Blue Moon Investigations Ten Book Bundle

by steve higgs

  Danny was speaking, ‘Most of it looks smashed, right? But we figured that it would have continued to record data right up until the moment when the power went off. That data would go onto the hard drive which is pretty hard to get to, so unless the ghosts turned up with a huge magnet it would still be here.' He juggled the laptop a little so that Gina could see the screen better. ‘Well the spectroscope picked up nothing prior to going off, nor did the spectrum analyser or the IR camera. The IR camera was pointing out to sea but what if the pirates came to shore elsewhere and then found Matthew, right? So, I checked the standard video, which ought to not capture much at night but…’ he drew the last word out for effect and clicked a key on the laptop. The screen started to play.

  Real Ghosts. Wednesday, November 2nd 0912hrs

  I had to get closer to the screen to be able to see anything then realised there was nothing to see. The video feed was pointing at the pub, or at least away from the shore, the ambient light allowing us to see shapes but not much else.

  Then we all heard Matthew's voice, deeply panicked but very clear. ‘Oh, my God!' A half second pause followed. ‘No. No. NO!' It was all off-screen, the sound of Matthew screaming in fear and then his voice being cut off suddenly was disturbing.

  I was beginning to wonder what Ivan had been so excited about when a clearly dead figure, its skin sloughing from its face to reveal the bone beneath walked right past the camera. It was followed by a second, which turned towards the camera whereupon the light from the moon glinted off a gold tooth.

  The lack of light made it hard to see detail, but the ghosts looked convincing to me. Holding the laptop, Daniel performed a fist bump with Ivan while Gina stared intently at the final images. The skeletal figures moved out of shot, a clang was heard, and the feed went black.

  ‘That’s all we have.’ Announced Daniel.

  ‘Play it again.’ Gina instructed.

  She watched it three times through, her smile widening every time, then guiltily vanishing every time she heard Matthew scream. I had moved away a few feet, running the footage through my head. It was compelling. However, it was also utter nonsense. It had to be. I conceded that I could not explain what I had seen but I was more determined than ever now to find out what was going on.

  Gina was distracted by her work, leaving me forgotten. I left her to it as I walked away towards the ramp back up to street level. The dogs were pulling me forwards, keen to get to wherever we were going as always. Sweeping down the hill towards me was the same Police car from yesterday, the Sergeant at the wheel, her angry expression still in place. I stepped through the crime scene tape as she was pulling to a halt. The Superintendent was in the back, making me glad my father was still inside having breakfast. I wondered if the Sergeant was going to question why I had been beyond the barrier tape but if she had any interest in me she failed to show it and I kept walking.

  I was going to exercise the dogs while I considered what I had seen.

  Thirty minutes later I had completed a loop of the village and found myself back at the beach in front of the pub. My outer layer of clothes and my hair were damp from the mist. The dogs too were wet and would need to be dried off when we got back to the room.

  As I approached the beach, I could see a van parked by the railings. It was distinctly marked with the logo for a major National television network and had several antennae and a satellite dish on the roof. The crew was deployed at the railing where a well-dressed woman with flowing ginger locks tied into a French braid was being filmed. Her back was to the beach so the shot on television would contain the white tent in the background. I paused to listen.

  ‘… where last night another brutal attack took place. This unexplained series of attacks, each one reportedly perpetrated by the ghosts of pirates drowned near here in the 18th century has left this village in shock. Professional paranormal scientist Georgina Huntley the Third was here last night and using specialist equipment of her own design was able to capture images of the ghosts.’ She moved slightly to her side to reveal the diminutive Gina stood next to her. I had not noticed that she was there. I stepped to my right to give me a better view then had to apologise to the man stood next to me in the street as I bumped him. The event was drawing quite a crowd.

  The reporter continued. ‘Georgina, please tell us about the footage we are about to see. I must first warn the viewers at home that this footage is not suitable for young children and has been edited to remove some of the audio content as it was not suitable for daytime airing.’ She moved the microphone from her own mouth and thrust it towards Gina.

  Looking both terrified, like a rabbit caught in headlights, and at the same time elated to be able to present her evidence, she began to talk. ‘The equipment we deployed earlier this week in the hope that we would be able to capture evidence of the ghosts, records data in a number of different spectrums.' Gina then launched into a detailed explanation of the scientific research she was conducting which I am certain was lost on everyone listening either here or at home.

  The reporter asked a few qualifying questions as Gina spoke but mostly just let her talk freely for several minutes. As Gina reached a pause, the reporter cut in, ‘Shall we show the folks at home the terrifying footage?' she did not wait for an answer and kept the microphone to herself as she turned once more to face the camera directly. She issued the warning about the nature of the scene about to be shown once more, then visibly relaxed as I assume the television screens around the country switched from her to Gina's video.

  The footage was only a short burst lasting twenty or so seconds, so the ginger-haired reporter was soon lifting the microphone again.

  ‘Georgina, that is a compelling piece of video. What can you tell us about it?’

  ‘Most of our equipment was broken when the pirates attacked so that is all we have. Video footage is not enough to prove the existence of ghosts…’

  The reporter cut her off. ‘Experts from within the paranormal science community are heralding this as the greatest breakthrough of all time. Do you agree with them?’

