Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) Page 9

“I don’t care who you are, the answer’s no!” she said loudly. “And feel free to throw in a few Go to hells and Over my dead bodies while you’re about it. Now go away and stop bothering me or I’ll drop-kick you through the nearest window.”

  “Our receptionist, Sally Walsh,” said Jonathan, resignedly. “Welcome back, Sally. How was your break?”

  Sally growled, loudly, and studied each of the Ghost Finders carefully, in turn, paying particular attention to the bloody handprint on the front of JC’s jacket.

  “You’re not reporters? Good. I have had a gut load of local hacks, coming here to poke fun. You’re the ghost experts, aren’t you? About bloody time you got here. You’ve got to do something! Sort this mess out! I do not want it on my résumé that I had to quit my last position because the bloody place was haunted! Things like that do not go down well at interviews.”

  “You’ve seen a ghost?” said Melody, entirely unmoved by all the sound and fury.

  Sally started to say something, then shook her head, almost reluctantly. She glowered at Jonathan, as though daring him to say something, then looked back at the Ghost Finders.

  “No,” she said. “Not actually seen anything. But I’ve heard them. Everyone here has. And most of our audience, the poor bastards. Half of them have stopped listening, and the other half are scared not to. In case they miss something vital . . . A lot of them have been turning up here at reception, barging in like they own the place, cursing and complaining and shouting at me, convinced it’s all some new publicity stunt. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve been called . . . Heartless. That one comes up a lot. Taking advantage of the bereaved . . . that comes a close second. Cruel, vicious, playing with people’s emotions . . . The ones who think it’s real are even worse. They’re really upset. And the phones never stop ringing! Some people ring up just to cry down the phone at me . . .”

  She broke off and scowled meaningfully at Jonathan. “Why don’t you shut down the phones? Give me a few moments’ peace?”

  “Because it’s against regulations,” Jonathan said tiredly.

  “Then why don’t you at least put some security guards at the door, to keep the headcases out?”

  “Because we haven’t got the money.”

  “Getting really tired of hearing that,” said Sally.

  “Not half as tired as I am of saying it,” said Jonathan.

  “Why do you keep taking breaks, Sally?” said JC.

  “To get away from this place,” the receptionist said immediately. She looked round the large, open room, and some of the brash confidence seemed to go out of her. “I don’t like it here. Not only this room; the whole house feels . . . tainted. Spoiled. Place used to be okay. Before all this started. But now the atmosphere’s gone bad. Rancid. Malignant. It feels like something’s watching me all the time.”

  “Have you heard any of the voices . . . in here?” said Melody.

  “No. Not yet. But sitting behind that desk gets on my nerves! I stand it here as long as I can, I really do . . . and then I have to get out. Go outside, walk around in the fresh air. Until I can work up enough courage to come back in. Because this is my job.”

  “Why don’t you leave?” said Happy.

  Sally’s scowl deepened. “Because I can’t. I’ve already quit too many jobs, for perfectly good reasons. Social Security said they’d stop my benefits if I walked out on one more job. I keep hoping Hardy will fire me. I’ve tried all kinds of things, including offering to sleep with him, but he keeps saying I’m needed here. That I’m irreplaceable. Hah! The only thing this place needs is a direct hit.”

  “The station does need you, Sally,” said Jonathan. “You’re our first line of defence . . .”

  “Then why did you take away my nunchucks?”

  “Regulations . . .”

  Sally said something very rude concerning the regulations, then strode past everyone to take up her position behind the reception desk. She dropped heavily into the waiting chair and glared at the phones, daring them to ring. Melody turned to Jonathan.

  “Do you have any recordings of these unauthorised scary voices?”

  “Hell yes,” said Jonathan. “Tons of the things. We record everything, here.”

  “Have you listened to these recordings?” said JC. “Studied them?”

  “No,” Jonathan said flatly. “They upset me too much.”

  “I’ll need to listen to them,” said Melody.

