The Stolen Ghosts Read online

  “Are you sure this is the right place? It says it’s some literary society,” said Sarah.

  “And it possibly is on this plane. Try to see harder, look beyond what your eyes know is there to what your heart can feel,” said Fowlis.

  Sarah threw him a quizzical look before turning back to number 73. The building looked no different until Fowlis wrapped a cold, ethereal hand around her wrist. The red front door turned black, and the doorknocker disappeared, replaced by a large crow that sat on the handrail along the edge of the porch. She stepped back and saw the blinds replaced by burgundy curtains. The neat serif typeface on the brass plaque morphed into elegant script that read “World Haunting Headquarters.” Fowlis let go of her wrist and the Women’s Literary Society swam back into view.

  “So how do you get in?” asked Sarah.

  “I would imagine that I must ask the crow for entry,” replied Fowlis.

  Fowlis crossed the street and went up the steps. He bowed to the porch railing and doffed his hat in a typically theatrical gesture. Sarah wished she could see the crow. She concentrated on trying to hear what Fowlis said, but a car drove past and snatched his words out of the air. Sarah guessed he was asking to be allowed in. She thought someone as important as Fowlis would have just walked in the door, but considering no one knew about this entrance, the crow probably had to be extra strict about entry.

  Fowlis stepped backwards, as if surprised. He threw up his hands and walked back down the stairs, shoulders hunched and lips fixed in a pout. Even his hat sagged, and his feather wilted. The crow must have barred his entrance, although she couldn’t guess why.

  “It would appear that I need my anchor before I may enter.” Fowlis kept his gaze lowered and avoided eye contact.

  “Well here you go then.” Sarah held out her hand and offered the pendant to Fowlis. He didn’t take it.

  “I cannot take it, Sarah. I cannot gain enough corporeal matter in order to hold the pendant long enough for me to get through the door.”

  “But you knocked it out of my hand that night.”

  “Knocking it out of your hand and actually carrying it myself are two different things.”

  “You wouldn’t be going very far. And you managed to move things around in the house. You even used a computer, and you took that book away.” Sarah nodded in what she hoped Fowlis would consider an encouraging way.

  “Moving or using objects on the mortal plane requires effort, but it is relatively easy provided one enjoys regular rest. The book was easy since it is an object of my own plane, despite its appearance on yours,” said Fowlis.

  “So why is your anchor any different?” asked Sarah.

  “It holds within it a huge metaphysical charge in order to bind me to it, and thus bind me to a mortal location. I cannot possibly hold it as it may effectively cancel out the ectoplasmic charge that holds me together.”

  “It might do that? But it might not,” replied Sarah.

  “I cannot take the risk,” said Fowlis.

  “So what do you do now?”

  “I can still pass through the door, but someone else must hand me my anchor once I’m inside. I can handle the anchor beyond the door as its metaphysical charge will be neutralised by passage into HQ,” said Fowlis.

  “So I’ll carry it for you.”

  “There are risks,” said Fowlis.

  “Look, we came all this way down here to get you here, you can’t just stand here on the doorstep whining because you can’t get in,” said Sarah. Hunger forced another growl from her stomach. As much as she would miss Fowlis when he left, she just wanted him to get on with it.

  “All right. I suppose you’re only bringing my anchor to the door. Now, just to be safe, this is what we shall do. The crow will open the door when he sees the anchor, so when the door opens, stay on this side, but reach your arm inside. I’ll be able to walk past you and take the pendant out of your hand,” said Fowlis. “But do not, and I cannot stress this in strong enough terms, cross the threshold. If you do that, you’ll enter the eternal plane. I do not remember the last time that a mortal found themselves there, and I do not like to think of the consequences.”

  “Okay, so I won’t go inside. I’ll stay on this side of the door. Come on then, let’s get this over with,” replied Sarah.

