Ghost of a Dream g-3 Read online

  “I can hear you two smiling at each other, and I do wish you wouldn’t,” said JC, not looking back. “You know your entire relationship creeps me out big-time. Young Ghostbusters in love. The horror, the horror…”

  “And this from a man in love with a ghost,” said Melody. “At least Happy and I can touch each other.”

  “And we do,” said Happy. “Often into the early hours…”

  “And you call my relationship unnatural,” said JC.

  “The living and the dead aren’t supposed to get that close,” said Melody. “For all kinds of worrying and unsettling reasons.”

  “It’ll all end in tears,” said Happy.

  * * *

  They reached the bottom of the grassy slope pretty much at the same time and stepped carefully down onto the end of the waiting platform. JC peered easily about him, pretending to look the place over, giving Happy a chance to cough up half a lung getting his breath back, while Melody counted all her precious bits of equipment, twice, to make sure she hadn’t left anything important behind. It had to be said: the Station Halt didn’t appear particularly welcoming. Some attempt had been made to clean up the place, but with only limited success. Soap and water and industrial-strength detergent can only do so much in the face of decades of dust and grime and disinterest. Various rubbish and debris had been brushed roughly to one side of the platform; but the standing structures, the original station buildings…looked distinctly uninviting.

  The old stone walls, sourced from local quarries, were stained and discoloured the exact shade of old piss, and the wooden facings, shutters, and doors were all pitted and rotten, looking almost diseased in the limited light. Newly replaced glass windows gleamed brightly enough in the gloomy surroundings, and a few new doors stood proudly open, showing only darkness within. Freshly painted signs hung here and there, saying Ticket Office, Waiting Room, and the like, in clear but still traditionally old-fashioned lettering. No-one had done anything for the buildings on the opposite platform. The slumping, single-storey structures across the tracks looked dim and distant, as though they were miles away.

  It was all very still and silent, without even the bird-song and insect buzz from above to add a sense of life to the place. At the bottom of the valley, between the two steep slopes, it all seemed so much darker; as though the light had to struggle to reach so far down. The wind seemed stronger, though, gusting along the open platform with sudden loud murmurings, like a hound on the trail of a scent. The pit between the two platforms was choked with weeds run wild though efforts had been made to clear a short length of track. It seemed to JC that efforts to clean up the halt had stopped and started several times before something drove everyone away…

  “First impressions, Happy?” JC said brightly, on the grounds that someone had to be bright and cheerful before they all burst into tears.

  “Nothing obvious,” said Happy, glowering about him. “I’m not picking up any manifestations, no stone-tape imagery…But it does seem a lot darker and gloomier down here than it should, as though we’ve left the evening behind, up above, and come down into the night. Look up. Does that look like an early-evening sky to you? Wait a minute, hold everything, drop the anchors. Did anyone else hear that?”

  They all moved closer together and stared down the long platform. A light had appeared in the window of the furthest building, the Waiting Room. It was a warm, golden glow, calm and cheerful and quite out of place in the generally forbidding atmosphere. The light moved out of the Waiting Room and quickly revealed itself to be an old storm lantern, held high in the hand of a dim figure. JC looked sharply at Happy, who shook his head and mouthed the word civilian. The figure came walking slowly down the platform towards them, taking its time, holding the lantern out ahead. The advancing golden glow quickly revealed an old man, in comfortable clothes and sturdy working-man’s shoes. He finally swayed to a halt in front of the Ghost Finders and looked at them. He didn’t give any impression of being particularly impressed. He squared his old shoulders, lowered the storm lantern some, and nodded brusquely.

  “About time you got here,” he said, in a rough, worn-out voice. “Ronald Laurie, representing the Bradleigh Preservation Trust.”

  “Here to help us of his own free will,” murmured Melody. “Try not to frighten him.”

