by Lucy Banks
They drove into town, which was unusually quiet aside from a few shoppers wrapped up in thick coats with their heads tucked down to avoid the wintry breeze. Finally, they reached the narrow road leading to the office. Miss Wellbeloved eased her car with expert precision into an impossibly small space by the wall, then climbed out. Kester followed morosely behind, wondering whether to text Anya or not. I don’t want to look too keen, he thought as he braced himself against the cold wind. She already thinks I’m weird. I don’t want her to think I’m pathetic too.
They opened the door to the sight of Mike spinning Pamela around the office floor in an elaborate waltz. Kester sidestepped neatly as Pamela’s sizeable bottom whisked by, barely inches past him, nearly knocking him back into the hallway. He wasn’t overly shocked. Generally speaking, strange things went on in the office on a daily basis, and the sight of his two colleagues dancing around the floor wasn’t nearly as odd as some of the things he’d witnessed.
“Are we disturbing something?” Miss Wellbeloved asked as she hung up her coat.
“Too right,” Mike declared. He released Pamela, then bowed theatrically to her. “This genius lady has secured us a nice little job in Taunton.”
Miss Wellbeloved beamed. “Really? Tell me more!”
“It’s an incubus,” Serena said, leaning over the top of her computer screen. “Some love-sick spirit that’s been mooching around in the local swimming pool, of all places.”
Kester brightened. “Hang on,” he said, finger suspended excitedly in the air. “I remember reading about incubuses in my encyclopaedia!”
“It’s incubi, dunderhead, not incubuses,” Serena corrected, throwing him a scornful look.
“I always wondered about that,” Mike said, as he slumped down on the sofa. “I mean, the plural of octopus isn’t octopi, is it? It’s octopuses.”
“Actually,” Kester interrupted, “it’s a Greek-derived word, so its original plural is octopodes.” He caught sight of their expressions and coughed defensively. “Sorry. Just thought I’d better set the record straight.”
“Enough about plurals and singulars,” Miss Wellbeloved said, flapping her hands at them all. “Does Julio know about the new job?”
Mike shook his head. “He said he wanted a nap, and that we shouldn’t disturb him until lunchtime.”
She looked over at his office door with concern. “That’s strange. It’s not his usual time for a sleep. Well, tell us more about the case, Pamela.”
Pamela beamed with delight, resting herself on the edge of the nearest desk. “It should be an absolute doddle. Harmless incubus, wandering around the female changing room, moaning a bit, and generally behaving all soppy. Usual sort of incubus behaviour.”
“Aren’t incubuses meant to be—” Kester began.
“Incubi!”
“Aren’t they meant to be a bit . . .”
Mike chortled. “A bit randy?”
Kester blushed. “Yes. I thought they were all about creeping up on people in the middle of the night and . . . well, you know.”
“Getting jiggy with it?” Mike clarified with a lurid wink.
“Absolutely not,” Miss Wellbeloved said sternly. “Incubi will only mate with humans if they’re expressly invited to. They’re not deviants, for goodness’ sake.”
“Most of them aren’t deviants,” Serena corrected, nails rapping on the keyboard. “But there have been isolated cases of sexual attack. Hence their reputation.”
Miss Wellbeloved gave a long-suffering sigh. “For the most part,” she soldiered on, deliberately turning away from Serena, “they simply fall in love. They mean well, but they can be a bit of a pain.”
“It’ll be an easy job,” Pamela said. “They’re usually easy to talk to, aren’t they, Jennifer?”
“Oh yes,” Miss Wellbeloved confirmed. “Providing they don’t fall in love with any of us.”
“I very much doubt that would happen,” Serena added, casting a meaningful gaze at Pamela and Miss Wellbeloved.
“Quite,” Miss Wellbeloved replied dryly. “When do we need to start?”
Pamela paced over to her desk and peered at her computer screen. “It says it’s an ASAP job,” she said, licking her lips. “So, I suppose if we can get started tomorrow, the government will be pleased about it.”