  “Of course,” said Jonathan. “Though I don’t know what good it’ll do you. Even when the voices are clear, they’re not exactly coherent.”

  “But what kinds of things have these voices been saying?” JC said patiently. “What is it that they’re trying to warn you about?”

  “I think it’s best you listen to the recordings,” said Jonathan. “I’m not trying to be evasive . . . You need to hear them yourself, to understand. I’ll see that everything is made available to you. Perhaps you can work out why whoever this is is doing it to us. And it is just us. No other radio station, local or otherwise, is hearing anything.”

  “No-one else?” said Melody. “That’s not possible.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “It was one of the first things our engineers checked. Before they all ran away. Only we receive these voices. Only we’ve been selected. Or targeted.”

  “I’ll run the recordings through my equipment,” Melody said briskly. “There are all kinds of things I can try. Special filters, diagnostics . . .”

  “Best of luck,” said Jonathan.

  “You must have some idea of what it is they’re trying to warn you about,” JC insisted.

  Jonathan and Sally looked at each other. Neither of them wanted to say anything. Finally, reluctantly, Jonathan nodded.

  “They’re trying to warn us about the end.”

  “Of what?” said JC.

  “Everything,” said Jonathan.

  “Listeners phone in constantly, saying they’re hearing all kinds of dreadful things,” said Sally. “But not everyone seems to hear the same voice, or the same message, at the same time. Different people hear different things, during the same broadcasts. That’s why some people claim to recognise some voices as particular dead relatives or loved ones. It’s like people hear . . . what scares them the most.”

  “What do you hear, Sally?” said JC.

  “We’re all going to die,” Sally said quietly.

  “Sally . . .” said Jonathan.

  “I’m not the only one who believes that!” Sally said fiercely. “The suicide rate in this whole area is way up! You know that!”

  “That’s only a rumour!” said Jonathan. He gave JC his full attention. “You have to stop this. Before the new owners find out how bad things have got and shut us down!”

  One of the reception phones rang. The sudden harsh sound was very loud, and very insistent. Sally shook her head firmly and sat back in her chair with her arms folded tightly.

  “No. No way. I am not answering that! I have had it up to here with being yelled at. Or cried at. Or . . .”

  “It’s your job, Sally,” said Jonathan. “You never know. It might be important . . .”

  Happy looked at them, puzzled. “What is it? What are you all hearing?”

  “It’s the phone,” said Melody. “Can’t you hear it ringing?”

  “No,” said Happy. “None of those phones are ringing.”

  They all looked at each other, for a long moment. The phone rang on and on. Happy moved over to the reception desk and looked carefully at each phone in turn before shaking his head firmly. Sally indicated one particular phone with a quick jerk of her head, refusing to uncross her arms long enough even to point at it. Happy picked up the receiver and hit the button to put it on speaker. He laid the receiver down on the desk, looked at it for a moment, then raised his voice.

  “Hello? Is there anybody there?”

  A voice came out of the speaker immediately; harsh but distant, as though it had travelled some impossible distance, to g
et to them.

  “Hello, Happy. It’s coming for you. Across the worlds, it’s coming, dragging its broken chains behind it, and, oh, it’s so hungry!”

  “Did you hear that, Happy?” said Melody.

  “Yes,” said Happy. He addressed the speaker, his voice calm and uninflected. “Be specific. What is it that’s coming for us? And how do you know my name?”

  “How do you think?” said the voice. “It’s getting closer all the time. It’s coming for all of you: like a baby crucified inside the womb; like a young mother tearing out her heart and eating it; like Death herself in fuck-me shoes. Why won’t you listen?”

  Happy turned away from the phone and smiled at JC. “It’s for you.”

  JC moved forward, and bent over the reception desk. “Hello?”

  “Hello, JC,” said the voice. “How hard do you have to be hit to get your attention?”

  “Who is this?”

  “You know who this is,” said the voice.

  The line went dead. JC picked up the receiver, put it to his ear, shrugged, and replaced it. He smiled engagingly at the others. “Wrong number.”

