Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) (2 page)

“Why do cheerful, friendly people never come back as ghosts?” said Melody, plaintively. “Why do we never meet happy smiley people from the vasty deeps, who are actually pleased to see us?”

“The answer is almost certainly implicit in the question,” said JC. “People at peace and at rest don’t need to come back. It’s the ones who have a complaint to make who end up disturbing the living. Let’s try the lounge.”

He moved quickly down the hall, throwing open each door as he came to it and peering into the room beyond. Until he found the lounge and went inside. Happy skulked along behind him, while Melody struggled fiercely with her trolley as the wheels caught and spun on the rucked-up carpet. The lounge turned out to be a pleasantly spacious room, with comfortable chairs and a huge red leather settee, along with all the usual comforts and luxuries, including a really big wide-screen television. Set a little to one side was a long, narrow coffee table, with four young men and women sitting on the floor around it. They were all wearing assorted jeans and sweaters, and had that indefinable but unmistakable look of students. None of them looked up as the Ghost Finders entered the room. None of them made a sound, or moved a muscle. They sat in place, staring straight ahead of them, with blank faces and empty eyes.

JC started to address them, then stopped as he realised how very still they all were, and how completely empty their faces seemed. He moved slowly forward, one step at a time, until he could lean over and study their faces close-up. They didn’t react, but they were all still breathing, very gently. JC relaxed a little. Where there’s even a little life, there’s hope. He gestured for Happy and Melody to stay back, and moved cautiously around the four seated figures, looking them over, with his hands clasped behind his back so he could be sure he wouldn’t touch anything. He leaned in past the students to look at the coffee table. An old-fashioned wooden Ouija board had been set out on the tabletop in front of the four students. All the usual markings, in old-fashioned lettering, so a message could be spelled out. There was no sign of the usual upturned glass, but there were fragments of broken glass all across the table and on the carpeted floor around it.

“A Ouija board?” said Happy, coming forward very cautiously for a better look. “Oh, that’s never good. Those things should be banned. They open doors, and never to anywhere good. Giving one of those things to a bunch of amateurs is like giving a hand-grenade to a group of toddlers. There are bound to be tears before bedtime.”

JC snapped his fingers fiercely in front of each empty student face in turn, but there was no reaction. He straightened up and turned to look consideringly at a camera on a tripod, set up not far away, aimed at the coffee table. JC gestured to Melody, and she came forward to look the camera over.

“Expensive,” she said briskly. “State-of-the-art, all the latest bells and whistles. The kind of camera that does most of the work for you. Some really nifty filters, and extra options . . . for when you need to be sure you won’t miss
anything
. What was going on here? What were these four doing . . . that someone needed to record every detail of it for posterity?”

“Is the camera still working?” said JC. “Still recording?”

“No. Someone’s put it on stand-by.”

“And it isn’t transmitting to anywhere else?”

“No. It’s set to record.”

They all looked up sharply as they heard quiet but definite sounds from someone’s moving about, upstairs. The slow, furtive footsteps of someone hoping not to be noticed. JC’s head moved slowly as he followed the footsteps from one side of the ceiling to the other. The sounds stopped, abruptly. JC hurried out of the lounge, with Happy and Melody right behind him.

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Back in the hallway, it was still and quiet again. JC led the way up the stairs. He made no sound at all as he ascended the carpeted steps; and neither did Happy and Melody. Learning to walk unseen and undetected was one of the first things you learned when working cases like this. Sneaking up on ghosts took special skill. They reached the landing at the top of the stairs, and JC gestured for the others to split up, so they could each take one of the three doors leading off the hall. The silence was so complete now, so heavy, it had an almost solid presence. Melody moved in close beside JC, so she could murmur in his ear.

“How many people are there supposed to be in this house?”

“Beats me,” said JC, quietly. “No case file, remember? But we haven’t found Professor Volke yet. Or his body . . .”

Happy pointed an only slightly unsteady finger at the door nearest him, and JC and Melody padded over to stand beside him.

“Someone’s in there,” said Happy.

“Can’t you tell who it is?” said JC.

Happy sniffed. “The atmosphere in this house is really messed up. There’s so much information present, the aether is saturated. It’s like trying to see through thick fog.”

JC looked at Melody. “He makes this shit up, doesn’t he?”

“Probably,” said Melody.

“All right,” said JC. “Plan B it is. Brute force and ignorance; everything forward and trust in the Lord.”

“After you,” said Melody.

“Why would the professor be hiding from us?” said Happy.

“Let’s ask him,” said JC.

He stepped smartly forward and kicked the door in. It slammed back against the inner wall, making a hell of a racket. JC launched himself into the room, with Happy and Melody reasonably close behind him. The bedroom was empty except for the usual bed, fittings and furnishings, and one very large wall closet. Happy did the pointing thing again, and JC walked right up to the closed closet door. He coughed loudly, then knocked on the door, very politely.

“Hello, Professor Volke! We know you’re in there; please come out and talk to us. Or I will be forced to rescue you from this closet, with extreme violence and no concern at all for your personal dignity.”

There was a pause, and the door opened a crack. A wide eye peered out, studying JC with open trepidation. JC gave the eye his most charming smile.

“Please come out, Professor. There’s a good chap. Nothing at all to worry about, now. The cavalry has arrived.”

The door opened, and Professor Volke stepped slowly out. He stood half crouching before JC, twitching and trembling, as though expecting to be attacked at any moment. He looked quickly at Happy and Melody and must have seen something in the way they were looking at him because he straightened up and tried to pull what remained of his dignity about him. He looked to be in his late forties, fashionably dressed in a sloppy way. His greying hair was ragged and tousled, in contrast to his neatly trimmed goatee beard. His face was unhealthily pale, and his eyes were worryingly wide and unblinking. His hands shook. Something had thrown a hell of a scare into him. He looked like he was ready to dive right back into the wall closet at the slightest provocation—or even if anyone spoke harshly to him. JC kept the charming smile going.