Miss Wellbeloved rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. Exactly the sort of project we want. Quick, easy, and well-paid.”
“Not tomorrow!” Mike said, slapping his forehead. “That’ll be the second weekend in a row that we’ve worked. I need some time off.”
“Get over it, Mike,” Serena snarled. “It’s good money, so stop whining.”
“None of us want to work on a Saturday,” Miss Wellbeloved agreed. “But we really must in this instance. It’s too good a job to pass up.” She glanced over at Ribero’s closed door and stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s wake him up. He’ll want to know.”
She’s worried about him, Kester thought as he watched her tap at the door. He could tell from the wrinkling of her eyes. She’s concerned that he’s ill again. To be honest, he felt rather worried himself, but he wasn’t sure quite what to do about it. He didn’t like the thought of his father being unwell, and more selfishly, he didn’t relish the prospect of having to look after the agency if Ribero was suddenly unable to work.
“Hey,” Mike said, sidling up to him. “Are you coming to the Billy Dagger gig tomorrow night?”
Kester’s mouth fell open. “Oh gosh, I’d forgotten all about it. Are you still alright for me to come?”
“I said the tickets were yours if you wanted them, didn’t I?” He nudged him. “Providing your girlfriend is up to it, that is.”
“I haven’t even asked her yet,” Kester said. “But I’d love to come, even if she doesn’t want to. Thank you.”
“I’d like to come too,” Serena piped up. A glacial tightening at the corner of her lips suggested that she might have been attempting a smile.
Mike rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Fine. You can come too. But only if you behave yourself, mind. And drive me back, so I can drink.”
Serena opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Okay,” she agreed finally. “I’ll be your taxi service, if you pay for my ticket. How about that?” Mike winked at Kester. “Fine. You twisted my arm, you conniving cow.”
“And you’ve now got the opportunity to drink yourself silly, you alcoholic ape.”
Kester laughed and settled himself at his desk, which happened to be a foldaway camping table. Thankfully, this time it didn’t collapse, which it had the habit of doing at least once a day. He glanced at Ribero’s office door, which had remained shut since Miss Wellbeloved had disappeared inside. He hoped his father was alright. The office fell silent, except for Serena, who was fiercely hammering on the keyboard as though it had personally insulted her.
He gulped. I dread to think how she’s going to react when she finds out that Dad wants to make me the boss of the agency, he thought. The mere idea of her tsunami of rage was enough to make him feel queasy.
He stretched in his chair and looked around the room with worry. Dad might think he’s found the solution, but he really hasn’t. Not at all. He’s just found a way to pass all the problems directly to me.
Chapter 3: Billy Dagger
The drive to Taunton was relatively uneventful, save for Mike moaning every five minutes about having to work at the weekend and Serena telling him repeatedly to shut up. Miss Wellbeloved attempted to brief them all on the incubus case, before realising she’d left the notes at home. Finally, everyone gave up and subsided into silence. Fortunately, it wasn’t a long journey.
As the van swung into the car-park, Kester peered out with interest. It wasn’t at all what he’d imagined. He’d presumed that a spirit would choose some sort of crumbling Victorian building to live in. Instead, the po
ol was a modern, glass-fronted building, with cheery red doors and colourful posters in the foyer.
They’d been told that it would be quieter if they arrived earlier in the day. However, if the echoing whoops and splashes from the pool area were anything to go by, the entire town had turned up to have a swim.
The manager greeted them by the stairs, then apologised as he ushered them through to the staff area.
“It’s not usually this lively,” he explained, tugging at his tie. His twitchiness reminded Kester of a guinea pig, an impression that was reinforced by the wispy, gingery hair trailing over his ears and down his neck. “It’s the weather, you see. The parents never know what to do with the kids on a day like this.”
Kester glanced out the window. A strong winter sun penetrated the tinted glass. It looks like a glorious day to me, he thought, shrugging at the rest of the team. Pamela stifled a giggle.
