“We were going to be someone!” said the young Elizabeth. “All the great things we were going to achieve! Set the British theatre on fire!”
“All the things we planned,” said the young Benjamin. “And you threw them all away, in pursuit of that stupid play.”
“It wasn’t like that!” said Elizabeth. She and Benjamin stood close together, frozen in place, their gaze fixed on their younger selves in the photo. But Elizabeth didn’t sound scared, or even intimidated, by what was happening. Her voice was harsh, even strident.
“Wasn’t it?” said the young Benjamin. “You can’t hide from the truth here. Darling. Not here, not in this place. Where it all went so horribly wrong.”
“What is this?” said Happy. “What are you talking about?”
They ignored him, the young and the old.
“Did you really think you could come back here and start again?” said the young Elizabeth.
“After what you did here?” said the young Benjamin. “After the awful thing you did, for fame and glory…”
“It wasn’t like that!” said Elizabeth. Her face was pale and drawn, but her voice was still hard and steady. “You know it wasn’t like that!”
“And even after what you did, you didn’t get the fame, or the glory,” said the young Elizabeth.
“But what you did here, all those years ago, has never been forgotten,” said the young Benjamin.
“And you have never been forgiven,” said the young Elizabeth. “Time to pay the piper. Darling.”
“Tell him,” said the young Benjamin. “Tell the poor little Ghost Finder what you did. And how it was all for nothing, in the end.”
The two young people lurched forward suddenly, long-clawed hands bursting out of the photo, good-looking faces stretching and distorting, becoming monstrous, devilish. Benjamin and Elizabeth cried out and fell back, Benjamin putting himself between Elizabeth and what was coming for them. Happy looked at them, then looked back at the mirror; and the photo was gone. Nothing to show it had ever been there. Happy took a deep breath, to settle himself, and looked at Benjamin and Elizabeth. They were clinging to each other like small children frightened by a thunderstorm.
“What the hell was that all about?” said Happy.
“Nothing,” said Elizabeth. All inflection was gone from her voice, all the colour from her face. Her eyes were wide, and her whole body was stiff with shock; but she still wouldn’t give an inch. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“It’s a trick,” said Benjamin. His face was empty and his voice was flat; but he couldn’t hide the fact that he’d been hit, and hit hard.
“It’s getting too late in the day to cling to that old line,” said Happy, as harshly as he could. “JC said all along something bad must have happened here to make this theatre a bad place. Something really bad, something you did. Because all of this only started up again when you came back. Something’s been waiting here for you, for twenty years…because of what you did. The crawling figure pointed to you, and only you. Your own faces in the photo accused you of some old crime, some old betrayal. So what did you do? I need to know!”
“No you don’t,” said Elizabeth, flatly.
“None of this has anything to do with us,” said Benjamin.
And then the door behind them suddenly swung open, and they all jumped. Elizabeth shrieked and clutched at Benjamin with both hands. He let out a short, choked cry, his back pressed up against the wall. Happy was startled, but also angry at himself for not having noticed that the door had closed. He moved quickly to put himself between his two charges and the new threat because he knew that was what JC would want him to do. Even though it didn’t feel in any way natural; and he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do.
They all relaxed, and let out their breaths in long, ragged sighs, as they recognised Old Tom, the caretaker. He stood in the open doorway with his vague smile and watery eyes, seeming even more stoop-shouldered than ever in his long brown overall and flat cap. He blinked at them bashfully.