  Ronald Laurie was a tall but stoop-shouldered old fellow, well into his seventies, in a battered tweed suit of a kind that men of a certain age like to wear when gardening, or doing odd jobs, until their wives decide they can’t stand the sight of it any more and drop it off at a charity shop when their husband’s out and can’t object. Laurie wore a battered cloth cap on a bald head, troubled here and there with a few wispy grey strands. He had a deeply lined face, a pursed mouth, and piercing steel grey eyes. He managed a small smile, for each Ghost Finder in turn, but didn’t offer to shake hands. He still held the lantern high as though to be sure he was spreading the light as far as he could. And he took his time looking the Ghost Finders over, as though he wanted to be sure they were what they appeared to be.

  He’s seen something, thought JC. What have you seen, old man?

  “So,” Laurie said finally. “You’re the experts, are you?”

  From the way he said the word, it was clear he didn’t take much assurance from it. In his world, experts were people who came down on orders from the bosses to meddle in things they didn’t understand.

  “That’s us,” said JC as positively as he could. JC was usually the one who got to talk to civilians and put them at their ease, as much as was possible. Happy and Melody didn’t have the knack. Or the inclination. JC offered Laurie his hand, but the old man nodded brusquely again.

  “You took your time getting here,” he said. “It’s late. Getting dark. But then, we’re a long way from anywhere. These days.”

  “We got here as soon as we could,” JC said smoothly. “Hope you haven’t been waiting too long. It was good of you to agree to meet us and help out.”

  “Aye. Well,” said Laurie. “Didn’t seem right to let you just walk into this ungodly mess without at least a warning.”

  “I want to go home,” said Happy. “Right now.”

  “So this is a bad place?” Melody said to the old man. “Nice to have that confirmed. What have you seen here?”

  “This is Melody Chambers, girl scientist and plain speaker,” murmured JC. “That cheerful soul is Happy Jack Palmer, professional worrier. Don’t get too close or try to feed him. And I am JC. I lead this team, for my many sins. Let us all play nicely together, people. We’ve a lot to discuss and not much time before night falls. It would help us a great deal, Mr. Laurie, if you could fill us in on exactly what’s been happening here. We do have official reports, but we prefer to get our information from first-hand sources, wherever possible. From people who’ve actually experienced the events in question. Whatever they may be.”

  “Details,” said Melody. “We want details.”

  “And you can leave the rumours and gossip at home,” said Happy.

  “Hush, children,” said JC. “Daddy’s working.”

  “Who are you people?” said Laurie, looking back and forth between them. “All I was told was to expect some experts. Are you with British Rail?”

  “Not in any way, shape, or form,” said JC. “We are all experts in the field of unnatural situations. We investigate bad places, determine what’s going on, then do something about it. We are here to help, Mr. Laurie.”

  “Aye. Maybe.” Laurie still didn’t look convinced, but he made a clear effort to be reasonable and get along. He tried his brief smile again, then looked up and down the long, gloomy platform. A low murmuring sound issued from the tunnel-mouth at the opposite end, and they all turned to look. There was nothing there. Only the tall, brick-lined arch, the deep, dark shadows, and a few leaves blown back and forth by the breeze. Laurie looked back at JC. He seemed suddenly older, even fragile.

  “You can’t trust anything around here. Can’t turn
your back on anything. You know why no-one else from the Trust is here to meet you? Because I’m the only one who’ll come here any more. None of the rest of them’ll set foot here, for love nor money. Not after what happened.” He looked sadly at JC. “Must be nice, to be an expert. To be a scientist and understand everything, so there’s nothing left to scare you.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” said Happy, immediately.

  “It’s only sensible, to be afraid of things that are dangerous,” JC said carefully. “But you can’t let it stop you from doing what needs to be done. We are all of us trained to deal with…extraordinary situations. Please tell us what it is that’s happened here, Mr. Laurie.”

  “I never used to believe in the supernatural,” said Laurie. “Or ghosts.”

  “That’s all right,” said JC. “They believe in you. In fact, that’s pretty much the definition of supernatural—things that insist on happening, whether you believe in them or not. Have you seen ghosts here, Mr. Laurie?”

