Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) (4 page)

“What?” said the professor. “What are you talking about?”

“There are places in the world where the hard and certain can become soft and malleable,” JC said carefully. “Places where different worlds, or dimensions, can rub up against each other; and the walls of reality get worn thin. Sometimes, local operating conditions . . . break down, overwhelmed and replaced by the natural laws of other dimensions. And then you get an opening, a door between realities. Between here, and Somewhere Else. And then . . . Something Else can break through, from There into Here. This is rarely a good thing.”

“You really expect me to believe such unscientific nonsense?” the professor said angrily. “This isn’t what I called you people for! I need practical help, not . . . pseudo-scientific bullshit!”

“If the doorway opens again, it will make a believer out of you in one hell of a hurry,” said JC. “Happy, take another look at what’s going on inside the students’ heads. Dig deep. See if there’s any trace of them left that we can use to call them home.”

“Sorry, JC,” said Happy. “When I said their heads were empty, I meant completely cleaned out. Nothing left but the autonomous nervous system, to keep the body going. We’re not only talking about their minds; their souls have been snatched, too.”

“What can you tell us about the room, Happy?” said Melody, her gaze darting from one monitor screen to another. “I’m picking up all kinds of readings, but none of them make any sense.”

Happy frowned, concentrating; and then he winced. “This room is supersaturated with information. Layer upon layer, from recent events to the far past. Going back . . . decades. This isn’t the first time something bad has happened here.”

JC looked thoughtfully at the professor, who suddenly didn’t want to meet his gaze. JC walked right up to him, and the professor started to back away, only to find Happy suddenly standing behind him, blocking his way.

“Tell me, Professor Volke,” said JC. “Why choose this particular location for your little psychological experiment? Is this your home? Or perhaps the home of one of your students?”

“Martin leased this house, a few months back,” said the professor, reluctantly. “And when he told me about it, I remembered I’d heard of this address before. I remembered a story . . . of a haunting, or some kind of supernatural disturbance, from years ago. Back in the early eighties, when I was a child. There was a report on the local news about it. Scared the crap out of me at the time. That’s what gave me the idea to hold my séance here. But I checked! I did my research! This house has been quiet for years. Decades . . . No reports of anything out of the ordinary. Nothing since that original story from the eighties.”

“Did you tell your students about any of this?” said JC.

“No,” said the professor. “I didn’t think it necessary. They didn’t need to know. It might have affected their responses and reactions, compromised the experiment. Look! We have to get the students back! Something like this could lay me open to all kinds of lawsuits! Ruin my career!”

“I’m more concerned about helping your students,” said JC.

“What? Oh, yes, of course.” The professor nodded quickly. “Can they be helped?”

“We’ll give it our best shot,” said JC.

He deliberately turned his back on the professor and walked slowly round the lounge, looking at everything. Happy and Melody watched him patiently.

“Okay!” JC said finally. “I think the best thing to do . . . is restart the séance. Recreate the conditions that affected the students. They clearly made contact with Something. Let’s see if it’s still hanging around.”

“That is like jumping in the deep end when you’ve already been told it’s full of sharks,” said Happy. “Rabid sharks, with really big teeth. Séances are always dangerous. It’s like kicking open a door when you’ve no idea who or what might be waiting on the other side.”

“The door’s already open,” said JC. “We’re going to take a quick peek through the opening, hopefully locate our missing students in whatever new place they’ve been taken to, then either persuade or haul them back through the door by main force.”

“And then shut and lock the door,” said Happy.

“Well, obviously,” replied JC.

“Just like that?” said Melody.

“Of course,” JC said mildly. “We are, after all, professionals.”

“What if we have to push the door all the way open, to get to the students; and Something Big and Nasty comes crashing through from the other side?” said Happy.

“Then we deal with it,” said JC.

“I want to go home,” said Happy.

“Race you to the Land Rover,” said Melody.

“Oh ye of little faith,” said JC.