“Hello, Professor Volke,” he said carefully. “You’re perfectly safe now. We’re here! We are Ghost Finders, from the Carnacki Institute. You called us for help, remember? It’s our job to Do Something about ghosts and ghoulies and long-leggity beasties, and make them play nice with others. Can you tell us what it is that’s happened here?”

“You’ve got to get me out of here!” said the professor. He clearly wanted to shout, but his voice was so strained by stress and shock, he could only manage a rough whisper. “We have to leave. We can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous!”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Happy.

“Hush now, Happy, grown-ups talking,” said JC, not taking his gaze off the professor. “We can’t leave just yet, Professor Volke. We need to determine exactly what’s happened, and what the nature of the threat is, so we can do something extreme and final about it. Please come downstairs with us and fill us in on all the appalling details.”

The professor tried to get back in the wall closet. JC grabbed him by one ear and hauled him out again. The professor made loud signs of distress but had no choice but to go along when JC led him firmly out of the bedroom and back down the stairs, not releasing his hold on the professor’s ear for one moment. Happy and Melody brought up the rear. The professor protested loudly and bitterly all the way down the stairs and into the hall but shut up the moment he saw the door to the lounge standing open ahead of him. He seemed to shrink in on himself, and all the fight went out of him. JC let go of the man’s ear and ushered him politely into the lounge. The professor took one look at the four young students sitting unnaturally still around the coffee table and made a high, whining noise. He got away from JC and made a dash for the door, but Happy and Melody were there to block it. The professor turned back reluctantly, looking everywhere round the room except at the four young people.

“Tell us what happened here, Professor,” said JC, in his most encouraging manner. “You can start by telling us what kind of professor you are and what you and these four were doing here.”

“I am Adrian Volke,” the professor said haltingly. “Head of the Psychology Department at Thames University. They . . . are four of my students. Angie and Elspeth, Dominic and Martin. First-class minds, all of them.”

“Very good, Professor Volke,” said JC. “Now, what were you trying to do here? And why were you recording everything?”

“I set up suitable conditions for a séance, using a Ouija board,” said the professor. His voice grew in confidence as he moved onto familiar ground. “It was a psychological experiment. I wanted to see what would happen, or could be made to happen, under the right conditions.”

“But something went wrong, didn’t it?” said JC.

The professor nodded miserably. “You have to help me! I never intended for any of this to happen. I didn’t know what to do . . .” He seemed to realise how pathetic he sounded because his head came up abruptly, and he glared defiantly at JC. “You have to help me understand what happened here. Help me put this right again. A scandal of this nature could ruin my professional reputation!”

“Relax, Prof,” said JC. “We are the big guns from the Carnacki Institute. Ghosts and ghoulies cringe at our approach. We’ll sort this out for you and help restore your poor students.”

If the professor noticed the dig at his apparent lack of concern for his students, he didn’t seem to care. The distraught academic wrung his shaking hands together and shook his head miserably.

“I shouldn’t have called the Institute. I don’t believe in . . . that sort of thing. But after what happened in this room, right in front of me, I couldn’t think what else to do.”

“It’s all right, Prof,” said JC. “We understand. No atheists in haunted houses . . .”

“I don’t believe in ghosts!” said the professor.

“Tough,” said Melody. “They believe in you.”

The professor looked at her uneasily. “There’s no supernatural element to the use of a Ouija board. Everyone knows that, these days. Impulses in the unconscious mind move the fingers that move the glass, causing it to spell out hidden thoughts and desires. I was simply interested in setting up the right conditions for an experiment in suggestibility. If I could make my students believe enough in what they were doing, reinforce their natural desire to get results, would they make things happen? Or believe they had? I was looking to create a situation of controlled hysteria, to provoke a reaction. But . . . look at them!”

He still couldn’t bring himself to look directly at the four unmoving students. He gestured in their direction, then clasped his hands tightly together, to stop them shaking. He was trying hard to hang on to his professorial dignity and failing. He looked more like a child expecting to be punished for doing something he knew he shouldn’t have. JC considered the man thoughtfully. The professor had clearly seen or experienced something very much outside his scientific comfort zone. The professor straightened up again under the pressure of JC’s regard. He made himself look at his students.

“I suppose it could be . . . some kind of extreme shock? A fugue state? Some kind of psychic transmission, even, from them to me, drawing me into their hysteric state and making me see things . . .”

“Don’t strain yourself, Professor,” said Melody. “Your brand of science doesn’t have the answers to cover something like this. It’s not big enough.”

The professor bristled immediately and glared at her. “My science covers the known world! What else is there?”

“Don’t get me started,” said Melody.

“Everything casts a shadow, Professor Volke,” said JC. “And we operate in the shadows. Come along, Prof; it’s time to tell the tale. What did you do here, exactly; and what did you see?”

But the professor turned away, stubbornly shaking his head. He wasn’t ready to talk, to commit himself to accepting that what he had seen was really real. JC turned to Melody.

“Can you access what the camera recorded earlier? Maybe plug its output into that really big-ass television?”

“Piece of cake,” said Melody.

She performed a quick and brutal fix with a series of cables, and the television screen was suddenly full of heavy buzzing static. The professor saw what was happening, and made another dash for the door, but Happy was still there, blocking it. The professor raised a hand, as though to push Happy out of the way. Happy gave him a hard look; and the professor lowered his hand and turned away. He looked reluctantly at what was happening on the television screen, and everyone came forward to stand before the screen. To watch what had happened, earlier.