“Only me, lady and gents! Didn’t mean to startle anyone…Just checking that everything’s as it should be…”
“Where the hell have you been?” said Happy, glad to have someone he could take out his frustrations on. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Old Tom regarded him vaguely. “I thought I heard someone moving about, when we were down in the understage area. And I thought, that’s not right, there’s not supposed to be anyone else here. So I went out through the rear exit—you know, the one at the back…And I had a good look around. But there wasn’t anyone there. So I came back. But you’d all gone, and the understage area was empty. So I had a good look around there, too, made sure everything was as it should be, then I came up on stage. Except by the time I got there, you’d all gone again! You really shouldn’t all go running off on your own, you know. Not safe, on your own. The old theatre isn’t as forgiving as she once was. Anything could happen. I remember when…”
Happy gave up on trying to get a word in edge-ways, stepped forward, and prodded Old Tom hard in the chest. His finger rebounded from the grubby overall, and Old Tom actually stopped talking, to stare at Happy reproachfully. Happy didn’t even try to explain. Old Tom might actually be there, might be physically present; but he still didn’t feel right. There was something…off about the old caretaker, something all his cheerful nonsense couldn’t quite cover up. So Happy braced himself and lowered his mental shields long enough to check out the figure before him. And found, to his shock and surprise, that, as far as his telepathy was concerned…there was no-one there.
All the calm good humour dropped out of Old Tom’s face, and suddenly he didn’t look real any more. Didn’t look human, any more. Happy stumbled backwards, shouting to Benjamin and Elizabeth to stay behind him, not looking back because he didn’t want to take his eyes off the thing that had pretended to be Old Tom, even for a moment.
“It’s not him! That’s not Old Tom, or a caretaker, or anything human! I don’t think it’s even alive!”
Benjamin surprised Happy then by surging forward past Happy to grab the front of Old Tom’s uniform with both hands. He thrust his face right into the caretaker’s and shook him angrily.
“Who are you? What are you, really? What’s going on? Why are you doing this to us?”
Old Tom gave him a slow smile, not even raising his hands to defend himself. When he spoke, he didn’t sound like Old Tom any more.
“You know why, Benjamin. So does she. You’ve always known.”
“Leave her alone!” said Benjamin. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”
“You haven’t changed, have you?” said Old Tom.
His hands came up, inhumanly quickly, and grabbed Benjamin’s wrists. He tore the actor’s hands away from his coat. And then he threw Benjamin back—so hard that the actor slammed up against the far wall of the dressing-room. He hit hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs, and his legs buckled. Elizabeth was quickly there, to hold him and hold him up. Old Tom laughed at them both, an ugly, scary, accusing sound.
Happy stepped forward, again putting himself between the apparition and the actors. He really didn’t want to be there, but he couldn’t let this go on. If only because it was his job to detect ghosts, and Old Tom had fooled him completely. Happy might not be brave, but he had his pride, and there were limits. Even for him. He scowled, concentrating, and hit Old Tom hard with a telepathic blast of pure disbelief. The old caretaker looked suddenly surprised, and his appearance seemed to ripple, like a slow wave on the surface of a lake, disturbed by a breeze. A great dark pool of shadow formed around the caretaker’s feet, then, standing stiffly upright all the while, Old Tom began to sink slowly into the darkness. The feet first, then the ankles, then dropping slowly and steadily up to his knees. The darkness consumed him, swallowing him up, inch by inch, then foot by foot. His back stayed straight, his hands stayed at his sides, and he never stopped smiling at Benjamin and Elizabeth. It was n
ot a good smile. He ignored Happy completely, his harsh and unforgiving gaze fixed on the two actors as they huddled together at the rear of the dressing-room.
“Who are you?” said Benjamin; and his voice was like a frightened child’s.
“Poor Tom’s a cold,” said Old Tom, still smiling, dropping down into the dark pool. Soon he was only a head and shoulders, and then only a head, and then that too was gone, smiling to the last. The dark pool gathered itself in, shrinking to a few inches in diameter, then that, too, was gone, as though it had disappeared down some unknown sink-hole. The linoleum on the floor seemed entirely untouched and unaffected. Happy strode over and stamped on the place, hard; but it was just a floor. He knelt and ran his fingers over the buckled linoleum; but he couldn’t feel anything, with his fingertips or his mind. He stayed crouched, staring at the floor, thinking hard.