  “Weird . . .” said Happy.

  Melody looked at him thoughtfully. “Why couldn’t you hear the phone ringing?”

  “Because it didn’t,” Happy said firmly. “None of those phones made a sound.”

  “But we all heard it,” said Jonathan.

  “You did,” said Happy. “But that doesn’t mean the phone was ringing.”

  “You heard the voice,” said JC.

  “Because someone wanted me to,” said Happy. It was his turn to look thoughtfully at JC. “Whoever that was, they seemed to think you should know them.”

  “I didn’t recognise the voice,” JC said immediately. “How did they know my name? And yours? How did they even know we were here?”

  “Because the voice wasn’t coming from the phone,” said Happy.

  “What?” said Jonathan. “I’m sorry, I don’t . . .”

  JC gave him his best professional smile. “I think you need to give us the grand tour of Radio Free Albion. Show us everything. Introduce us to everyone who’s still here. And then we’ll see . . . what we can do.”

  FOUR

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  TALK RADIO

  After a certain amount of dithering and being pressured on all sides to make up his mind, Jonathan led JC and Happy to a door at the back of the reception area, marked STRICTLY NO ADMITTANCE; AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY. This immediately cheered Happy up. He always liked going places he wasn’t supposed to go. Especially if it was the kind of place he knew would never normally lower itself to admit the likes of him. Jonathan held the door open, and Happy strode through with his nose in the air. JC started to follow him, then stopped and looked back as he realised Melody wasn’t with them. She was still standing beside her overloaded trolley, with her arms firmly folded. JC raised an eyebrow.

  “Not joining us, Melody?”

  “You go on,” she said. “I’ve got work to do, right here.”

  “Suit yourself,” said JC. “Do you have your . . . ?”

  “Yes,” said Melody. “Easily to hand, locked and loaded.” She looked past him to Happy, who had poked his head back through the door to see what the hold-up was. Melody shot him a meaningful look. “Have you got . . . everything you need?”

  “No,” said Happy. “But I’ve got enough about me to be going on with.” He caught JC considering him thoughtfully. “Something on your mind, JC?”

  “More than you could possibly imagine,” said JC. “Let’s go. We have people to question and ghosts to interrogate. What more could you want?”

  “I’ve got a list if you’re interested,” said Happy.

  “Excuse me,” said Jonathan. “But, was I supposed to understand any of that?”

  “No,” said JC.

  “Ah. Well, that’s all right then, I suppose,” said Jonathan. “This way, please.”

  Melody waited till they were all gone, and the rear door had closed and locked itself behind them; then she relaxed a little and nodded amiably to Sally, still sitting stiffly behind her desk.

  “Right! The boys are gone, so girl to girl, fill me in on what’s really going on here. I want facts, I want guesses, I want down-and-dirty gossip. I want atmosphere and all the things you know for a fact you’re not supposed to know about. Start anywhere, and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Sally looked at Melody for a long moment, making up her mind. So as not to place undue pressure on the receptionist, Melody deliberately turned away and started unloading her equipment from the trolley. Which bobbed up and down a few times in a hopeful sort of way, realised it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and settled down for a sustained sulk. Melody set about assembling her various pieces of scientific equipment into their usual semi-circular configuration. Everything slotted neatly together, as she’d designed it to. And then she looked around, unhurriedly, as Sally cleared her throat.

  “Can I trust you?”

  “I can keep a secret,” said Melody. “Except for when I choose not to.”

  “God knows I need to talk to somebody,” said Sally. “And since the only other girl in this hellhole is our leading presenter and personality, Ms. I am so far up myself I can see out my own nostrils Felicity bloody Legrand . . . you’ll have to do.”

  “I haven’t met Ms. Legrand yet,” said Melody.

  “You won’t like her,” said Sally. “No-one does, apart from her fanatical fanboy audience. Look, do you want to stop working while I’m talking, and pay attention?”

