The Parliament of the Dead

by T. A. Donnelly

  “Quite right,”chipped in the Grey Monk again,“we must take up arms against our oppressor!” Then he continued quietly to his headless neighbour“I’m quite the dab hand with a chainsaw you know!”

  “But first...”Judge Hawkins tried to start again, only to be interrupted by a figure that seemed to be made out of rags and patches.

  It was Nubkheperra, one of the mummies who had been attacked in the British Museum. His body had been all but destroyed; it would take months for museum staff to put it together again; in the meantime Nubkheperra had animated some dirty bandages he had found in the rubbish bins of the local hospital. When he spoke his voice was muffled and angry. “They exorcised my good friend Henutmehyt. We had known each other for five thousand years.”

  “Ooh!”gasped the Grey Monk nodding his head; but the nods turned to shakes as Judge Hawkins allowed himself to be drawn into the argument.

  “Then we will scare them away. It’s what we do!”

  “They are not scared of the living or the dead,”called out a severed head propped up on a chair in the front row. (This particular head regularly appeared in the laps of female members of the audience at the Lyceum Theatre.)

  Suddenly the room fell silent. No one had seen him enter, but all eyes were suddenly fixed on Arthur... and the two living people by his side.

  “Breathers!”hissed a voice from the gallery,“Turpin’s brought breathers to the Parliament of the Dead!”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Breathers

  Tiggy felt as if her feet were not touching the ground as she walked towards the Houses of Parliament. She had seen many strange things in her job as a reporter, but everything had made some kind of rational sense until tonight: until this strange man had arrived at her door and told her about the world of ghosts; until the man had proved that the supernatural existed by dissolving into dust in front of her eyes, and then reforming.

  Tiggy wondered if this was what it felt like to lose your mind.

  * * *

  Iona was unaware of her mother’s anxiety. She was amazed at the ease with which her mother could gain access to the House of Lords at midnight. Her film company was doing a documentary on the Lords and Tiggy claimed she needed to make some urgent adjustments to the cameras for the morning’s filming. Luckily it was a security guard she had met before, and he fell straight for Tiggy’s feigned girly, scatterbrained routine.

  “I should have set up the camera angles yesterday…”- a flutter of the eyelashes and a downward glance. “…and I’ll lose my job if it’s not ready first thing tomorrow...”- a bite of the lip and a pleading look into the guard’s eyes.

  Iona watched in disbelief at her mother’s impersonation of a helpless female.

  As the guard waved them through Tiggy winked at Iona. “Men!”she whispered to her daughter,“They can’t resist rescuing a feeble woman.”

  As they walked towards the chamber of the House of Lords, Arthur materialized out of a swirling cloud of dust and quickly fell into step beside them. Tiggy looked at him in wonder and adjusted her satchel. Her cover for gaining entrance had been setting up the cameras. She had brought a camera in her bag, the one she used for‘undercover’filming. She was here to help Iona’s friends, but she could not suppress her journalistic instinct, so turned the camera to record.

  * * *

  A tall man stood with his back to them in front of the wooden door that led to the chamber. By the time he noticed Iona, Tiggy and Arthur they had already opened the door and stepped into the Parliament.

  In the past few days Iona had experienced some alarming and bizarre things. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the Parliament of the Dead. The seats of the House were filled with ghosts. Their costumes spanned centuries; their faces (or lack of faces) betrayed hundreds of different and gruesome means of meeting their death. Some, like Arthur, could be mistaken for the living; some were transparent; some glowed with an unnatural light; some were barely visible, like patches of sickly discoloured air. But most disturbing of all was the fact that they were all looking at her.

  * * *

  Judge Hawkins looked frightened for a moment, then his pale face grew red with fury. “Get those vile breathers out of here at once!”

  No one moved. Iona and Tiggy looked at the ghosts in amazement and fear, and the ghosts looked back with terror and dismay. Only Judge Hawkins seemed capable of any action, as he continued to shout:“Get them out of here, no living person has attended this Parliament for over two millennia! This is an outrage!”

  “Judge Hawkins,”Arthur began in a commanding voice,“I fully appreciate the gravity of our actions; I have brought these breathers here because you must listen to what this one has to say.” He pointed to Iona, who suddenly felt as if her insides could not decide whether they wanted to escape from the top or bottom of her body.

  In their rush to get to the Parliament on time she had not considered how they would tell the assembly that they were in danger. It had not occurred to her that it would be she who would tell the news.

  Judge Hawkins objected on the grounds that Iona was alive, and that she was not a member of the Parliament, and that what she had to say was not on the agenda. But the actual members wanted an explanation, and after a brief argument, there was hush.

  Iona felt her mother give her arm an encouraging squeeze and realised that everyone was leaning forward in their seats to hear what she had to say.

  She cleared her throat.

  “OK, I know you don’t want me here, but this is important.” Iona cleared her throat again. “Some creepy priests are going to attack this meeting. Tonight. You must escape.” Iona looked at the ghosts looking at her. “Em, now.”

  “This is ridiculous, these priests could not attack us,”Judge Hawkins was speaking again, “no breathers could ever discover the time or place of our meeting.”