That took real power. The appearance, and the disappearing trick. Power and strength accumulated over twenty years…Had something really been waiting here, all this time, never showing itself, waiting for these two to return? Waiting for its chance to…What? Is this about revenge? What did these two do? What did they sacrifice in order for their precious play to be a success? And why didn’t it work?
* * *
Happy rose slowly to his feet. His knees cracked loudly, a sharp sound in the quiet. He looked at Benjamin and Elizabeth. Benjamin was crying quietly, his shoulders jerking as real tears bumped down his face. No presence now, no charisma, no dignity. He was just a man, remembering something unbearable. Elizabeth held him close, cradling his head to her bosom, rocking him like a child. Her face was completely empty, her eyes far-away. After a while, they realised that Happy was watching them. Elizabeth murmured to Benjamin, and he stood up straight and rubbed the tears from his face with the back of his hand. He took a deep breath and stopped himself crying with an almost brutal act of self-control. He looked defiantly at Happy, silently challenging him to say anything, while Elizabeth stood at his side, regarding Happy with cold, wary eyes.
“So,” said Benjamin. “He wasn’t a caretaker, and he wasn’t a journalist. He was a ghost.”
“Looks like it,” said Happy.
“I never thought he was a caretaker,” said Elizabeth. “Far too broad a character.”
So, thought Happy. That’s the way we’re going to play it, is it? All right. But you’re going to have to talk to me eventually.
“It was an amazingly strong and coherent manifestation,” he said. “Solid to the touch. Real enough that none of us suspected his true nature. That’s not easy to pull off.”
“I was sure he wasn’t what he seemed to be,” said Benjamin. “But it never even occurred to me that he wasn’t real. Are ghosts usually like that?”
“Sometimes,” said Happy. “I told you, ghosts love to pull tricks on the living. They’re people, after all. With problems and pasts that won’t let them rest, won’t allow them to move on. They can pass as one of us because in many ways they still are.” He looked thoughtfully at Benjamin and Elizabeth. “Did Old Tom seem in any way…familiar, to you? Was there anything about him that suggested…someone you might have known before?”
“The last caretaker I remember from here was Jerry Clarke,” said Benjamin. “About our age, and camp as a row of tents in Tent Land. Nothing like Old Tom.”
That’s not what I asked, thought Happy.
“What does the ghost want with us?” said Elizabeth. “Why won’t he leave us alone?”
“You’d know that better than I,” said Happy. But they both fixed him with their stubborn gaze, so Happy sighed quietly and moved on. “The Past has a hold on the dead, as well as the living. Particularly when it involves unfinished business. Now, you two can lie to me all you want about what really happened here twenty years ago. I’m easy to lie to. But that won’t protect you from what’s here in the theatre. Something here has waited twenty years for revenge. Something has not forgotten or forgiven.”
Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other, excluding Happy completely.
“We could leave,” Benjamin said tentatively. “We could walk out of here, and never come back.”
“We can’t go,” said Elizabeth. “We’ve sunk everything we have into getting our play off the ground again. This is our last chance, to make it the success it should have been. We’re not young any more. Not old, not yet. But I can see old from where I am. We’re running out of time…to be an overnight success.”
“We can make more money…” said Benjamin.
“This isn’t about the money!” said Elizabeth. “This was never about money! I want our play! I won’t be stopped, and I won’t be beaten. I won’t be driven out of here, by the living or the dead or our own damned past!”
Benjamin smiled suddenly. “That’s my girl.”
And this time, when they looked at each other, Happy could see exactly what they saw in each other.
* * *
They all looked around sharply again as they heard footsteps approaching. Outside, in the corridor, slow and heavy footsteps that didn’t even try to seem human were heading their way. The sound came clearly through the closed door, as though carried on something more than the air. Each step more than naturally heavy, like something pressing down on the world, imposing its presence through a sheer act of will. The same kind of footsteps they’d heard before, up on the stage.
Elizabeth clutched at Benjamin. “Not again. I can’t stand it again. Make it go away.”
