“The rest is up to you, Doctor. If you really want to put a stop to all the horrors you’re responsible for.”
“You know I do,” said Dr. Todd. “I gave my life to creating them, so it is only proper I give my death to ending them. What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to re-enter your old body for a while and make it yours again,” said JC, as kindly as he could. “You can do that now Lando’s brain is gone, and the Crown of Tears has been turned around. Repossess your old body, and you’ll be able to bring the Ghost Caller, or what’s left of it, under your control.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Todd. “A fitting punishment for a foolish old man. Wait here, please. There are some things… that should be done in private.”
He disappeared abruptly, and all three Ghost Finders jumped. They’d got too used to the ghost of Dr. Todd still doing things in human ways. And then they all looked back, as the light blasting out of the baggage-car’s single grilled window shut off abruptly. There was a pause, then the body of Dr. Todd stepped slowly and stiffly out of the rear carriage and down onto the platform. The body walked slowly along the platform towards them as though every step, every movement, was a conscious effort. Dr. Todd lurched to a halt before the Ghost Finders and worked his dead mouth for a long moment before words finally emerged, dry and dusty and determined.
“Of course,” he said. “It’s all so clear to me now, what I must do.”
“Then maybe you’d explain it to me,” said Happy, testily. “Because I haven’t got a clue what’s going on!”
The dead lips smiled, briefly. “Time…to go home. The end of every life, and every death. We all get to go home.”
He strode off down the platform, lurching this way and that, and all the passengers’ heads in all the windows turned to watch him pass. Cracks had appeared in some of the windows; but the passengers seemed to have lost interest in that. Happy leaned in close beside JC.
“He’s doing something. I can feel it. He’s not the Ghost Caller any more; but he’s still…reaching out, to Something. I think…it’s another weak spot in reality, another door or potential door, but at the other end of the tracks! Talk to me, JC; tell me what’s happening here, or I am leaving!”
“Where’s your curiosity?” said JC.
“I had it surgically removed!” said Happy. “It kept getting me into trouble!”
“It’s true,” Melody said solemnly. “I held his hand while they did it. We keep it in a jar on the mantelpiece now.”
“Watch, my children,” said JC. “And learn…”
The dead body of Dr. Todd climbed into the engine cab and started it up again. Steam blew thickly from the chimney-stack, curled up from the great steel wheels, and howled through the whistle. The passengers in the carriages were all utterly still, waiting for something they couldn’t quite bring themselves to believe in. JC stepped forward, took off his sunglasses, and stared down the platform.
“It’s not a weak spot,” he said, “And it’s not a door. It’s a tunnel. I can see the tunnel; and it’s full of light.”
Suddenly, there was a tunnel. An exact duplicate of the old brick-lined tunnel-mouth the train had arrived through, but standing at the opposite end of the railway tracks. Full of a warm and inviting light instead of darkness. The train lurched forward, gathering speed, leaving JC and Melody and Happy behind on the platform. The engine roared into the tunnel, steam-whistle blowing triumphantly, and, one by one, the carriages roared into the light after it. The tunnel entrance disappeared after the train; and all the tension in the night was gone. The air was as clear and calm as a summer night after the storm has passed, and all the shadows were only shadows again.
“Mission accomplished,” said JC, replacing his sunglasses with a flourish. “I wish all our cases were this simple.”
“You speak for yourself,” said Happy. “Hey, where did old man Laurie go?”
They all looked around, and called out after him; but there was no sign of the old man anywhere, and no reply. Melody shrugged.
“Everyone has their limits. Pity he didn’t stick around; he could have told the Preservation volunteers it was safe to return. Now, somebody find me a brush and some sacks, so I can clear up what’s left of my poor machines and take them home with me.”
“Don’t pout, sweetie,” said Happy. “You know the Institute will give you some new toys once we get back.”
“It’s not the same,” said Melody, pouting.
“The important thing,” said JC, “is that my Kim appeared to me, in my hour of need. Which has to mean…that she isn’t being held against her will, any more.”
“We can’t know that for sure, JC,” Happy said carefully.
“I know,” said JC. “But there is hope now.”
“We can’t be sure it was really her, JC,” Melody said carefully.
“Right,” said Happy. “I mean, if that was Kim, why did she disappear again? Why didn’t she stay?”
“Maybe she couldn’t,” said Melody.
“It was her,” said JC. “I’d know my Kim anywhere. Why didn’t she stay? Who knows why the dead do what the dead do?”
“Hey!” said a new voice. “Are you the experts from London?”
They all looked around to see a middle-aged man in workman’s overalls and sensible shoes hurrying down the platform towards them. He held an old-fashioned storm lantern out before him and smiled at the Ghost Finders in an agreeable enough way.
“Sorry I’m late; I got held up. Hope you haven’t been here on your own too long. It’s not a comfortable place here, once it gets dark.”
“Who are you?” said JC.
“I’m Howard Laurie, representing the Bradleigh Preservation Trust. Seen any ghosts yet, have you?”
“I think you’ll find the station peaceful enough now,” said JC. “You’re Ronald Laurie’s son? He’s very kindly looked after us, in your absence.”
Howard looked at all three of them in turn. “You’ve seen my dad?”
“He’s been very helpful,” said JC.
“Then you’ve seen one ghost at least. My old dad’s been dead these past ten years.”
THREE
HANGING ABOUT IN THE LOBBY, WAITING FOR THE SHOW TO START
Why do so many theatres have resident ghosts? After all, ghosts are supposed to be the result of bad places, and the theatre is where we go to enjoy ourselves. But what are plays but voices from the past, memories preserved in amber, ghost images of the way we thought we were…And even if what we see on the stage isn’t real, there are still real triumphs and tragedies, joys and terrors, little deaths and bad-tempered madness going on backstage. All human life is there; and some of it is bound to leave its mark. Players come and go, but some of their lives remain, preserved in the brick and stone, the sawdust and the limelight of old theatres.
Ghosts are still mainly unfinished business; and no-one bears a grudge like an old trouper.
The three Ghost Finders were heading from Leeds to Leicester by train, from the north of England down to the Midlands; and they were travelling in a first-class compartment. It was all very comfortable. The Carnacki Institute had decided sometime back that its operatives in the field could only claim travel expenses for standard- class rail tickets, in the name of efficiency and belt-tightening, and keeping field operatives from getting above themselves. But Happy had finally figured out how to use his telepathy to make the ticket inspector believe he was looking at three first-class tickets. So he punched the air somewhere near the standard tickets, then wandered off to have a nice little sit-down and nurse the pounding headache he’d only recently acquired. Happy grinned broadly, entirely unmoved, put his feet up on the opposite seat, and made a pig of himself with free food and drink from the complimentary trolley. He took one of everything and two if he liked the look of it, and piled it all up on the table before him so he could gloat over it, like offerings to a somewhat shabby god.