  They walked back up the steps to the front door. Fowlis again held Sarah’s wrist so that she could see the true appearance of number 73, including the crow. Up close, she saw cracks in the paint, and cobwebs clustered in the eaves below the porch roof. Fowlis turned to the crow, and requested admittance. The bird pecked at the pendant in Sarah’s outstretched hand and nodded. The solemnity of the occasion made Sarah nervous.

  The door swung open without a sound. Sarah planted her feet on the doormat side of the entrance and gazed into the hall beyond. Old-fashioned oil lamps hung from the wood-panelled walls and cast flickering green light into the vestibule. An antique rug stretched from the door, through the vestibule and down the corridor beyond. Famous scenes from history were depicted in the delicate patterns. Paintings lined the walls, and mock Greek pedestals stood at intervals bearing white china urns.

  “Sarah, you are probably the most privileged mortal in the history of civilisation to see this sight.” Fowlis let go of her wrist to step past her into the vestibule. As he crossed the threshold, he erupted into view, as his translucent ectoplasmic form became solid and corporeal on his own plane. He held out his hand towards her. Sarah gasped – Fowlis was truly beautiful in the flesh.

  “I can still see you! But you’re not touching me!”

  “It will not last long. Please, Sarah. My anchor?”

  “Oh yes, right.” Sarah stretched her arm out towards Fowlis. A heavy thump landed squarely between her shoulders and knocked her off balance. She stumbled forward, both feet landing on the antique rug. A loud squawk came from behind her as the door swung shut.

  Chapter 25

  “My lady!”

  Sarah fell forward and Fowlis rushed to catch her before she crossed the threshold. He gasped as she stood up. All colour drained from her skin and her dark brown hair turned a rather fetching shade of dark grey. Even the colours of her clothes appeared muted, as though she had been painted in watercolours.

  “Are you all right?”

  Sarah looked down at her hands and screamed. She rubbed them hard and peered at them for any signs of returning life.

  “Sarah! Calm down!” said Fowlis.

  Sarah stopped rubbing her hands and froze. Fowlis stepped forward and took hold of her shoulders. It was a struggle to maintain his grip on her. She felt insubstantial, as if she were not truly there. Icy cold emanated from her and Fowlis did his best not to shudder. He supposed this must be what his presence felt like on the mortal plane.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Fowlis breathed a sigh of relief; at least her voice sounded normal, although it rang out in the vestibule with a new clarity.

  “That evil old crow pushed you in here so he could close the door. I suppose he’s only allowed to leave it open for a certain amount of time,” replied Fowlis.

  “Can I get back out that way?”

  Fowlis peered out of the window on the left side of the door. The street was not only empty, it was completely different from the street she had just left. Gas lamps had replaced the electric streetlights, and cobbles lay where tarmac had once covered the road. Sarah looked out of the right-hand window and squealed. She scrabbled at the door but there was no handle on this side.

  “Not from that door. I believe it must be an entrance only. However, I am satisfied that where there is an entrance, there is also an exit. We can go down to the archives and ask old Seth.” Fowlis tried to sound cheerful and upbeat. Seth knew everything. He’d told Handle about the forgotten entrance. If anyone knew where the exit was, it was Seth. Hopefully.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to stay here,” said Sarah. Silent tears slid down her cold cheeks and froze halfway.
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  “Let us go and ask before we begin to panic. But first, I shall take that particular burden from you,” said Fowlis.

  He lifted the pendant out of Sarah’s hand and dropped it into the front pocket of his frock coat. He felt a slight thud deep inside, and heard a clunk that sounded as though a key had been slipped into its lock.

  “Sir!”

  Handle ran down the corridor towards them. His tie was crooked and his hair stood up in awkward spikes. One shirttail flapped behind him. Fowlis suppressed a smile to see his assistant’s dishevelment. Upper-class haunting would never suit him.

  “You made it, sir!”

  “Yes, I did. With the anchor,” replied Fowlis.

  “Did you bring the book?” asked Handle. He bent over and put his hands on his knees to brace himself. The assistant fought to get his breath back.

  “No. I left it in a safe place,” said Fowlis.

  “Good. I’m sick of being asked about it.” Handle scowled.