Benjamin looked at Happy. “If Old Tom was the ghost, what’s that?”
“I think…” said Happy, “that Old Tom was a mask for the real ghost to hide behind. As though he was putting on a performance. Old Tom may be gone now, but the threat is still here.”
He moved forward, to face the closed dressing-room door. It worried him that he couldn’t remember exactly when it had closed, or who had closed it. Outside, in the corridor, the footsteps were drawing slowly, chillingly, closer.
“Lock the door!” said Elizabeth. “Keep the bastard out!”
“Do you have a key?” said Happy.
“Of course we don’t have a key!” said Benjamin. “The renovators had all the keys. When they left, they gave them to the caretaker…Oh God.”
“Do something!” said Elizabeth shrilly.
“You really think locking a door will keep a ghost out?” said Happy, incredulously. “They’re famous for walking through doors! And walls…”
“You’re the expert!” said Benjamin. “There must be something you can do!”
“There’s no other way out of here,” said Elizabeth. “We’re trapped!”
“Yes, I had noticed that, thank you!” said Happy.
He didn’t want to be there. Being in charge, making decisions, doing something, that had always been JC’s role. But Happy was the only Ghost Finder in the room, which made him the man on the spot. Part of him wanted to open the door, run blindly, and hope the actors could keep up. Another part wanted to pull open the door, point at the actors, and shout They’re the ones you want! Not me! But Happy had always been a man of many parts, and he’d spent a long time learning how to decide which of the voices inside his head he was going to listen to. One of the reasons he became a Ghost Finder, though he’d never admit it to JC or Melody, was that he wanted to become a better person. If only because being a coward didn’t half take it out of you. JC had put him in charge of the actors and told him not to let them get killed; so it was up to him to do something. And since his usual tactics of screaming and crying and hiding behind other people weren’t really options here, that left…doing the right thing.
He thought of the pill bottles he still carried secreted about his person. He could knock back a swift cocktail of reds and blues and yellows, and all the problems would go away. Or they’d still be here, but at least he wouldn’t care any more. Or care what happened to the actors. Happy smiled sadly. He couldn’t do that. Because he sort of liked Benjamin and Elizabeth, for being as larger tha
n life as he’d always thought actors should be; because he didn’t like seeing anyone bullied by ghosts; and because he was damned if he’d let JC down. The man who’d believed in him enough to make him part of his team, despite all the warnings. The man who believed that Happy could be a better person.
Happy needed someone to believe that on the days that he didn’t.
He walked up to the closed door and scowled at it without touching it. The idea that you could run right at something that scared you, instead of running away, was a new one to Happy. He closed his hands into fists to stop them shaking. The heavy footsteps came right up to the other side of the door and stopped. Everything was still and quiet. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the three people in the dressing-room as they stood very still, listening.
“Has it gone?” said Elizabeth. “It disappeared, the last time it stopped, on the stage.”
“That’s right,” said Benjamin. “The footsteps stopped, and it was over.”
Happy didn’t know what to say. Reassurance was another of those people skills that he usually left to JC. It didn’t feel like it was over…but now that the footsteps had stopped, it was hard to remember why they’d scared him so much. Footsteps weren’t so bad, after all. Just sounds. The crawling thing on the stage—that had been bad. With all the blood, and the eye hanging out. But it had been in no condition to hurt anyone. What was so scary about the footsteps…was that there was nothing to see. They could have been made by anyone, or anything. The threat and the menace were all in the anticipation…
When Happy was still a child, before his powers kicked in, he was afraid of the dark. And what scared him then was that he couldn’t see what it was that scared him. There could be anything in the dark, anything at all. Imagination filled in the details, in the worst way possible. Of course, Happy grew up to be a major-league telepath and discovered that he had good reason to be scared of what was hiding in the dark. Another reason he became a Ghost Finder: to find a way to strike back at the things in the dark. So no-one else would have to know, and be scared, like he was.
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