  ‘Well, yes that has been said I believe, but without any energy readings I feel it is too open to interpretation for any scientist to claim it as irrefutable evidence of paranormal activity.’

  ‘So, are you saying that those were not ghosts?’ It was a leading question, the reporter stringing the news segment out as much as she could.

  ‘Not exactly. What I am saying though is that further evidence is required, and I will be continuing my studies while the phenomenon persists.’

  ‘I understand that one of your employees was injured in the attack last night. Please tell us about that.’

  ‘Matthew received a cut to the head and was taken to Plymouth general for surgery. I did not see him and was only alerted to the event after he had been treated by the paramedics and taken away.’

  ‘A cut to the head? That sounds serious, but in the last attack, the victim was killed. How did he escape further injury?'

  ‘I cannot answer that. Matthew himself will have to give an account of the event once he is able to do so. I can tell you that the wound was life-threatening and that his life was probably saved by the person that heard his cry for help and came to his assistance.'

  The reporter’s eyes lit up. She didn’t know this bit of the story. ‘A good Samaritan? What was he doing out at that time of the night?’

  I took a step back to merge with the crowd, then another to place myself behind the front row of people watching the interview. Then I ducked my head and headed towards the pub. As I went I could still hear what they were saying.

  ‘You will have to ask him that yourself. I can tell you his name though.’ I groaned internally. I was not a fan of the press. ‘Oh. He was just across the street a moment ago.’ My tactic of ducking out of the scene had been timed to perfection.

  ‘You were about to give me the mystery man’s name.’ the reporter prompted.

  ‘It’s Tempest Michaels. He is her
e on holiday with his parents.’

  ‘Oh, so it is a boy.’

  ‘No, no. I don’t think he planned to have his parents with him.’ I slipped inside the pub and heard no more of the conversation. That the press might track me down was a very real concern. Not that I was particularly worried, I just saw no benefit in it and would rather avoid it if I could. I had been on camera before, I always hated the way my voice sounded and would always have a crumb of lunch stuck to my lapel or a piece of hair waving in the breeze making me look ridiculous.

  There was no sign of my parents in the restaurant, so I headed upstairs to the room where I found them watching the television.

  ‘The ghost ship was spotted last night.’ My Mother told me before I was even in the room.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And the lady just said your name in her interview.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And a man was attacked by the dead pirates.’

  ‘He knows that, Mary.’ Interjected my father. ‘Tempest is the one that found him and called the ambulance.’

  ‘Oh, yes. They just said that.’

  I let the dogs off their leads after patting them dry. The reporter would finish up her interview and quite possibly come looking for me afterward. I needed to get out of the pub if I wanted to avoid being interviewed. I needed to work out what to do with my day first though.

  I sat at the desk and opened my notepad. What did I know?

  There have been violent attacks which are being blamed on ghosts

  Figures which look convincingly like dead pirates have been filmed and have been reported by several witnesses

  A ghost ship has also been seen and photographed. It also looks convincing

  Several persons have been scared from their homes and have fled the village

  Odd yellow warning notices from the parish councillor can be found on the abandoned properties. There may be no correlation

  I have no idea who is behind the attacks nor what the motivation for them is

  The list was not even slightly helpful. If I continued to operate under the assumption that both the ghost ship and the pirates themselves are fake, then I only needed to work out how they were being faked. Doing that would most likely lead me to who and then why.

  Then I remembered the drones and added them to the list. Their behaviour was odd, but yet again might have no correlation to the other events. My plan was to spend the day lifting the lid on the mystery of the dead pirates, but I was still looking for a start point.

  I started a new list: Who gained from the activities?

  I didn’t get very far in writing the list though because I could not come up with anyone that gained. A Muslim couple had been scared into moving, an Indian family had been scared into moving and their business was already being converted into something else. Who owned it?

  I grabbed my phone and called Jane.

  ‘Jane, hi. How did you get on with the search for businesses owned in Cawsand?’

  ‘I am just finishing that now. Give me half an hour?’

  ‘Anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘How are things back there?’

  ‘Quiet I guess. It is very different coming to work at your house instead of going to the office every day. I believe Mr. Jarvis has builders there about to start work though and Amanda handed her uniform back today plus we have several cases to look at.'

  ‘Do tell.’ I requested. I had not missed the business back home until now.

  ‘We have a client, two clients in fact that believe they have been cursed by a Haitian voodoo priest. Amanda started looking into that a couple of days ago.’

  ‘A voodoo priest. Well, that is our first one of those.’

  ‘Yeah. It is really spooky. I mean more than normal. The way the client told her story freaked me out. I won’t be going on holiday to Haiti any time soon.’

  We chatted for a minute before we disconnected. I still didn’t know what to do today, where to apply my effort.

  There was a knock at the door. Dad got up from the bed, where he had been sat reading a book. I grabbed his arm to stop him. ‘Ask who it is, please. If it is the reporter or anything to do with the reporter I am not here.'

  ‘Where are you then?’