  Handle did a double take when he saw Sarah and he reached out one trembling hand to touch her hair. She looked at him with sad eyes and allowed the contact. Suddenly shy, Handle withdrew his hand and looked down at his feet.

  “Handle, this is Sarah, the young lady who was so kind as to bring me here. Sarah, this is my assistant, Handle,” said Fowlis.

  “Pleased to meet you, miss,” said Handle, his words lost in a low mumble.

  “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot about you. All good, don’t worry!” replied Sarah. Handle’s look of worry dissolved.

  “Now, we need to go to the archives so we can ask Seth where the exit onto the mortal plane is,” said Fowlis, assuming control of the situation.

  “No need, sir. I know where it is,” replied Handle.

  “Where? Why did you not say so in the mirror?”

  “I didn’t think you’d be wanting to leave again, sir. When I found out about the entrance, I heard about the exit too,” replied Handle. “It’s on the other side of the building.”

  “Then let us go! I do not want to keep Sarah on our plane for any longer than is necessary. I still do not know what effect this may be having. We need to get her back home as soon as possible.” Fowlis glanced at Sarah again. He could see the outline of a doorframe through her.

  “All right, sir. It’s this way,” replied his assistant.

  The unlikely trio headed up the corridor, and the eyes of the paintings lining the hall followed their progress. Sarah kept pointing out the faces of those whom she recognised among the portraits, and Fowlis fought to keep his composure. He knew who the faces were, and he didn’t need Sarah to tell him.

  “What are the urns for?” She pointed at one of the urns atop its column.

  “We keep the anchors in them,” replied Fowlis. “You see how each urn sits below a painting?”

  “Do the people in the paintings move?” asked Sarah.

  “Good Lord, no. We can only interact with paintings on the mortal plane. No, these portraits are simply oil on canvas. They act as ID cards, I suppose, to provide a visual record of our haunters,” replied Fowlis.

  “That’s something else I was meaning to tell you, sir. Even the paintings of our missing haunters have disappeared,” said Handle. He looked at the floor.

  “Good God, it certainly sounds as though someone wants to erase any trace of our haunters. I wonder why.” Fowlis stroked his beard while he walked.

  The corridor opened into a grand central atrium and Sarah gasped beside him. Fowlis tried to see the space as she would, as if for the first time. A wide staircase curved up the walls and led up to galleries on the next six floors. Intricate carvings adorned the wooden panels along the galleries, describing famous scenes from history. In one panel, Lord Nelson stood on deck at the Battle of Trafalgar. In another, a majestic Roman emperor commanded a vast army. A pair of carved griffins perched on the newel posts at the bottom of the staircase, their beaks open in roars of fury. The narrow galleries disappeared into dim corridors that stretched away from the atrium. A large glass dome stretched above the atrium, revealing oily black thunderclouds clustered overhead. Fowlis stared up at the sky.

  “Look, Sarah. It’s the same sky as in your dream.”

  “Yeah, and we both know what happened next.” Sarah glanced at the nearest door, her initial expression of awe replaced by worry.

  “Fret not, Sarah. You should be perfectly safe here. Though clearly whatever is afoot is causing problems in this world as it did in your dream.”

  “Who says they were two different dreams?” said Sarah.

  Fowlis stopped. He hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps the ease with which Sarah saw him, and engaged with this world, was no accident. Could her recurring dream somehow be part of the afterlife? Was Sarah accessing the space in their realm, instead of her memory? He made a mental note to ask Seth later.

  “Why are there six floors above us, when it only looked like there were four floors in total from the outside?”

  “Time is not the only thing to work differently on this plane,” replied Fowlis. “Space operates under different laws. A building that looks reasonably sized from the outside could be either gargantuan inside, or absolutely tiny. It is all really very flexible.”

  “So if Time works differently, what time is it here?” asked Sarah.

  “Right now, it’s 10am on twenty-third May, 1903,” replied Handle. “But when the clock strikes the hour again, it could be 2pm on nineteenth August 2016.”