“Wait; wait just a minute,” said the professor. “Are you saying this . . . rescue, could be dangerous? To us?”

“Grow a pair, Prof,” said JC.

“I think I have a right to . . .”

“No you don’t,” said JC, his voice suddenly very cold. “Not when this is all your fault. So sit down at the coffee table and keep quiet, like a good little professor.”

He glared at the professor until he sat down, very reluctantly, beside the coffee table, and JC sat down with him, squeezing in among the motionless students. JC then glared at Happy until he also came over and sat down with them. The professor stuck both his hands in his lap and hunched in his shoulders, so he wouldn’t have to touch Elspeth and Dominic, sitting very still on either side of him. JC looked over at Melody; and she smiled briefly.

“I’ve got all my sensors cracked wide open. All systems are green, all readings coming in sharp and clear. Ghost Finders are Go!”

JC picked up one of the plastic cups the students had been drinking their wine from. He emptied out the last of the contents onto the carpet, turned the cup upside down, and placed it carefully in the middle of the Ouija board. The professor frowned.

“Doesn’t it have to be . . .”

“No it doesn’t have to be,” JC said firmly. “The board and everything else are symbols, to put people in the right frame of mind. It’s the participants who do the hard work, the psychic heavy lifting, and make things happen.”

He placed a forefinger on the upturned plastic cup, then stared firmly at Happy and the professor until they did, too. The professor’s touch was so unsteady, the cup rattled back and forth for a moment until he settled down. They all sat and looked at the cup. It didn’t move.

“Come on,” JC said encouragingly to the cup. “Let’s see a little action, hmm? Move it! We haven’t got all night . . .”

Happy’s head came up sharply, and he looked quickly round the lounge. “We’re not alone here, JC. There’s a definite presence, right here in the room with us. Can’t quite . . . pin it down . . .”

“Friendly?” said JC.

“What do you think?” Happy winced. “Ooh, this feels bad. Really bad.”

The professor snatched his hand back from the plastic cup and scrambled to his feet. JC grabbed him by an arm and hauled him back down again.

“Don’t draw attention to yourself, Prof,” he murmured. “Might not be healthy. Melody? You getting anything?”

“Nothing useful,” said Melody, her gaze jumping from one display to the next. “Nothing’s showing up on the motion trackers . . . Or the short-range sensors. But the temperature in here has dropped another seven degrees. Could be an energy sink—draining power out of the world to fuel some kind of manifestation . . .”

“It’s here,” said Happy. His face was pale, and wet with sweat. His eyes were very bright. “I can feel it, moving around us. Watching us.”

“Could it be one of the students, trying to get home?” said JC.

“It’s not human,” said Happy.

The professor yanked his arm free of JC’s grasp and tried to get to his feet again. He was breathing hard, his gaze fixed on the exit. JC grabbed him again, his fingers sinking deep into the professor’s arm muscle, until Volke cried out. JC pulled him back down again.

“Let me go!” said the professor, struggling to break free. He was breathing so fast now, he was almost panting, borderline hysterical. “I have to get out of here!”

“You are not running out on your students,” said JC. “You got them into this; you are going to help bring them back.”

“I’m leaving! You can’t stop me!”

“Bet I can,” said JC.

He let go of the professor, smiled briefly, and took off his sunglasses. Bright golden light shone fiercely from his eyes. The professor stared at him: fascinated and horrified, all at once.

“Dear God, man; what happened to you?”

“I was touched inappropriately by forces from Outside,” JC said calmly.

“What are you . . . ?” whispered the professor.

“Professional,” said JC. “So sit tight and don’t be a distraction, so the rest of us can clean up the mess you’ve made.”

The professor subsided. JC looked at him with his glowing eyes until he placed his finger back on the upturned cup; and then JC put his sunglasses back on.