  “Almost certainly not,” said Melody. “I can listen and work at the same time. I have raised multi-tasking to an art-form. If it helps, whatever you have to say will be kept in strict confidence between us. Right up to the point I decide otherwise.”

  “Fair enough,” said Sally. She watched Melody bully her computers for a while but made no move to come out from behind her reception desk and help. “Don’t you need somewhere to plug in all that stuff? Only we’re a bit short of sockets in here.”

  “Not a problem,” said Melody, bending over a recalcitrant monitor screen. She hit it hard a few times, to remind it which one of them was in charge. “My glorious high-tech installation comes complete with its own very powerful built-in generator. Because it’s safer that way. I won’t risk my information-gathering being compromised by local conditions. And since you can’t always depend on an uninterrupted power supply from a local source, I don’t.”

  “You’re very . . . professional,” said Sally.

  “You don’t last long in this game if you’re not,” said Melody. “The only things that aren’t out to kill you want to do even worse things to you. Which is why my lovely assemblage here contains a self-destruct mechanism big enough to blow up this entire house, and most of the land surrounding it. Best to be thorough about such things.”

  “You’re joking . . .” said Sally.

  Melody looked up. “Not even a little bit,” she said. And then went back to work.

  “Cool!” said Sally, punching the air with one fist and grinning openly for the first time. “Are you guys really experts in the supernatural?”

  “We know what we’re doing,” said Melody.

  Sally sniffed loudly. “If that’s true, you’re the only ones here who do. I think . . . if I really understood what was going on here, I’d run away, like everyone else. Hell, I’d be a blur through that door, legging it for the nearest horizon. I can’t escape the feeling . . . that the really bad shit hasn’t even started yet.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Melody said briskly. “One thing you can always be sure of, in the kind of cases we get thrown . . . It’s always darkest before all the lights go out, and you can bet it’s going to get a lot worse before it even starts getting better.”

  “You’re not big on comfort and reassurance, are you?” said Sally.

  “It doesn’t come naturally, no,” sai
d Melody. “And anyway, that’s not my department. Would you prefer a comforting lie?”

  “Yes! Definitely!”

  Melody looked up and smiled briefly. “Everything’s going to be fine.” And then she went back to work again.

  Sally slouched down in her chair and glared balefully around the large open reception area. “I don’t like it here. Really don’t like it. Can’t you feel the atmosphere?”

  “No,” said Melody. “But then, I’ve been told on many occasions that I am not the sensitive type. Which is why I surround myself with these excellent toys. They supply me with all the facts and figures I need to properly understand what’s happening. For everything else, I rely on people like you. So tell me, Sally, why did you come here in the first place? What lured you to the bright lights and scintillating possibilities of Radio Free Albion?”

  “Wasn’t the money; I’ll tell you that for free.” Sally slumped even lower in her chair and tugged pensively at the heaviest of the steel rings piercing her lower lip. “We might as well talk. Helps me keep my mind off . . . things.”

  “All part of the Ghost Finder service,” said Melody. “Feel free to unburden your soul.”

  Sally looked at her, frowning hard. “Why would anyone in their right mind want to find a ghost?”

  “So we can do something about it,” said Melody. “Can’t kick ectoplasmic arse until you’ve located it. And be sure you understand exactly what it is, so you can kick it right where it hurts most. Or at the very least, where you can do the most damage.”

  Sally considered her for a long moment. “There are different kinds of ghosts?”

  “Lots and lots,” Melody said cheerfully. “Everything from your basic apparition, to manifestations from the Outer Reaches to Beasts. Don’t ask about them. You really don’t want to know. I know, and I wish I didn’t.”

  “Are any of these ghosts . . . safe? Harmless?”

  “Hardly ever,” said Melody.

  “I am changing the subject,” Sally said firmly. “On the grounds that if I actually believed what you are saying, I’d be freaking out big time. So why did I end up here? In this unholy mess? Radio Free Albion may be small-time local radio, with few pretensions, but I saw it as a stepping-stone. A way in and a way up, to bigger and better things.”