“Anyway,” the manager continued, “I’m Mr Gamble, or Fred, if you prefer. Please, come to my office, and I’ll give you a run-through of the situation.” He led them up the stairs to a room along the corridor. Apart from a window overlooking the pool area, the office was bland and featureless, with a spartan desk and a single chair for guests, which Ribero promptly sat down on. The others gathered around like a huddle of rugby players, awkwardly cramming themselves into the limited space in the corner.
“So, you have already been briefed by the government about how this works, yes?” Ribero said, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired.
“Yes, I chatted to a gentleman on the phone yesterday afternoon; I think he was called Mr Philpot.” The manager sat down and started nervously tapping at the desk. “He said he’d sent the details of the case over to you.”
“Yes, someone left those back at the office,” Serena chipped in, nodding in Miss Wellbeloved’s direction.
“It’s not a problem,” Miss Wellbeloved replied breezily. “Incubi are seldom troublesome. Why don’t you tell us what’s been going on?”
Suddenly, an inflatable ball bashed against the window behind the manager, spraying water over the glass and startling them all. The manager jumped, grimacing.
“Sorry about that, it happens a lot,” he explained, as he adjusted his collar. “Kids think it’s funny to throw things against the window. Bit of an architectural design flaw, really, having the office overlooking the pool.”
“Quite. Anyway,” Miss Wellbeloved continued, leaning forward, “the incubus is currently hiding in the female changing room, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He looked up, wide-eyed as a child. “Can you get rid of it?”
Miss Wellbeloved bristled. “We can certainly guide him back to his own world,” she replied, pursing her lips. “We don’t like to use the expression get rid of.”
“How often has the incubus caused problems?” Serena asked, leaning over Ribero’s shoulder. He promptly nudged her off again, leaving her momentarily off-balance.
Mr Gamble considered the question. “Not loads of times,” he said finally. “I’ve never encountered it. A few women have run out screaming because it was moaning at them though. Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “we covered it up well. Told the women it was the central heating making funny noises.”
“Yes, incubi can be rather loud,” Pamela agreed. “Especially if the female in question is young and good-looking.”
“Anything else, other than the moaning and the groaning?” Ribero asked.
The manager shook his head, then nodded. “It was floating around in the showers for a bit, Thursday afternoon. The lady who spotted it didn’t like that, I can tell you. That’s when I called the police, who referred me to the government.”
“They probably should have just passed it to us as a regional case,” Serena muttered, nudging Pamela.
“Well, it’s more money for us if it’s classified as a national, so keep quiet, dear,” Pamela replied through gritted teeth.
“It’s all very difficult to get my head around, to be honest,” the manager continued. His finger delved into his ear before he wiped it on his trousers. “I didn’t believe in ghosts until all this happened. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.”
“No need to be,” Miss Wellbeloved replied crisply. “Chances of you encountering any further spirits are incredibly small these days because there aren’t many left. Now, shall we get on?”
The manager nodded, then pressed his intercom. “Sharon?” he said. The line fizzled. “Sharon, will you come and escort the agency down to the changing room?”
“What agency?”
The manager sighed. “You know. The one we were talking about yesterday. Be a love, come on. I’ve got things to get on with.” He released the button, then gave an embarrassed shrug. “Staff, eh?”
“Oh, I know,” Ribero said, casting a dark look in their direction. A few moments later, the door flew open, revealing a blonde, buxom female who was squeezed into a very purple dress. Kester thought she looked like a squashed blueberry.
“Hello there, my lovelies,” she greeted in a strong Somerset accent, oozing and undulating with soft, milky vowels. “Do you want to come with me, then?”
Miss Wellbeloved nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s get to work, shall we?” Scooping up her handbag, she marched out of the office. The others followed suit, and they all headed back down the stairs.
“It’s a crazy old thing, isn’t it?” Sharon continued. She fluffed her hair absent-mindedly, a poodle-like mop of curls which surrounded her head like a cloud. “Who would have thought it, eh? That ghosts really do exist!”
