by Robert Wilde
“Okay, which one am I looking for?”
“Anything from the last week.”
“Do I get to find out who you are?”
“I’d prefer not.”
“Right, this document is about… err…” It couldn’t be. “This suggests, to me, on a first glance, that they’re building a machine to talk to the dead.”
“Bingo!”
“Oww, no need to shout in my ear.”
“Sorry. But that’s precisely it. They’re not building, they’ve built. And they’re not telling anyone yet.”
“You expect me to believe there’s a machine that can talk to the dead?”
“But you have all the documents?” The voice sounded hurt.
“I could write a load of documents and send them off to anyone.”
“Err… look at the notes, the development, the evidence!”
Whoever this voice was, they clearly had been expecting total acceptance of their claim. Then Dee narrowed her eyes and looked at the phone. “This is clearly a major story, but why are you so keen to see it in the press? It’s not bad at all.” But if this wasn’t about Scott claiming to have invented something, it’s a man trying to preempt Scott, so did the machine exist after all? The motive didn’t seem to be bullshit artist, unless the target was to make Dee look silly. And Dee didn’t really have any enemies she couldn’t flat out just kick in the balls, so they wouldn’t dare.
The voice paused. “I have my reasons.” Dee closed one eye and screwed her face up. If she was pushed, she’d guess if the machine was unveiled now Scott wouldn’t have enough evidence and would get laughed out. So this caller was trying to destroy Scott. So Scott had a machine. “Will you look into it?”
“Yes, I will,” Dee confirmed, “thank you very much.”
If she was expecting a goodbye she didn’t get it, and the line went dead, leaving Dee looking at the screen.
On the one hand, she did indeed have the story of her career. On the other, she faced the same problems as the doctor: no one would ever believe the device, unless it could be scientifically proven, and it couldn’t really at this point, so they’d all look stupid. She might conceivably get it published, but her editor would take great joy in sacking her as a tinfoil hat wearing freak once the press frenzy died off and the sales spike had passed. So, basically, she was in charge of a story she couldn’t use.
But, and it was a but that made her chest tighten and her eyes widen, she could use it. She wasn’t going to write a story, or expose the machine, or fuck about. What she was going to do was get that machine and take it to where her father died, and use it to question his ghost what was locked away in her head. She didn’t need the memories, she could ask the spirit. Assuming there was a spirit, but didn’t people always haunt where they died horribly? And Dee might not remember, but from the way everyone used to act, it was clear some horror was involved.
Realising her hands were gripping the sides of her chair, Dee weighed up the afternoon so far. Secret tipster, a story ahead of its time, a way to talk with Dad. All in all, enough reason to get to the cupboard and pour a vodka or two. She was going to do this. She was really going to do this. Let the naysayers and the doubters and the million dollar prize fund sceptics be damned, she was really going to talk to a ghost.
She just needed to get her hands on the machine… but there might be a weak link there. Her guide round had seemed quite keen to chat over their lunch together, maybe she could weasel her way on a second tour. Just to clean a few issues up, get a better description, paint the picture, that sort of thing. He might actually go for that, and she did have his number. No need to involve Monroe in this sort of thing. She did feel bad abusing the trust of something who’d seemed nothing less than polite and friendly, but she had to take this chance to speak to her father. And it wasn’t like the laboratory would let her rent it for a few days was it.
Maybe she could involve herself in the testing, be an experiment?
No, it was best to handle this on her own, like she’d always done. So a call to Joe it was.
Joe had managed to get to his age without having seen a ghost. Not one. Not even a flash. He’d watched the stupid ghost hunters on television when his former roommate had insisted they sit down and view it with a drink, but he didn’t consider a spot of dust on a camera a ghost. He’d heard the ‘Electronic Voice Phenomena’ which that flatmate had played on from the web as the night had got considerably darker, and he’d failed to hear anything of substance at all. And of course he’d been a child, which means he’d been bombarded with ghosts stories, and throughout it all he’d resolutely refused to see anything spooky at all. People, living people, were enough of an issue half the time.
However, he had now heard a dead person, a professor no less, and now his life was changing. Every few minutes the little things everyone sees out of the corner of their eye would affect him, and his head would snap round, convinced a phantom would be stood there. Not necessarily a white sheet with eyes poking out, he didn’t think ghosts looked like that, but some energy form containing the spirit of the deceased.
Every few minutes he’d also have a chill down his spine, as he remembered the knowledge inside him, and the logical extension that there was an afterlife, that he did have a soul, that he would experience something after death. No, after physical death. He should have been bowled over by the existential enormity of it, overjoyed or hyped to breaking point, and instead he just felt his nerves fraying as he felt increasingly, and oppressively, haunted by everything in the air around him.
It was worse in his flat, where every little creak at night was a ghost walking down the hallway, and every half glance into a mirror bought a nightmare shade reaching out. It was as if, instead of being touched by divine knowledge, he was a six year old child who’d seen the Exorcist and was now convinced demons were after him. Or even worse, been psychologically weak and done a Ouija board.