  “Iona and her mother are here tonight,”countered Arthur.

  “Yes, but youbrought them,”Judge Hawkins adjusted his wig,“and such a breach of protocol cannot go unpunished.”

  Arguments erupted throughout the assembly again. A few poltergeists got hold of some copies of the minutes and sprayed them all over the room. A severed head joined the maelstrom, and having been flung the full length of the hall, it was followed by a leg.

  “SHUT UP!” Iona’s yell silenced the hall and echoed eerily. “Look, they are going to attack you, any minute now: you must go if you want to live.” Tiggy gave Iona a painful nudge in the ribs. “I mean if you want to continue being dead but still able to do stuff.”

  “She’s telling the truth!” Arthur added,“there is no time to lose, we must go.”

  Just as the first ghosts began to fade out or drift through the walls there was a sudden bang, and the Parliament began to fill with thick black smoke. A moment later the sprinkler system clicked into action.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mass Exorcism

  Some of the ghosts who had been flying up to leave through the ceiling were the first to be exorcised. They were hit by the specially consecrated holy water the exorcists had put in the sprinkler system. The drops burned holes in their spectral bodies and with horrible screams and wails they disappeared.

  The exorcists had used a ritual to seal the floor, so no one could escape through the ground. Many ghosts who tried, ricocheted back into the air. Several of the distinguished undead, creatures of the night, who had haunted England for centuries, simply disappeared before they had even realised what had been happening. Every possible source of shelter was suddenly of great consequence. Dozens dived under the clerk’s table in the middle of the room. Their bodies overlapped and moulded into strange shapes as they cowered for cover.

  It only took a few seconds for Iona to comprehend the horrific scene; she tore off her coat to fling it over the nearest ghosts to protect them from the killing rain. Tiggy followed her example. Iona looked around trying desperately to think of some other way to help. She turned to Art
hur who had been beside her a few moments before. She spotted him a few feet away with a cushion on his head and then looked in horror as his shape dissolved. The cushion was snatched from the air by another ghost before it could fall to the floor.

  Some of the poltergeists were using the papers that just moments before they had been flinging through the air in mischief, as a shelter for their friends to escape. For a short time the papers made a moderately effective roof. Those who were able to make it to the walls seemed able to drift through them. Whatever force that was making the floor impervious had clearly not been applied everywhere. Then the water began to affect the poltergeists. One by one they started to explode in blasts of fragmented light and soggy paper.

  * * *

  After about a minute of chaos the doors to the chamber burst open, and figures with the shaven heads and black cloaks of the Third Order of St Cyril, began to fire shotguns into the remaining ranks of the Parliament.

  Iona ducked behind one of the benches, next to her mother, who pointed the camera in her bag towards the invaders. Every door was blocked, and as more monks stormed into the room with military precision, their guns herded the rapidly dissolving ghosts into the centre.

  Iona heard a slicing noise behind her and turned to see the ghost of Sweeney Todd. He had used his razor to cut himself a makeshift cloak from the red leather that covered the benches. He winked at Iona, holding a finger to his lips to signal her to be quiet. Then he leapt with supernatural agility onto the shoulders of one of the monks. Iona flinched as the‘cutthroat’razor lived up to its name, and the monk collapsed clutching his bleeding neck. With another bound Mr. Todd leapt from the crumpling body and out through the door.

  Iona stood up. Her black hair was matted to her head, and her black eye make-up was running down her cheeks, in the rain from the sprinklers. She held up her hands and yelled with a voice so powerful that every being in the room turned towards her,“OVER HERE, THE DOOR’S CLEAR OVER HERE!”

  The nearest monk turned his shotgun towards her. His face was twisted with disgust and hatred, as he squinted against the stinging water.

  Their eyes met as the monk squeezed the trigger.

  Iona was flung backwards over the bench behind her.

  The most mournful and angry cry the chamber had ever heard echoed off its wooden walls. Tiggy Ward dropped her camera bag and leapt at the monk: the monk who had just shot her daughter. Before he could fire again the gun was knocked from his hands and Tiggy’s nails were tearing at his face. They both fell to the floor while the monk tried to protect himself from the frenzied attack.

  * * *

  Gibbs floated above Morag, his transparent body sheltering the elderly ghost from the holy water. “Quickly, urgah ngnngngg d-d-d-d-d-dear lady, get out of here…”

  It was clear from the holes appearing all over him that he would not last long.

  Morag could not speak, but she made towards the exit looking at Gibbs with gratitude.

  When she reached the door Gibbs called out a final,“Avenge us!”and was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Aftermath

  Iona could not remember where she was, or how she came to be there. She felt cold and numb.

  Then she remembered the House of Lords, the ghosts, the shotgun blast, that seemed to be still ringing in her ears.

  “Is this death?”she said aloud; although she couldn’t hear her own voice over the white noise resounding in her ears.

  “Am I dead?” She wondered if this was what Arthur had felt like; was this what it was like to be a ghost? Slowly she became aware of a pain in her shoulder. Did ghosts always feel the pain of their death?