  “I want this taken care of,” said Laurie. “I want this unholy mess dealt with, forced out of here, so I can take it easy again…and the Trust can get on with opening up the station. Used to be a fine old place, this, back in the day. Always liked it here. Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He glared quickly about him, as though defying the shadows to do anything. “I’m the only one who’ll come here now, and I can’t stay. Not once it starts getting really dark. No-one will stay here once it starts getting really dark. I’ll tell you what’s what, show you where everything is; but then I’m gone. You’re lucky I stayed to meet you, this late in the day.”

  “But what is it?” said JC. “What is it that scares you, Mr. Laurie?”

  “We thought it was kids, at first,” said Laurie. “Teenagers, with nothing to do, nothing to occupy them…messing about, making trouble. You saw the sign, up top—Bradleigh Hell? Aye. That was them. The last thing they did, before they ran away. They used to come here after dark, you see, to do all the things their parents didn’t need to know about…but you couldn’t drag any of them back now. Not after what they saw.”

  “What did they see?” JC said patiently. “What happens here once it gets dark?”

  “I think maybe…everyone sees different things,” Laurie said slowly. “I think maybe this place shows you whatever it is that scares you most. Because that’s the best way to get rid of you. The volunteers woke something up; and it wants us gone. You’ll see. All of you. Whether you want to or not. Come with me. I’ll show you where everything is, then I’m out of here.”

  “Please don’t rush off, Mr. Laurie,” said JC. “Stick with us for a while. You’ll be perfectly safe, with us. After all, no-one knows this place better than you.”

  Laurie managed his small smile again. “Aye. Maybe I have been here longer than most. I can still remember when Bradleigh Halt was a going concern, and the old trains came through here regular. Marvellous it was, the sight and sound of a steam train coming into the halt. My old dad used to work here, in the Bookings Office. I used to bring him his lunch every day, when I was a kid, along with a bottle of beer now and again.”

  “Do you ever see your father among the ghosts?” said Melody.

  “No, lass,” said Laurie. “I would have liked to…but it’s not spirits, as such, you see. I’m not sure whatever walks here now has anything human left in it. Whatever’s not finished with this place, it’s nothing to do with human needs or human business. No…Something bad is coming. And it’s getting closer all the time.” He broke off abruptly to glare at JC. “Why in God’s name are you wearing sunglasses at this time of night, boy?”

  “Sensitive eyes,” said JC. “Work-related injury. You know how it is.”

  “Hello!” Happy said suddenly. “That’s new. That’s…really quite nasty, actually.”

  He’d moved away on his own, staring into the dark tunnel-mouth. He was frowning hard as though trying to focus on something he couldn’t quite identify or pin down.

  “Excuse me a moment, Mr. Laurie,” said JC.

  He moved quickly over to join Happy and laid a heavy hand on the telepath’s shoulder.

  “What is the matter with you, Happy? I was starting to get some useful information out of the old man! Have you been indulging yourself with mother’s little helpers again?”

  “It’s not the pills,” said Happy. “Wish it was. No; when the old man said something bad was coming, I got a flash…There is definitely something Out There, outside the world we know…dragging itself closer, struggling to break in. Something connected to this station, but not in any way human…”

  JC waited, but Happy had nothing more to say. “From now on, keep it to yourself,” JC said quietly. “We do not want to freak out the natives till we have to. Mr. Laurie is our only source of first-hand information, and I don’t want him spooked.”

  He moved back to join Laurie, smiling easily and reassuringly. “No problems. Everything’s fine. Oh yes. Happy’s a little…highly strung. Now, you were about to tell me what’s really going on here.”

  “No I wasn’t,” Laurie said stubbornly. “You’re not ready yet. It’s not like I’ve seen anything definite…”

  “None so blind as those who will not see,” said Happy. “Ow! That hurt!”

  “It was meant to,” said Melody. “Carry on, JC.”

  “Most people never encounter the hidden world,” JC said carefully to Laurie. “Never see a ghost, never hear voices in the night. It takes the right kind of person, in a really bad place, at a very bad time…to actually see anything from out of this world. Ghosts are rare. Mostly, the dead go where they’re supposed to. Please don’t ask me where. I don’t know, that’s not my department. It’s my job to deal with the problems of this world, not the next. No, only very rare people, under very rare circumstances, become ghosts; otherwise, we’d be hip deep in the things by now. Like you said: it’s mostly people with unfinished business. Hanging on to places like this, that mean a lot to them.”