  “Will I age, then?”

  “I do not know, although it is unlikely. You are effectively dead in this realm, so the chances are great that you should emerge reasonably unscathed. I would also venture that you may reappear just five minutes after you entered this building. Or you may come out an hour later. I am not sure, although I would wager that it will be within a few hours at least,” replied Fowlis.

  He believed that was how it worked, although he hoped Sarah wouldn’t ask many more questions. He simply didn’t know the answers. Fowlis would record his story later. Should this ghastly episode be repeated in future by another haunter, he wanted that colleague to have useful information at his disposal.

  “We need to go this way, sir.” Handle pointed to the door across the hall, which was a deep mahogany with a mother-of-pearl handle. A moose head hung above the frame.

  “Morning, Sanders,” said Fowlis. He doffed his hat to the head.

  “Good morning yourself!” replied the head. It winked. Sarah yelped and the head’s eyes swivelled to see her.

  “Well, Mr Westerby! What have we got here?”

  “A mortal. That damned crow pushed her in here,” replied Fowlis.

  “That crow is really making a nuisance of himself these days. I’ve heard six complaints about him in the last three nights alone. He used to patrol the garden but somehow managed to wangle a promotion. I think the authority has gone to his head,” said the moose.

  “Who promoted him?” asked Fowlis.

  “I think it was Templeton. At least, that’s what I heard. I could be wrong.”

  “I see. Well, old chap, do you think we could pass?” asked Fowlis.

  “I shouldn’t really allow a mortal through, but I assume you’re not letting her roam? You’re taking her to the exit?”

  “Naturally.”

  “In that case, I allow you to pass,” said the moose. It slowly closed its eyes and opened them again.

  The door below swung inward to reveal a wide corridor paved with smooth flagstones. Moth-eaten tapestries hung from the stone walls. Iron brackets set in the stonework held torches flickering with green flames. More daylight streamed in through the wide window at the end of the corridor. The trio headed through the door.

  “Why does this corridor look so different from the last one?” asked Sarah. The door swung closed behind them with a thump.

  “Just as Time and Space operate according to their own whim, so HQ itself is almost a living entity. It represents all of those eras of
life in which it has existed. Part of HQ is extremely modern, another room may be decorated according to the tastes of the 1910s, and yet another in a Jacobean style,” replied Fowlis. “You get used to it.”

  “Why did the door slam behind us? And how did you talk to that moose’s head? I thought it was dead.”

  “What may be dead in your realm is alive in ours,” said Handle.

  “Indeed. Animals, or their avatars, act as a form of security system in HQ. Some parts of the building are open access; others require some form of guardian,” added Fowlis. “The animals that were shot to produce those grotesque trophies are often traumatised when they arrive here, and so the Managing Director chose to give them a high and noble purpose. They love her for it.”

  “Will he tell anyone that I’m here?” asked Sarah. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  “I do not doubt that at some point he shall have to report your presence. However, I have known Sanders a long while and I would imagine he will give us enough time to get you to the exit. We shall only get into trouble if you are still here when the council hears about it. Of course, he cannot tell anyone if no one comes by,” replied Fowlis.

  “Awfully quiet today, sir,” said Handle.

  “So I noticed.”

  “I think a lot of the assistants are keeping their heads down, sir, and the haunters are trying haunt as quickly as possible so they can come back and avoid being recalled. Everyone wants to look busy so that Abercrochie won’t take out his temper on them,” said Handle.

  “I presume you noticed the sky above the atrium?”

  “I did, sir. It’s looked like that since the first haunter went missing. A couple of assistants reported it but they disappeared and no one has dared investigate further.”

  The corridor opened out into another large room. A single pane of glass took up the entire wall opposite the corridor entrance, revealing more angry storm clouds outside. Long velvet drapes hung at either side of the pane. Bird song came from the beams high above them where swallows flitted among the rafters. The smooth flagstones of the corridor gave way to highly polished floorboards, and inventions from the world of mortal men dotted the room.