It wasn’t as if there was much help for suddenly feeling haunted. It was either ‘there’s no such thing as ghosts, here’s some psychology’, which was great until you knew there were ghosts because you’d been speaking to one, or ‘our Church will lead you into the light’, which was equally unhelpful because they’d proven ghosts, not God, and the Professor who’d been dead for a few years hadn’t heard about a Creator once.
He’d tried plenty of relaxation exercises, and the age old distraction technique, in this instance turning that mass of technology into something easily portable. Although that was a constant reminder of ghosts too and didn’t so much help as keep things priapic. But this was clearly why humanity had invented science fiction, so he’d been burying himself in alien worlds each evening. Which, an observer might remark, wasn’t a great change over his old life.
Dee arrived at the security office at the entrance to the park, smiled at the guard and prepared to explain why she was there, but the man recognised her, smiled back and waved her through. Although nervous, she did allow herself a little internal hope that this was going to go to plan. It wasn’t much of a plan, but at least things had started well.
She parked up as close to the entrance as possible and climbed out, having exchanged her handbag for a rucksack. She wasn’t sure how big the machine was, so she’d taken the most capacious she owned, slung it over her shoulder in a manner she only hoped was casual, and went towards the entrance.
Of course you couldn’t get into the building without a key card, but she’d arranged a follow up interview with Joe and the doors slid open as she neared and the scientist came out, hand waived in a greeting. Then they both went inside. The plan was still in effect.
It would be wrong to say Dee found Joe boring, and there was something special about having a passion for a subject which enabled someone to transform a dry subject into a breathing, energetic topic, but today Dee was finding it hard to follow what the scientist was saying. So not boring, but on this occasion the rising tide of anxiety Dee felt was washing away her ability to
follow. If this went on for much longer she’d lose her basic motor functions. No wonder the Tell Tale Heart is so popular, and Dee hadn’t even killed anyone yet!
Hang on, she caught herself, this is a theft. Nobody’s going to die.
Still, she knew she had to keep Joe talking until it was nearly clocking off time, which she predicted to be half five like every office. The scientists might like all-nighters but the security on the site had a timetable she’d been able to wheedle out with a phone call. Luck was on her side, Joe was proving keen to elaborate on every point, and the digital recorder was taking it all in for posterity.
Then she came to tricky part one: asking for another look at the laboratory. She fancied her chances of getting a more detailed walk round as the first had been so brief, and Joe agreed with her subtle suggestions, so soon she was being guided round. One lab, full of equipment, and only one box within that she was interested in. On paper tricky, but in practice, after a little orientation, you could see how everything was arrayed out from one thing, and that desk was Joe’s where a box was sat. The size of a small toolbox, made with shiny metal sides and speaker grilles on top, where a series of buttons sat, there was also a handle.
“What’s that?” Dee asked, letting her hand drift over it.
“Err…” Joe said pausing, as he tried to work out what to say.
Fucking bingo, Dee thought. That’s the puppy.
And then the tour was over because it was nearly time to pack away, so Dee let Joe escort her out of the lab and into the corridor, when she promptly said “I need the toilet, it’s down here isn’t it?”
“Yes, please do.”
“No need to wait, I can show myself out, I might be a few minutes.” Hoping that was a subtle enough hint to invoke in Joe the age old male fear of women’s bodies, her heart leapt as Joe nodded and returned through the warning doors. That was tricky part two. Now all she had to do was hide in the ladies toilets, which is quite easy to do on a lab complex with relatively few women and many cubicles, and try to time her exit right. This was part three, the hardest: get out late enough everyone had gone, but early enough to not raise alarms.
Heart pounding, ready to make a sudden retreat, Dee got up off the loo seat, crept out down the corridor, and came to the lab doors. Then she opened one and peered in. No one in the antichamber, all packed lunches gone. Dee then opened the door into the lab and peered in, excuses ready if she was found: her digital recorder was still on Joe’s desk. But the lab was empty, and it was a simple matter to dash over, fill her rucksack with the machine, take her recorder, and walk briskly out, get into her car, and force a smile as she drove out past the guard.
Then she was free.
Dee had driven home, sneaked the box inside, and sat it on a table looking at it. There were switches on top, but nothing was labelled, and no lights to explain if it was on or not. Such was the improvisation Joe had been forced into that the details Dee had been leaked didn’t guide her in getting in going. She presumed it wasn’t on as nothing was being said, although maybe there wasn’t a ghost in her house? She didn’t want a ghost in her house. Hmm, maybe if she tried pressing a few of the… no, think ahead. Once this is working you’ll be off, you know you will, down to where dad died, so best get something to eat, energise yourself, then operate the freaky machinery.
A lager was cracked open, just the one as she’d be driving, and a toasted baked bean sandwich was prepared and consumed, the messy fingers and kitchen being cleaned. Then it was back into the room…
Dee looked over as the doorbell rang, scowled, and went to open the door. She froze as she found Joe standing there.
“Hello,” he smiled, “I’m not sure if this is appropriate but…”
“I knew you’d be coming, just not this soon.”