  ‘Out, Dad.’ I said, exasperated. ‘Nevermind.’ I got up and got to the door before Mum could get bored and answer it.

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked loudly through the door.

  ‘Rebecca Franks for Channel Six news. Can I come in?’ The voice on the other side of the door was definitely the voice of the ginger-haired reporter I had seen outside.

  ‘No.' I replied, certain that this would not cause her to give up and go away.

  ‘I am looking for Tempest Michaels. I need to speak to him please.’

  The one thing I know about reporters and the press is that they are persistent. Miss Franks was not someone I knew, not that I watched Channel Six news, but I had not heard the name, so she was either new and thus trying to make her mark or she was not new, in which case she was really trying to make her mark. Either way, she was likely to hound me until she got her story. I turned the doorknob, then changed my mind and threw the lock instead.

  I crossed the room and looked out the window on the seaward side of the building. Then crossed the room again to the bathroom. The window there opened out onto a courtyard at the back of the pub. It was a sash window that I could slide up. Having done so I could see my escape route.

  ‘What you up to, kid?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Avoiding reporters hopefully. I won’t get anything done while they are trying to get my story and I suspect that once they find out what I do for a living they will get all excited. I can do without it, so I am going out the window. Can you meet me along the street towards the car park in half an hour?’

  ‘Do I bring the dogs?’

  ‘Yes please.’ I grabbed my coat, checked my pockets, patted the dogs and went out the bathroom window.

  Without looking up as I went by, my Mother sighed and muttered something about her friends not having sons that went out of windows.

  Beneath the window was a ledge I could step onto and then climb across a few feet to lower myself down to the roof that covered the pub toilets. Once I was out on the ledge though, a door opened directly underneath me, and I had to freeze when I saw it was Gretchen and Tilda. I doubted Gretchen would approve of me playing Spiderman outside her master suite.

  ‘Did you tell them to do it?’

  ‘Quiet, Tilda. We cannot talk about any of this in the open. We could be heard.’

  They both lit cigarettes, the foul smoke twirling up to assail my nostrils. I tried to hold my breath, knowing that I could not hold it long enough. I wanted to cover my mouth and nose, to create a filter but could not go my grip on the wall.

  ‘It was your job to control them. That was what we agreed.’ Tilda accused Gretchen again.

  ‘Well, we are not the only players in the game are we, Tilda? Saturday night was not their doing. Couldn’t have been.’

  ‘So, who was it?’ Tilda asked.

  ‘When? Last night or Saturday? Because the answer to either question is that it was the ghosts.'

  I had no idea what I was listening to, they were annoyingly avoiding giving me any specific information, but if I attempted to fill in the blanks it sounded very much like they were guilty of something and were worried about someone overhearing what it was.

  ‘Did you see the video footage?’ Gretchen asked.

  ‘Yes. They look very convincing, don’t they?’

  They who?

  ‘He said they would. Anyway, I didn't tell them to act last night. They did it of their own volition. They know how I feel about my place being disrespected.'

  ‘Especially by their kind.’

  Filling in the blanks and trying hard not to jump to conclusions, I was convinced that Gretchen and Tilda were responsible for the ghosts and they were currently talking about the attack on Matthew Todd being deserve
d. Racial hatred – such an ugly thing.

  ‘I can’t undo it now. The ghosts will get blamed for everything anyway.’ said Tilda.

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘Yes, Gretchen. They will. We have too much riding on it now.’

  ‘I have to get back inside.’ Gretchen replied, resignation in her voice. ‘Your plan had better work.’

  ‘It will Gretchen. The investors are already starting to bite.’

  ‘They had better be. The sooner I get out of this damned place the better.' The door swung shut once more, leaving Tilda outside by herself. Above her, my arms and legs were starting to shake from the effort of holding still on the tiny ledge. My fingertips were going numb from the cold stone I was holding onto, but I did not dare to move for fear of revealing my position. Tilda would go inside soon enough, and I would be able to climb down and then start poking around in their business. If they were up to something nefarious and were relying on the ghosts to take the blame for it, then were they also to blame for the ghosts?

  A minute passed and just as I thought I was going to have to move anyway, she gripped the door handle and went inside.

  I started to move, discovered my fingers were too numb to grip the next handhold and lost contact with the wall.

  I fell.

  Digging deeper. Wednesday, November 2nd 1000hrs

  I pushed off the wall as I went, twisting in mid-air to land heavily on the toilet roof. I was right in the middle of it, its weakest point. There was a faint cracking noise as I edged back to the main wall of the pub and sidled to the edge. If there was anyone in the toilets they would have heard me land, so I wasted no time in getting down to the ground and leaving the premises.

  Out on the street, I made sure I turned away from the direction the news crew van had been, jammed my hands into my pockets to warm them up and hurried off. My mind was whirling with possible scenarios from the overheard conversation. That Gretchen and Tilda were involved was a certainty as far as I was concerned. They were racists and appeared to be committing blatant racially motivated crimes. Was Roberta involved? I cast my mind back to the Halloween party she had taken me to. Several of her friends were Asian or Africa descent and she mingled with every race and orientation that evening without the slightest indication of bigotry.