The Angry Ghost and Other Stories

by Peter Spokes

  I recognised him immediately; Sir Herbert Hubert; and he introduced himself as such with not a little grandeur.

  Oh dear, I thought.

  Sir Herbert Hubert was a man short on stature, intelligence, discernible talent and for that matter any ability that most of us would consider as fundamental to existing. But wealthy parents can always offset an overwhelming lacking in a person.

  I had met him a couple of times before and his constant ridicule of my speech impediment had made the time deeply upsetting to me. I so wished I could reciprocate the ridicule.

  Afterwards, I wondered if perhaps I might be able to do something about my stammer; after all, it also affected my confidence, but maybe having a large pair of ‘testicles’ surgically attached – to combat my obvious lack of them – might also be a benefit. I felt I had no real level of assertiveness and – come to think of it – had never possessed much to start with. Fortunately – at least to my mind – in my frustration I had finally resorted to the mature and rational ploy of throwing a clipboard at his head therefore becoming barred from future oratory attendances.

  I was aware that the man had always entertained the aspiration to be a judge, and ‘entertaining’ would certainly have been the result; but even wealthy parents can only go so far – which I’m certain has benefitted innocent people everywhere.

  I wondered if he remembered me.

  “Hello, Mr St John… I remember you,” he said. “How’s the stammer?” he looked around, smiling at the others sitting beside him in an apparent judging capacity.

  “This may take a while longer than expected,” he said grinning, and then somewhat conspiratorially, “… Has problems with the way he talks, you know.”

  “Arse!” I said.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked.

  At least there was something impressive about this man – his hearing, I thought.

  I took a deep breath. “The s… s… s… stammer’s good thank you, but I don’t think it is professional of you to b… b… b… bring it up.”

  “But it’s rather difficult to m… m… m… miss,” he said smiling again.

  A pity I don’t have a clipboard to hand, I thought. I’m in hell.

  It wasn’t my fault; I just so wished I could talk with some clear, concise, succinct or even just reasonably basic… erudition.

  Scene 4: Shouting and Cussing

  Then all of a sudden, I felt a shudder. I looked around but all seemed unchanged.

  But abruptly, my head was filled with words and… confidence.

  I felt quite dizzy for a moment before shaking my head and looking up around me as if for the first time.

  “Mr St John; are you with us?” Sir Herbert Hubert said smiling.

  I looked up and stared into his eyes and began…

  “A… a… a… as we are d… d… d… discussing troubles in the oratorical erudition of verbal c… c… communication… your own leaves quite a lot to be desired and …”

  Sir Herbert Hubert looked up and his caterpillars came together. “What was that?” he interrupted leaning forward.

  I paused… and swallowed. Where the hell did that just come from? I wondered, but continued…

  “I was just alluding – before you interjected – to the fact that the English language is such a wonderful thing and you really should let me introduce you to it sometime as I’m sure that though the two of you may never become the best of friends, at least a toleration could exist between you… sir… and as you brought it up… ‘the way he talks’ would have sounded more cultivated as ‘the way he speaks’… or even ‘communicates’.”

  I stopped and wondered what had just happened. They were not the words I would normally use, and certainly not the way I would generally deliver them.

  “Oh, and that’s Sinjun, sir,” I continued looking up once again.

  “Excuse me?”

  “St John, sir; it’s phonetically ‘Sinjun’, sir.”

  Sir Herbert Hubert paused for several seconds. Inwardly, I felt as confused as he looked.

  “… Hmm… thank you for… clearing that up, Mr ‘Sinjun’.” He emphasised the last and finally moved on to the reason we were all there.

  “I understand you are here instead of Silas Zacharias who was supposed to be here? Why is that?”

  I was about to nod and answer ‘yes’ when suddenly I spoke otherwise with, “Indeed I am appearing here in the absence of Mr Silas Zacharias to whom the responsibility of this investigation was first proposed as sadly my colleague has become… quite ill.”

  I paused slightly, impressed again by my own words as I was suddenly struck that though Sir Herbert Hubert had never made that elevation to court judge, he certainly appeared to be doing his damnedest to emulate one.

  “Explain,” he said.

  “Indeed, I will, My Lord,” I answered rising, gripping the lapels of my jacket and assuming the role of Queen’s Council. Where was this confidence – this attitude – coming from? It was scary but fun, and I found myself smiling.

  I liked this new me.

  I started again. “Mr Zacharias was last night admitted to St Enodus Hospital and there is a strong likelihood that he may be there… a while. He did not go of his own cognisance, I’m afraid.”

  “What? You mean to say that he was taken there… forcibly?” asked Sir Herbert Hubert.

  “Ehm… well… only when they caught him… which apparently took… some time. It is a large library and there are many places to hide after all – not to mention the damage he was attributed to.”

  “Explain… again.”

  “I… really doubt it actually pertains to the issues in question… sir and I did just throw in the ‘not to mention’ clue in case you just missed it… just then.”

  “Even so, I would like you to explain…” he pressed.

