by steve higgs
The fifth person, the lady that I believed was in charge, did not give any instructions as she arrived on the beach a few seconds after the men. They were all getting on with the tasks like a well-oiled and slick team. The lady noticed me watching. ‘Not to worry, sir. Nothing to fear,’ she offered her reassurance even though I was certain my face bore not the slightest trace of fear.
She wore the same outfit as the first four gentlemen but where they filled their clothing with muscle, she was petite, almost childlike in her measurements. Her long jet-black hair was tied into a bulbous ponytail that poked out of the hole in the back of the ballcap she was wearing. Like the men, I placed her age at somewhere around thirty. On her fleece top, the words Georgina Huntley Paranormal Sciences were embroidered in big clear letters.
Having spoken to me, I had been dismissed, she was getting on with whatever task they were performing. I flipped a mental coin on whether to leave her be but decided I was genuinely curious. The dogs started walking when I shifted my feet in the direction of the launch ramp, then dragged me down onto the beach when they reached it; the beach had lots of great smells to explore. Unclipped from their leads, they scampered away to look for dead fish and other interesting flotsam.
As I wandered towards them, the four men stood up and took a step in my direction to form a protective barrier between their equipment and me. Their faces all bore the same aggressive, warning look.
‘Chaps. Chaps. This gentleman is merely curious. Go back to your tasks,’ the lady said, finally showing her authority over them. Like robots, they immediately returned to their task, setting up the strange electronics they had taken from the boxes without sparing me a second glance. ‘Georgina Huntley the Third,’ the lady announced, offering me her hand as she stepped towards me. She was wearing no makeup and her complexion was clear. Her nose, ears, eyes, and lips were all proportioned appropriately, and when she smiled in greeting it was not an unpleasant smile. The sparkle that one gets from some people was missing though, leaving her face a little forgettable.
‘Tempest Michaels,’ I replied, grasping her hand. She had a firm shake, which I have always believed to indicate positive things about a person. I was surprised though when her hand stopped moving suddenly.
‘Tempest Michaels? The ghost hunter?’ she asked still holding my hand, but now looking at me with disbelief.
‘Err, not exactly,’ I replied. ‘Tempest Michaels, the serial paranormal debunker. I don’t hunt ghosts at all, but I do catch people that are pretending to be ghosts.’ How on earth did she know who I was?
‘Goodness,’ she replied, the disbelief now firmly etched onto her face. ‘You think that none of this is real?’ she asked, waving her arm around to indicate the village. ‘There are eyewitness reports, Mr Michaels.'
‘They may have seen something, or perhaps they saw nothing. I cannot yet tell what they might have witnessed with their eyes, but there is no such thing as ghosts, so whatever it was, it was not dead pirates come back to collect their gold,' I said it as a fact because it was one.
She fixed me with a stony gaze. ‘Well, I intend to prove you wrong, Mr Michaels. Tonight, if the ghosts come, I will record them.'
‘Not going to attempt to capture one?’ I asked, trying hard to keep any sense of sarcasm from my voice.
‘Oi,’ shouted one of the men. He was setting up his gear and Bull had just widdled up the leg of a rather expensive-looking tripod. Bull stood his ground but ducked out of the way when the chap tried to swat at him.
I moved to intercept, seeing the man’s annoyance and predicting his move. The thing about Dachshunds is that they are so damned low to the ground. When they run, they can turn on a penny and to catch them you have to get right down to the floor. So, as the chap swung his hand to scare off my dog and got low to the ground to do it, I took a single pace to close the distance and pushed on his shoulder lightly. His centre of gravity was already extended too far in his bid to reach the dog, so he fell forward onto the gravel of the beach and suddenly I had his three colleagues in my face.
‘Stand down,’ Georgina instructed them, the command delivered in a tone that was certain of compliance. The reluctance to obey was more palpable this time. They did it though, slowly returning to their tasks as the fourth man picked himself up. He locked eyes with me and it was clear that he might not be acting upon it now, but my insult was not forgotten.
Don’t mess with my dogs. I thought silently.
Georgina took up the conversation again, not noticing her employee's expression. ‘No, Mr Michaels, I do not intend to catch a ghost. Such concepts border on the ridiculous, but I will be able to measure energy output and very possibly record the images.'
‘To what end?’ I wanted to know.
‘To prove the existence of ghosts, Mr… Sorry, can I call you Tempest? Mr Michaels sounds so formal.'
‘Of course, Georgina.’
‘Gina, please.’
‘So, you were telling me about proving the existence of ghosts,’ I prompted.
‘Tempest, do you believe in black holes?’ she asked.
‘Black holes?’ I repeated.
‘There is as much scientific evidence to support the existence of ghosts as there is for black holes. Pictures purporting to be of what are called black holes exist. Black holes can be detected not by seeing them, but by observing the effect they have on their surrounding environment, such as objects moving through space. Black holes are readily accepted as a feature of the universe, but no-one has managed to prove it. Yet. This is because the cause of the perceived presence of black holes is subject to many theories - each claiming to be correct. Ghosts are in the same category. There is a lot of evidence to suggest that they exist, but nothing substantial. Yet. I intend to change that.'