“Please, keep the voice down low, eh?” Ribero scuttled next to her, eyes anxiously scanning the crowded reception area. “Remember, this is all hush-hush.”
The woman made a big show of pressing a finger against her lips. “Of course, my dear. Understood. Don’t worry, apart from me and Mr Gamble, no-one knows about it.” She flung open the door to the female changing room, then nodded inside. “Need me to come in with you? Only I’ve got to get back to the desk. The queue’s reached outside the door, look!”
“That’s fine,” Miss Wellbeloved said, observing the waiting crowds. “May we ask that you prevent anyone from entering the changing room for a few minutes though? We need privacy to get on with our work.”
Sharon looked at the crowds, rolling her eyes. “I’ll do my best,” she said, “but I can guarantee they’ll kick off, my dear.”
“Fifteen minutes should do it,” Mike said with a grin.
Kester peered into the changing room. The mere thought of stepping inside a place where women took their clothes off seemed hideously indecent. Please don’t let there be any naked ladies in there, he thought, blushing. I think I’d have to run away if there were. A glance at Mike’s wolfish expression confirmed he was thinking the exact opposite.
“Excuse me, but there are people already getting changed in there, aren’t there?” he said, looking at the others. “Surely that means that me, Mike, and Dad shouldn’t go in, right?”
The others looked at him as though he was speaking in tongues. Mike poked him in the ribs. “Hey, don’t pass up a great opportunity, mate,” he whispered.
“It feels very wrong,” Kester muttered, reluctantly following them in. “Very wrong indeed.”
They stepped into the humid changing room. Kester tiptoed over the rough tiles, eyes fixed firmly to the floor. He could hear various gasps and protestations, and a blush started to creep over his cheeks. Why didn’t they ask everyone to leave before we came in? he wondered. It’s not like we can conduct a spirit removal when there are women in their towels watching us!
Clearly Ribero had the same thought, and he stopped, holding his hand aloft like a town-crier. “Ladies,” he announced in a rich, authoritative voice. “I must ask you to hurry up with your dressing or undressing as we need to conduct a quick assessment in here.
”
“Of the pipework,” Mike added, waving his rucksack as though that explained everything.
“The pipework?” Serena hissed. “What idiot says ‘the pipework’? You mean the plumbing!”
Mike stuck his tongue out. “It doesn’t matter now.” He nodded towards the cluster of women who were eyeing them suspiciously, but hurrying to put their clothes on, nonetheless. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Pamela meandered over to the lockers. She looked very out of place amongst the swimsuit-clad females around her. Glancing at the ceiling, her posture suddenly stiffened, alert as a bloodhound. “I can sense some residual energy over here,” she called out, oblivious to the two young girls who were staring at her, mouths open, still dripping pool-water onto the floor.
Miss Wellbeloved coughed deliberately. “You mean residual leaking from the pipes, yes?”
“Oh yes, that’s exactly what I meant.” Pamela tapped her nose and winked. Miss Wellbeloved groaned.
“Right,” Ribero said, rubbing his hands together. “That very nice lady, what was her name again?”
“Sharon,” Mike prompted.
“Yes, Sharon. She is stopping any more women coming in. Jennifer, you go out to the pool and stop anyone from entering from there, okay? Then we should get the place just to ourselves, right?”
Miss Wellbeloved nodded. “Absolutely. You don’t need me for this job, anyway; it should be a doddle.” Without another word, she swept off her shoes and socks and headed out towards the entrance to the pool.
The others waited patiently until the remaining women had dried off, dressed, and cleared out. Finally, as the last mother ushered her children outside with a final, departing glare, they relaxed.
Mike checked his watch. “We’ve got about five minutes left to get this sorted out before the next lot of women come in,” he said, rummaging in his bag. “Luckily, I brought the sonar detector, so I should be able to get its location pretty quickly.” He pulled out a monstrous contraption, which looked suspiciously like a sardine tin with wires sticking out the top, and started to wave it around above his head.