  “Well, it would seem that he had a problem with… busts…”

  “What? That sounds a bit… naughty,” he said smirking to those around him.

  “Ah… no… Your Lordship misunderstands. I mean ‘busts’ as in with reference to the classical head and shoulders sculptures.”

  “Ah yes… I knew that… actually; and you don’t need to call me ‘Your Lordship’.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honour, but your clear deportment in what is quite clearly a complex polemic is indeed an obvious credit to you.”

  Sir Herbert Hubert looked intently at me for several moments before…

  “So how did he have a problem with these… them?”

  “Well, there were several busts in the reception area and for reasons only he can explain, he decided… to knock them off their plinths…”

  “Why?”

  “I’m afraid that will not be clear until I have read to you from his notebook, My Lord.”

  “I will assume he went with the decorum expected of an employee of our committee?”

  Though I felt some credit should be given to Sir Herbert Hubert’s choice – not to mention knowledge – of the word ‘decorum’, I felt the slightest nuance of irritation to the chairman’s clear lack of some small sympathy – if not humanity – to my colleague’s current location – but I decided to be honest.

  “Indeed, sir, he went screaming and kicking…”

  “Oh…”

  “… ranting and raving…”

  “Thank you, Mr Sinjun.”

  “… shouting and cussing…”

  “Thank you, Mr Sinjun!” he said loudly.

  Then and more calmly, he said, “Can you tell us the findings and conclusions of Mr Zacharias and explain – among other things – why he felt it necessary for us to be here in the reference room of the Morthaven Library?”

  “The findings… yes, but as to the conclusions… I’m not so sure, sir. The information I have has some bearing on why he fel
t he needed to arrange a stay at the psychiatric hospital.”

  “Please explain, Mr Simon.”

  “It’s still Sinjun, sir. Certainly; firstly, however, I would like to say that Mr Zacharias has successfully investigated many instances where illegalities and otherwise untoward methods of deception are suspected and his conclusions have always proven effective and thorough, and…”

  “I’m quite aware of the level of confidence and esteem we all have for Mr Zacharias,” Sir Herbert Hubert broke in, “though I have concern as to his current location… but please move on.”

  “Ah, yes, sir,” I said a little caught off guard by the man’s reasonable use of the word ‘esteem’, so soon after ‘decorum’; the man was clearly ‘rocking’.

  I continued, “… It is just that I wanted to reaffirm before I start, so as to quickly deflect anything in the report that might be – on initial inspection – considered… well… a little… bizarre.”

  “Bizarre?” Sir Hubert said raising his hairy caterpillars. “Okay; consider it ‘reaffirmed’.”

  I continued, “As Mr Zacharias was all too aware, bringing culprits to the court can be difficult if the processes leading up to the miscreant’s arrest is spurious and unclear… and to this end, he used a notebook to keep a running narrative of his findings. I request that I simply read from that notebook so that his own words explain his thoughts, conclusions… and waning mental state.”

  “I’m a little confused, Mr Sinjun; I thought we were to be given the name or names of those responsible for leaking the examination papers.”

  “Yes, sir, he knows who is responsible but the examination papers were not leaked.”

  “So, who is responsible, Mr Sinjun?”

  “I would prefer to defer the answer to that question, if it may please the court – I mean, My Lord… sir…” I said awkwardly.

  “Either he does or he doesn’t, Mr Sinjun.”

  “Oh, he does… but still… if I may read from his notebook?”

  Sir Herbert Hubert sighed. “Okay… continue.”

  “Thank you, m’lord…”

  Scene 5: Notebook 1

  I took a deep breath and looked down at the first page of the notebook.

  Here we go, I thought, wondering not for the first time where my stammer had gone.

  “Feb 2nd,” I read aloud, “and here I am at Morthaven Library where I have been led in my investigation.

  I hope to capture in this preface or introduction, the whys and wherefores of my inquiry.

  There have been several avenues of investigation that have led me to my… conclusion… for what it’s worth.

  The following possibilities I have discounted. I only mention them as an indication of the thoroughness and consideration of the study, before being disregarded.

  Firstly, finding the common denominator took considerable time for other than their Greek heritage, there appeared – at first hand – to be no link at all; their colleges, as well as subjects too, were different.

  I’m fully aware that my own Greek patrimony was instrumental in the committee’s choice of investigator.

  Secondly, it is pertinent to mention the fact that no evidence of incorrect or overgenerous marking was found in each case.

  Finally, it was to be the Morthaven Library, or to be more specific, its reference room, that I found the commonality shared by the students.

  Each of those students under investigation had spent more than several hours of study-time there. Conversely, no student to have not achieved 100 per cent had not … been there.”

  “I’m sorry. What was that last bit?” Sir Herbert Hubert interrupted.

  “Erm – no student – who had not achieved 100 per cent – had not been there. I think he means that all students that had achieved 100 per cent – had been there.”

  “Then why didn’t he say so?”