  If she was a ghost she resolved to avenge herself, and all those the exorcists had attacked.

  Suddenly she started to panic. Her senses were slowly returning, she could feel the water of the sprinkler system falling on her. If she was a ghost this water would destroy her!

  She snapped open her eyes.

  * * *

  Iona saw a young priest with bandages over half his face. He was looking down at her.

  “Thank the Lord you are alive!”the stranger said.

  Iona looked into his eyes, then down to the dog collar around his neck. Without warning she punched the priest squarely on the nose, and was satisfied to see it bleed instantly.

  “I’m so sorry!”he sobbed.

  Iona was confused. One of these clerics had just shot her, and now another was crying (and bleeding) all over her.

  “I’m so sorry,”he said again. “We are only to trying to exorcise the evil. You, child, have nothing to do with it.”

  Iona punched him again.

  “These people you are trying to exorcise are my friends!”Iona hissed at him. “The only people I see around here doing evil are you.”

  “You don’t understand,”the priest tried to continue, but he was pushed aside by one of the monks.

  The monk took in the scene and aimed his gun at Iona. “No witnesses allowed,”he said to Father Thomas. He was about to shoot when Father Thomas knocked him off his feet with an inexpert but effective rugby tackle.

  “Run, child!” Thomas called to Iona.

  * * *

  During Iona’s exchange with Father Thomas, Arthur had reappeared next to Tiggy. His form looked blurred, like a smudged painting. “Your daughter is alright! I pushed her away from the worst of the shot. She is going to be fine. We need to go!”

  The sprinkler system was dribbling to a halt. A succession of alarms were sounding, with distant sirens adding to the chorus.

  Tiggy looked to Arthur and then to where he was pointing. She could see Father Thomas grappling with the monk. Iona appeared over the bench; she was clutching her shoulder.

  Tiggy was by her side in seconds, hugging her tightly.

  Iona winced with pain, but she did not tell her weeping mother to stop.

  “We need to go now!” Arthur’s voice was at their ears.

  “Arthur?”cried Iona,“I thought you were gone!”

  “And I thought you were gone too,”replied the ghost. “I just abandoned this form to give the enemy a smaller target. But we really do need to go now.”

  * * *

  On the other side of the room another voice shouted,“Everybody out!” Father Pious was calling to those under his command, “Now!”

  The exorcists and monks made for the doors. Their movements had the precision of a rehearsed military operation. Two of them picked up the body of the victim of Sweeney Todd’s razor, and carried it between them, leaving a dappled red pattern in the puddles of water that covered the floor.

  * * *

  Iona, Tiggy and the few remaining ghosts made a more shambolic exit. Iona stumbled as her mother bent to look for her discarded camera bag when they walked past the place where she had dropped it. It was gone.

  “Where are we going?” Iona asked, the pain in her shoulder starting to make her head swim.

  Arthur reached out a hand and the window at the end of the corridor in front of them exploded outwards. When they reached the window frame Arthur called out,“I need help with the breathers!”

  Iona and Tiggy looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

  “I need help to carry the breathers!” Arthur called out again into the night.

  Just as Iona and Tiggy were about to ask Arthur what on earth he was shouting about, they felt invisible hands lift them into the air, and carry them out into the dark sky.

  “Iona, are you OK?”her mother asked.

  Iona’s reply was a whoop of joy,“I’m flying, mum, look at me! I’m flying!”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Last Rites

  The ear-splitting noise of the security alarms eased a little as Father Pious closed the door of the office which was to be the exorcists’hiding place until the coast was clear. As soon as they were all gathered they began to change into the overalls that were to disguise them for their escape. They had paused to wrap the dead body o
f their fallen brother in a plastic sheet in order to prevent a trail of blood leading the security forces straight to them. One of the clergy performed the Last Rites.

  Once they were all dressed and the prayers finished they sat on the chairs, the table and the floor to wait for the right moment to leave.

  As they waited Father Pious looked round his group of clerics with an expression of fury. Finally he shouted over the howling alarms,“You let half of them escape! We have the largest gathering ever within reach of the Church, and you let half of them go!”

  One of the monks interrupted,“But we exorcised halfof them! It’s still the biggest mass exorcism for centuries!”

  “But it could, it shouldhave been so much more. Anyway, what’s done is done. We need to focus on our next move now. We disabled the cameras inside the building, but some security cameras will have picked us up as we entered. I can only permit us twenty-four hours before it is too risky to stay in this country; the Police could find us if we stay longer.” Father Pious looked in the eyes of his followers, daring dissent. “Cardinal Merrin is coming to our base at dawn. He will want to know why we did not make the most of this opportunity.”

  “But they were scattered!” Objected another of the monks. “They will have fled far and wide, we could never round them up now!”

  “Yes, well, we will see what our informant has to say,” countered Father Pious,“See if we can’t take out a few more of them before our time is up.”

  “What if our informant was one of those who perished?” Asked one of the monks.

  “I think I saw him flee for his filthy existence,”said Father Pious in an unconcerned tone, “but if he’s gone, we could at least start looking in the girl’s house.”