The single bulb lighting the room began to dim, steadily losing its light, until the room was full of gloom and shadows. Melody kicked in the spotlights built into her equipment array. The harsh lights illuminated the group sitting around the coffee table, as the light bulb gave up the ghost and shut down completely. Drifting shadows moved slowly round the lounge, large and shapeless, twisting and coiling like fog, unconnected to anything that might have cast them. The professor made a low, whimpering sound but didn’t move. JC ignored the shadows with magnificent disdain. He kept his gaze fixed on the upturned plastic cup and his finger firmly in place, along with Happy’s and the professor’s. They sat almost as still as the four students mixed in with them—breathing slowly and steadily, concentrating on the cup.

And, slowly, it began to move. Edging forward a few inches at a time, in sudden jerks and rushes, dragging the three arms after it. The cup moved faster and faster, shooting round and round the Ouija board, not even trying to spell out a message. JC had a sudden strong feeling there was someone standing right behind him. He didn’t turn to look. He knew there wouldn’t be anything there he could see. He looked across the table at Happy, who nodded quickly.

“We’ve definitely got Something’s attention, JC.”

“I’ve locked onto the spatial coordinates of the dimensional door,” Melody said quietly. “It’s there at the table, with you.”

“Department of no surprises,” said JC.

“Oh God,” whispered the professor. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this. Please let me go!”

“Don’t move your finger, Prof,” said JC. “It wouldn’t be safe.”

“I’m picking up new information from the room,” Happy said suddenly. “Old impressions, rising to the surface. Something to do with . . . a family that used to live here, some years back. Could be the family you were talking about, Professor; back in the eighties.”

“On it,” said Melody. “My computers are tapping into all the local-history sources . . . Yes. Here we go. I’ve got an old local television news report, from 1983. All about this house and the supposedly supernatural troubles the family had been having, ever since they moved in. Probably the same report you saw as a kid, Professor Volke.”

“How did you find it so quickly?” said the professor.

Melody smirked. “With these computers, I can find anything, anywhere. There isn’t a security system on this planet strong enough to keep me out.”

“Yes, yes, we’re all very impressed,” said JC. “Can you show us this old report, on the television?”

“Of course,” said Melody.

“The cup has stopped moving,” said Happy.

They all looked back at the Ouija board. The upturned cup had come to a rest, standing motionless at the NO station. JC sniffed loudly.

“We don’t take no orders from stinking boards!” he said grandly. “Play the report, Melody.”

The television set snapped on again, pumping out light to push back the general gloom. A local news report began, with a tag line at the bottom of the screen, saying it was from September 17, 1983. Fronted by a young, female reporter with a bright, enthusiastic smile, big hair, and barely restrained eighties fashion. She was standing in front of the house, beaming cheerfully into the lens.

“Hello! This is Isobel Hardestry, from Thames News, bringing you a fascinating story of things that go bump in the night, from an estate in South-East London. The house behind me looks like any other house; but strange things have been happening here. According to the family who moved in last month. I have with me Mrs. Katy Perrin, the mother of the family.”

The camera pulled back a little, to show a woman who probably wasn’t much older than the reporter but looked prematurely aged. She was dressed in rough, respectable clothes. Her face was drawn, with dark, deep-set eyes. She looked like she hadn’t been getting a lot of sleep recently. Her arms were tightly crossed, and she kept her back firmly turned on the house behind her. She barely glanced at the reporter, or the camera, as she was asked a series of quiet, respectful questions. Yes, bad things had been happening in the house. No, they hadn’t seen any ghosts. Yes, there had been . . . manifestations.

“We were so happy there, at first,” said Mrs. Perrin. Her voice was flat, almost unemotional. As though she’d given up caring whether she was believed or not. “This was the first house that was really ours. We’d only ever been renters, before. It took everything we had to make the deposit. But then the kids started fooling around with this Ouija board their uncle Paul found at a jumble sale. We all thought it was only a toy, something to keep them occupied. But then the kids started talking about this new friend they’d made through the board. At first, we all thought it was just another Imaginary Friend. But it wasn’t imaginary; and it wasn’t a friend.