  “I think he was just being thorough in case some ambiguity might be interpreted by the indication that not only did those students that reached 100 per cent study in the reference room, but no students that did not study in the reference room did achieve 100 per cent, or to put it another way, all students that did not study there did not achieve 100 per cent.”

  The chairman stared for a few moments before waving his hand hastily and nodding to continue, although I thought the glazed eyes were indicative of a mind lost in a labyrinth of perplexity while the caterpillars above them, huddling together for comfort in their confusion, only vindicated my thoughts.

  I continued to read from the notebook:

  “Under a rather superficial pretence of a postgraduate of Ancient Greek Warfare, I insinuated myself into the daily life of the reference room during which time I was able to monitor the movements of those students who had exhibited the questionable grades. I chose this particular topic as its obvious anomalousness ensured that I would not be interrupted by like-minded students.”

  “Mr Sinjun; can you talk English?”

  “I’m sorry, m’lord, I thought I was, but which word were you tripping over there? Was it ‘anomalousness’? Or perhaps ‘topic’? Or maybe ‘… that’?”

  I smiled pleasantly.

  I was having a fun time.

  Under Sir Herbert Hubert’s stare, I swiftly moved on not wanting to risk a contempt of court – if that was indeed possible in a committee meeting.

  “Naturally,” I read, “there were times I needed refreshment and to enable this and ensure I didn’t miss those responsible for passing the answers, I rather cleverly, I thought, devised a method to ensure I would miss nothing. I fitted a small camera to the spine of my ancient warfare tome and one morning – ensuring I arrived before anyone else – I fitted several audio sensors around the reference library ceiling lamps.”

  “What was the point of that?” Sir Hubert interjected, his mouth dripping ridicule. “We all know that you are not allowed to talk in libraries?”

  “If I might continue, sir?”

  “… Of cour…”

  “… I doubted that there would be much open talk in the library but all I needed was a clandestine whisper or utterance and I felt that was likely to occur with this business.”

  Scene 6: Notebook 2

  I continued.

  “After almost a week of sitting at the same table and staring at the suspected students, I was starting to feel a tad despondent. No one had interrupted or in any way interfered with the students.

  However, once the first week had passed, I sat at home and ran the playback on my video camera. My intention was to examine those times where I would take a break, in case I had missed something, and on the second day… there was… something.

  My camera had been focussed on a philosophy student by the name of Aldora Thomasa and, according to the timer on the camera, at 12.45 pm a figure approached her, stooped and appeared to utter into her ear.

  I was somewhat confused by this as on that day, and every day, I had finished my lunchbreak by 12.30 pm and was back at my table at the time the man had appeared.

  Naturally I checked the clock on the camera – but it was accurate.

  My camera was, sadly, not what could be considered ‘state of the art’ but oddly, although I had reasonable clarity of the library and the students, the lucidity of the visitor’s countenance was lost on me, being dark and uncertain possibly due to the light from the windows behind the student.

  I was further confused by the fact that this man – I could at least identify the visitor that much – stayed with the student all that afternoon and the following day, all the time seemingly whispering into her ear. I must insist that he had not been there while I was there.

  I found that my small audio system had recorded the whispering too, which – though I barely heard words, those I did hear – sounded like… Greek.

  Miss Thomasa made no motion or movement that
might intimate an interaction or conversation with the visitor – but then I determined that if he were whispering into her ear answers to questions; then I might expect that.

  Being somewhat gifted in the art of ‘geekiness’ I ran my recording through a recently purchased computer application for enhancing such grainy images. I was able to view the figure more clearly including his facial aspect. The man had light-brown hair, slightly curly and not quite to the shoulders. His nose was slightly flattened and his mouth was wide and almost buried in a thick beard. But the oddest thing was his attire; for he wore what appeared to be some kind of dressing gown or robe. Again, I could not fathom how I had not seen him, but it also appeared that other patrons had not noticed him or, at least, had ignored him.

  What frustrated me further was that the face seemed somehow familiar. In my job I often come into contact with characters of an uncertain and questionable form but though I racked my brain, I could not fathom the origin of my uncertain recognition.

  So, rather unsatisfyingly, I reset the camera and prepared for another week in the library.”

  Scene 7: Notebook 3

  Monday morning found me again at my desk facing the vaulted reference room and specifically the desk where Miss Thomasa would sit.

  After an hour watching an increasing number of students, including some in my investigation, meandering around the bookcases and taking their seats, I returned my gaze to the desk thirty feet directly before me… only to notice a young man sitting where I had expected Miss Thomasa to reside. I flicked through my notebook of students suspected of cheating; here he was, Christoph Tarasios… studying… mathematics.

  Ten minutes later, Miss Thomasa entered the room and noticing her usual seat taken, moved to a side table and settled down to study.

  I really wanted to keep her in the camera’s view but also felt that the newcomer at her old desk should warrant some surveillance.

  I tried as best I could not to draw attention to myself as I wrestled with my ancient warfare tome to adjust the camera to pan back for a more panoramic view, until I could see the entire far end of the room.