I nodded. It was the most rational explanation I had heard for a person to invest time in the supernatural sciences. ‘I have another question. How do you know me?’
‘That one is more easily answered. You are relatively well known in the supernatural investigation community. Your successful slaying of the vampire in Maidstone got everyone’s attention. Vermont Wensdale wrote about you in very respectful tones.’
Did he really?
She went on to say, ‘I must confess I am a little shocked to hear that you are not a believer. Am I to assume that you are here specifically to prove the ghostly pirate sightings are not real?’
I wanted to move the conversation away from me, I would learn nothing from talking about myself. I pointed to the hi-tech equipment the goon-squad were setting up. ‘What is all your gear going to do?’
‘This?’ she asked, her interest level instantly peaking. ‘Much of this is my own design and thus very secret, so I cannot tell you much about it. However, I will say that it is going to monitor and measure on a number of different spectrums.
‘Such as…?’ I asked, trying to tease more information from her.
She smiled at me. She was clearly happy to talk about her pet subject. ‘The premise of most theories concerning ghosts is that the human body contains energy and that after death this energy changes from one state to another. This is known scientifically as the First Law of Thermodynamics. So, what happens to that energy? It cannot be destroyed, so has to change state to something else. The energy identified in the human body is in the form of neurons. Neurons are electrically excitable cells that process and transmit information by electrical and chemical signals. They are at the core of the nervous system. Identified as energy, the First Law of Thermodynamics seems to support the idea that the energy changes from one state to another following death. In other words, science provides an explanation to the paranormal theory of electromagnetism and ghosts.’
She paused and touched a finger to her lips before continuing. ‘While you would happily posit that ghosts cannot exist, I would argue that the energy of the person recently deceased has to still exist and that it will manifest in different forms depending on how it interacts with the other fo
rces around it. To support this, other fields of discovery lend their weight. Among them are bioelectricity and neuroscience. Bioelectricity examines electric potentials produced by living organisms, and this includes the human being. The field of neuroscience is an interdisciplinary study including biology, chemistry, medicine, psychology, etc. and is the study of the nervous system. Bioelectricity and neuroscience are closely related and both provide an insight into how one might measure the energy remaining to interact with the living world after a person has died.’
‘I am quite confident I will capture the evidence I seek when the dead pirates next come to shore.’ She was smiling now, the expression altering her face pleasingly. My initial assessment of her looks had been unfair, she was quite pretty after all. Not that I gave myself enough credit to believe that she would care one jot what I thought about her features.
Before I replied, I called to the dogs. They were heading back towards the ramp that led off the beach already and I did not wish for them to wander off. ‘You present a convincing, logical and above all interesting argument, Gina. Will I see you around?’ I asked as I turned to go. ‘I might like to quiz you more deeply on this subject.’
‘I expect so, Tempest.’ She was smiling an engaging smile that suggested it might be nice to see her again. I bid her good day and went on my way. My stomach rumbled lightly to tell me I needed some lunch. I checked my watch: 1143hrs. Close enough to justify going for food. Patting my pocket to reassure myself that I had my car keys with me, I made a fast decision and walked to the car park. With the dogs on the passenger seat, I swung the car around in a wide arc and headed back up the hill out of Cawsand.
On the way in on Sunday, I spotted several places serving cream teas. For those that have never been to Cornwall, or have no idea what a cream tea is, the thing you are most missing out on is warm scones with clotted cream and jam. Served with a pot of tea, there is nothing like it. Whether such a thing was invented in Cornwall, or even in the West Country, I could not say. It is synonymous with the region though, and while clotted cream could be found elsewhere, it abounded in Cornwall and tea shops serving their interpretation of the traditional dish were everywhere.
Alien Spacecraft. Monday, October 31st 1413hrs
Some time later, on the way back to Cawsand with my belly full after a large lunch and the first tendrils of post-lunch drowsiness starting to wind their way into me, I stopped to check a junction was clear then remained in place when I saw objects in the air ahead of me. I soon determined that they were not alien spacecraft, which my brain had been trying to insist they were, instead they were large drones. There were two of them, hovering in the air some distance ahead of my car and both appeared to be observing me.
In turn, I sat for a moment and observed them. I had never used a drone, but it was my understanding that one could operate them using an app on one’s phone. I suspected that this applied only to basic models which these did not appear to be. They were large objects, at least two feet across and fitted with cameras. They also looked to be modified with other electronic equipment that hung beneath the central body. I could only imagine what its purpose might be.
The stalemate lasted no more than a few seconds before the drones rose into the air as one and headed back towards the shore. I could not be certain, but if my mental compass was right, they were heading directly to Cawsand. I found their behaviour a little suspicious.
Staring through the top of the windscreen to keep an eye on their heading, I pulled forward to a horn blast from a Blue BMW 5 series whipping along the road in front of me. It shot past, swerving into the other lane to avoid clipping my car, the driver’s face an angry mask caught for a half second as it went by.