“Oh,” and while Dee’s heart had sunk she wasn’t sure why Joe had smiled at the last comment, “that’s good.”
Slightly confused, she offered “you better come in.”
Joe followed Dee in, and found himself stood in a hallway full of photos, before entering a lounge filled with books and art and that wasn’t at all while he came so on to the main part. “I was wondering if you…wait,is that my machine?”
“Yes, it’s…hang on, you didn’t come for the machine? Why are you here?”
Joe looked at her sheepishly, produced a hand from behind his back where he held some flowers, and explained “I’m asking you out on a date.”
Dee’s mouth went dry. “Well that got out of hand quickly.”
Joe kept his hand out, so Dee took the flowers, then he went over and stood by the machine. “This is my box,” he said with curiously.
“Err, yeah, about that, I can explain…”
“Did you steal my box?” He looked hurt more than angry as it sunk in.
There didn’t seem any point in delaying things. “I’m borrowing your box, you can have it back tomorrow.”
“Oh. Err.” What would someone normal do in this situation. “Why tomorrow?”
“I need it tonight.”
Joe made a circular motion with his hand. “I got that, but for what?”
Dee smirked. “Look around you.”
Joe now did so, and noticed something about the room. Many books, but all on ghosts and spirits, mediums and the afterlife. Pictures of the same subject matter, 101 ways to paint a soul. Crystals, trinkets, the whole Body and Soul craft fair.
“You’re a New Ager!”
“No I am not. I’m someone that needs to speak to the dead, and so far you’re the only person who’s done it. Everything else is bullshit.”
Joe nodded, looked at the machine, and wondered if he couldn’t save his evening and turn it into a date anyway. “Who do you want to speak to? If I could record the exchange, I’d be testing the machine.”
“Woah. Testing. So technically we’d be forgetting it was stolen?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. In that case I’ll make you a sandwich, we have a drive to see my father’s ghost.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, was it recent?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“Oh, and you can remember it, wow.”
Fingers pointing, Dee explained forcefully “no, that’s the point, I can’t.” She then went out and returned a minute later with a sandwich. No point in cleaning the toaster for Joe.
He tucked in, made pleased noises at the ham, and reached over and flicked a switch.
“Does that turn it on?”
“Yes.”
“Oh hellooo my darling!” Dee froze, really hoping that there was another digital voice talking in her house. “I’ve been longing to speak to you.”
“Ah you a ghost?”
“Yes.”
“In my house.”
“Yes, and it’s such a pleasure to watch a fine woman like yourself. You make an old man very happy.”
Dee shot a hand out and switched the machine off. “My house is haunted by a pervert.”
“That is one of the unfortunate problems with the machine,” Joe conceded.
“Finish your sandwich, then we’ll leave. And I may never take a shower in this house again.”
Dee and Joe knew they were on a two hour drive, and the question of what to put on the stereo arose early on.
“What music do you like?” Dee asked, deciding she’d politely cede control of the tunes considering she’d technically stolen the machine.
“I listen to talking mostly, plays, news, debate, that sort of thing, but I do like a bit of, what, what’s funny?”
“You can make a boring subject sound interesting, but you make the radio sound fucking boring.”
“Okay, what do you like?”
“Radio 1 mostly.”
“They don’t want you after thirty.”
“I am nowhere near thirty.”
“Just getting you ready.”
“Do I look thirty?” Dee peered in the mirror.
“No, but,” and his phone announced
a new text message.
As he checked what his mum was sending, Dee thought aloud. “I know that sound, I’ve heard that sound somewhere before.
“It’s the Tardis materializing.”
“Oh, yes, of course, it’s…” she scowled. “Did you ask me out because I look like one of Doctor Who’s women?”
“No,” he spluttered unconvincingly.
“Because that would be weird.”
“No. I, err, because you’re interesting. And funny.”
“Okay then. We’ll stick with funny. And we’ll put Radio 1 on Mr Old Before His Time.”
Conversation was stilted, mostly based around the music, and soon it was very much night. Then, finally, Dee pulled the car over, and Joe looked around.
“Where are we?”
“This was where my Dad died.”
“We’re in the middle of a road. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Not everybody dies in a hospital.”
“No, but still, and is that a forest?”
“I’m sorry my Dad didn’t die in a coffee shop, why are you opening your door?”
“So we can go the site?”
“I have GPS’d the location. We are here, this is it. The car was parked exactly here, and I’m where I, well, was. So switch on and let’s get talking.”
Joe climbed into the back seat, pulled the machine up from the floor, and put his hand on the switch. “You recording?”
“Just turned on.”
“Right, here we go.”
“Dad, can you hear me, it’s Dee?”
“This isn’t a séance, you don’t have to call them.”
“How do you know, you’ve only done this once.”
Joe shot back “I’ve done other testing!”
What they could hear was a clicking noise, two regular clacking sounds, close together, then apart, and there seemed to be an odd rhythm to the sounds. “Is that interference?”
“No,” said Joe, plugging in his phone and looking at the data, “we’re picking this up from the…”