinished business,’ I whispered. Now it was his turn to catch my drift.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, looking past me, back down the corridor to the ward we’d departed. The ward in which my best friend lay in a fitful, troubled sleep. ‘Unfinished business.’

  ‘It’s not just Dougie.’

  ‘Then what? You do want to move on, don’t you? On to something better? Brighter?’

  ‘You know what,’ I said with a smile. ‘I’m not sure I do.’

  The Major looked dumbstruck.

  ‘Everybody’s been banging on about how I should move on to the next world, wave goodbye to limbo, when the truth of the matter is nobody ever asked me what I wanted. I’m a teenager, Chip, or at least was before I died. My time on earth had been fleeting, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. It was only just beginning and then –’ I snapped my fingers ‘– it was finished. Snuffed out. That’d be game over for most anybody else, but for whatever reason – Dougie, his father, Bradbury – I got another bite at the apple.

  ‘I may be dead but I’m not done living. There’s still stuff I can do here. I can help people, be they alive or mortally challenged. You showed me more than anyone that one can have a purpose in un-life. And besides, it looks like there might be a vacancy here . . .’

  I winked at the Major and he smiled back. Removing his US Air Force peaked cap he passed it across, dropping it on to my head. It was the strangest sensation, the ghostly object feeling as real to me as a corporeal item against one’s flesh. I hooked my thumb and pushed the visor up and out of my eyes so he could see my grin. The baton had been passed. The Major snapped his heels and made a sharp salute.

  ‘It’s been my absolute pleasure to serve with you, Will Underwood.’

  ‘Shake a tail-feather, Yank. You’re keeping your date waiting.’

  He turned and walked into the light, the doorway already narrowing, drawing them both in. I had to turn away, the sheer intensity blinding me. If I’d had eyeballs they’d be pooling in their sockets. And like that, it was gone. The corridor was dark again, the gloom only broken by the occasional flickering ceiling light or a nursing station computer monitor. I backed up, returning to the foot of my best mate’s bed. If there’d been a chair, I’d have sat in it. Instead I climbed on to the bed and lay down beside my dear friend.

  ‘Muppet.’

  I closed my eyes and listened to Dougie breathe. I tried to remember what it felt like. To sleep. To dream.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Meet and Greet

  ‘You look like a right plum in that.’

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ I replied, running my thumb along the visor’s edge of the Major’s dress hat. ‘I reckon I look a dude. You can try it on but somehow I don’t think it’ll fit you.’

  ‘Still can’t believe he left without saying goodbye.’

  Dougie and I stared across the rose garden as the sick and their visitors shambled about in the drizzle, searching for somewhere to shelter. These were the hardcore smokers, unable to go longer than an hour without sneaking out for a sly puff. Overcoats were donned and umbrellas were hoisted as they got their sweet cancerous kicks in the rain. They’d be back here soon enough, some of them. Judging by the terrible coughing of the odd one, they probably wouldn’t be leaving.

  ‘Like I said, the Major wasn’t really in a position where he could hang about for you to get your arse out of bed. It was a bit of a one-time-ticket. Trust me, they don’t hold the door open for you if you dally.’

  We were stood beneath the ambulance canopy outside A&E, waiting for Mr Hancock to turn up. It had been two weeks since the accident, and in that time there had been plenty of rest and recuperation for Dougie to sink his teeth into. To be fair, he’d gorged on it, spending a ridiculous amount of time with his feet up as the nurses reached, fetched and carried for him. Stu Singer, Andy Vaughn and even Bloody Mary ha
d proved to be invaluable mates, visiting frequently and bringing a plethora of goodies in from home to amuse him: comics, books, iPad and even Dougie’s mobile phone. That stash had been tricky to retrieve, with both Dougie and his dad in hospital, but everybody’s favourite head-the-ball was a resourceful lad; while Andy kept watch, Stu had gone in through the garage, jimmying the locked door to the kitchen before sweeping up all that was needed. God bless the sons of vicars.

  ‘Besides,’ I said, ‘he might have been fond of you in a chalk and cheese kinda way, but you were no Ruby. More of a nugget of coal in comparison.’

  ‘Really? She must’ve polished up nicely then. Last I saw of the old dear she looked her age.’

  ‘That’s the weird thing. Look at me in my torn jeans, winter coat and Doctor Who scarf; I’m still wearing the clothes I carked it in. No doubt I will until I finally – if ever – get my chance to leave. It wasn’t the same Ruby waiting for the Major though. She was a young woman, in all her splendour.’

  ‘Splendour?’

  ‘Sounds showy, doesn’t it? Not on this occasion. She was a knockout. They made a mighty fine couple.’

  ‘Perhaps your apparition is linked to your mood? It was the happiest moment of your life when you died, wasn’t it? Lousy timing, I know.’

  ‘Perhaps those years when she was first with the Major, so long ago, were when Ruby was at her happiest. That’d make sense, wouldn’t it? Either way, it’d be nice to change the outfit now and again. I suppose the Major’s cap is something.’

  ‘Something else to go in the Rules of Ghosting notebook.’

  ‘You’re keeping it up to date, aren’t you?’

  ‘Course I am,’ he lied, glancing at his phone.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘No,’ he said, glumly.

  Barely a moment had gone by in the last week where I hadn’t found him checking his mobile for messages. He’d sent a bunch of them to Lucy, asking to speak with her. There was a ton of stuff the two of them needed to talk through. Most of it Dougie had been reluctant to discuss on account of Bradbury – his dad, the car, the villain himself – but with that monster out of the picture it freed up everything. Nothing was off topic, but it was just his luck that Mr Carpenter had apparently put a kibosh on their relationship. Whether she was receiving my pal’s plaintive messages, we couldn’t know. Perhaps her dad had confiscated the phone and was fuming each and every frequent moment it pinged: message received! I hadn’t the heart to tell Dougie about the mood Mr Carpenter had been in after the accident. I was looking for the right moment, but it hadn’t yet arrived.