My heart rate spiked briefly from the surprise, I checked the road was clear this time and pulled out. The drones were lost from sight, but I told myself to ignore them. They were just drones, most likely being flown by enthusiasts and their presence in front of me nothing more than coincidence. It was 1421hrs, I had enjoyed a full day already and most of it had been relaxing. That I somehow had a date tonight still felt strange, as if I had dreamt or imagined the sequence of events that had caused it. Nevertheless, I needed to find time to make myself ready for an evening with an attractive woman and would thus need to curtail my afternoon activities early enough to ensure I was ready on time.
The phone rang in the car, breaking my train of thought just as I passed the sign telling me I was entering Cawsand. I thumbed the answer button to connect Jane. ‘Hi, Jane. Do you have information for me?’
‘Yes and no. I need more time to pull together a worthwhile list of those that have reported witnessing the ghosts in Cawsand, but I have just emailed you a report on the ship that is currently being searched for. It is quite the story.’ As she finished speaking my phone pinged with an incoming email.
‘Thank you, Jane. When should I expect the witness report?’
‘Another couple of hours hopefully. I will send you what I have before I finish for the day anyway.’
‘Jane, you finish at lunchtime.’ I pointed out. Her normal hours were 0900hrs to 1300hrs with the option of overtime if it suited both parties.
‘This is interesting, fun research and with you away there needs to be someone here to answer the phone, doesn’t there?’ she argued.
She made a valid point. ‘Jane, thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you. I shall look forward to getting the witness list through.’
We said goodbye and disconnected. The call had taken longer than driving the remaining distance to Cawsand, so I remained in my car in the car park to finish it. Had I not done so I would have missed the two drones coming into land. They came in over my head, high above the houses. From the car park's elevated position above most of the village, I could see rows of roofs running in different directions. The drones were following one another and heading away from me. They appeared from the right, at least one hundred yards from me so there was no reason to believe they had followed me back to the village if they had indeed been following me earlier. Perhaps they were returning home. I continued to watch from my car, attempting to estimate which street they were coming down on.
As they sunk slowly from the sky, I exited the car. Doing so quickly to gain the few feet of elevation I needed to work out which two rows of houses they had descended between. I was so focused on the drones though that I had forgotten the dogs, who, upon seeing the open driver's door, hopped across the centre armrest, plopped onto the floor outside and took off after a cat that had been lazing under a nearby Ford Mondeo.
Daft little dog brains wired to chase anything that ran away, I knew with absolute certainty that if I did not catch them soon, they would be lost somewhere in the back streets of Cawsand and I would most likely spend the whole afternoon looking for them.
Yelling their names was as pointless as asking Paris Hilton to make sense, but I did it anyway, attracting the attention of anyone within earshot. Naturally, I sounded like a madman running through Cawsand shouting BULLDOZER with as much volume as I could muster.
The cat did what cats generally do to evade a dog and went vertical. Its climbing medium of choice was a garden fence. I arrived a few seconds later to collect my two sausage-shaped idiots as they jumped and barked more than five feet below the ginger-haired cat as it sat atop the fence idly washing a paw and delighting in ignoring their efforts.
I did not bother to berate them. They were dogs acting as dogs after all. I did clip them to their leads though and curse myself for I had lost sight of the drones and they were gone.
On the way back to the pub, I took a few side streets in the general direction I had seen the drones go. My search proved fruitless though, all the houses looked the same and none had a big sign outside to tell me the occupants loved drones.
I let myself into my room, let the dogs go and flopped onto the bed. I was seriously considering an afternoon snooze. Then I remembered the email Jane had sent me and grabbed my phone.
The email read:
On the 23rd September 1641 the Merchant Royal, nicknamed the ‘Eldorado of the seas’ and skippered by well-respected captain John Limbrey, was returning home to Plymouth after two years transporting goods between trade points for the Spanish government, culminating in a voyage to Mexico alongside Spain's treasure fleet. Such were the successes of her expeditions that her holds were loaded with a rich cargo including 500 bars of gold bullion, 400 silver ingots, half a million silver coins and countless rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and pearls, not to mention many pieces of heavy jewellery. It was reported at the time that nearing her home port of Plymouth and only a few miles off the coast of Cawsand, a plank in the ship's hull sprung allowing water to rush in. Her crew hurried to pump it out but tragically their pumping equipment failed, and the ship was committed to a salty grave, along with her 58 crew and passengers.
However, there is much evidence and conjecture regarding the Merchant Royal being chased down and looted by pirates who emptied the hold before scuppering it and killing all the crew. The ship was returning from the East Indies and passed the Scilly Isles whereupon it met with three Royal Navy Frigates. A fog bank described in a Midshipman's journal as being of "unusual density" hid the Merchant Royal from the Naval escort which allowed the pirates to commit their raid. When the fog lifted, they found flotsam and dead bodies. The three Frigates sailed hard for the English coast and cornered the pirate ship near Cawsand where they exchanged cannon fire and crippled them before they could slip away.