  “Aye,” said Laurie, unexpectedly. “Like I’m fond of this place because me dad worked here, and my son is so keen on reopening it.”

  “And most ghosts can only be seen by the properly trained,” said JC. “People with the proper skills…”

  Laurie looked at him steadily. “Who are you people? Really?”

  “You don’t need to know,” said JC, just as steadily. “In fact, you don’t want to know. You’ll sleep more easily that way. Think of us…as the clean-up crew. And that’s all that really matters. Isn’t it?”

  “Aye. I suppose so,” said Laurie. He nodded briskly, as though he’d made a decision. “Suppose I’ll stick around for a while. Come with me. I’ll get you settled, get you started. Fill you in. But I’ll tell you now, for nothing—this isn’t a good place to be, even before the sun goes down. Ghosts or whatever, there’s something in this place that wants us out. Doesn’t want anything human here. No-one’s actually died of fright here, not yet; but if I was a betting man, that’s where the smart money would be going. Because whatever’s here will stop at nothing to have this place to itself.”

  “I want to go home,” said Happy.

  * * *

  Ronald Laurie led the Ghost Finders through a propped-open door and into the main station building. There was no sign hanging over the door, old or new. Laurie held his storm lantern high to spread the light and indicated the single lighting switch to JC. Who turned it on, with a dramatic flourish, and was pleasantly pleased when stark, modern light filled the room. Everything inside had been cleared away and cleaned up, leaving a bare, open room with more doors leading off, and a lingering smell of disinfectant. The doors to the Ticket Office and Waiting Room were clearly labelled, and there was no dust, no cobwebs, no unnaturally dark shadows. There was still…an uneasy feel to the room. As though none of them was really welcome.

  “Pleasant enough setting,” said Happy, determinedly. “I’m not getting any bad vibrations, not much of anything, really. I don’t like the pl
ace, but how much of that is me and how much the room…”

  “This is as far as the volunteers got,” said Laurie, and the others all jumped to find he’d moved silently forward to join them. He’d left his storm lantern behind and was looking around the refurbished setting with a pleased, almost proprietorial air. “Don’t go in the Ticket Office, though. It’s a dump. This is as much work as got done, before everything went to hell in a hurry. The Trust were going to make everything spick and span again…working from old photos, taken back in the day. They had the exact right shade of paint, specially remade furnishings, the lot. And then…”

  They all waited, but he had nothing more to say.

  “I saw an old signal box further down the track, when I was up top,” said JC. “Anything there we should be concerned about?”

  “No,” said Laurie. “This is it. This is the bad place. I think…something really bad happened here, long ago, and part of it is still happening.”

  “What do you think is behind all this, Mr. Laurie?” said JC, still being very patient because it was either that or scream out loud and stamp his foot. “You must have a theory. You know the history of this station. Has there ever been a bad crash here or some natural disaster? A murder, or a mystery…?”

  “There is an old story,” said Laurie, reluctantly. “Not something most of us around here care to talk about. Dates back to Victorian times. Summer of 1878. A train was seen to enter the tunnel, on the other side of the Grey Fells, heading for Bradleigh Halt. Twenty, maybe thirty people saw that train enter the tunnel, going strong and steady, leading six, maybe seven carriages, packed full of passengers. A routine journey. But no-one ever saw the train come out of the tunnel, at the other end. It never arrived here, at Bradleigh Halt.

  “It got later and later, and people started to worry. The signal box sent warnings up and down the line, stopped all the other trains. At first people thought there might have been some kind of accident. Maybe a crash though there shouldn’t have been anything else on the line for the train to hit. The way was clear. The other station put out the alarm, and volunteers came running from towns on both sides of the Fells. Everyone would turn out, in those days. There were no real emergency services then like there are now. The men entered the tunnel from both ends, slowly and cautiously, taking their own lights in with them. A train crash in a tunnel could be a terrible thing back then. A crash meant fire, you see; and there was nowhere for the heat to go. The enclosed space of the tunnel would turn it into an oven. A furnace.