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Synopsis
"Meet the operatives of the Carnacki Institute—JC Chance: the team leader, brave, charming, and almost unbearably arrogant; Melody Chambers: the science geek who keeps the antisupernatural equipment running; and Happy Jack Palmer: the terminally gloomy telepath. Their mission: Do Something About Ghosts. Lay them to rest, send them packing, or just kick their nasty ectoplasmic arses…In a quiet London suburb, four university students participating in an experiment inside a reputed haunted house hold a sEance that goes terribly wrong. What—or who—ever they summoned has taken their minds away, leaving them empty shells.
Enter the Ghost Finders, ready to confront an enraged poltergeist for the students’ very souls. All in a day’s work—except the team doesn’t know that in another part of the city, a different entity has also breached the threshold between worlds. And this time what is at stake is not four lives—but the very existence of all humanity.
"
Release date: May 5, 2016
Publisher: Quercus Publishing
Print pages: 400
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Voices From Beyond
Simon R. Green
SPIRITS FROM BEYOND
“Setting up a new mystery on the final page, Green keeps the action and laughs flowing in equal measure. Here’s hoping for many more adventures of this terrific quartet. Recommended.”
—SFRevu
“The series really picks up to that same masterful level of storytelling [Green] is known for. And he delivers with this excellent work of classic, good old ghost-hunter fun that we’ve come to love from the genre.”
—The Gatehouse
“It continually amazes me how Green can pump out such original stories . . . Worth the read.”
—Crooked Reviews
“An extremely fast-paced book with some great gallows humor, introspection, and references to both the Nightside and Secret Histories series . . . I found it intriguing and highly enjoyable with some crazy action and twisted characters.”
—The Bibliophilic Book Blog
GHOST OF A DREAM
“Green once again mixes and matches genres with gleeful abandon . . . Readers who enjoy a roller-coaster ride through a haunted house (well, theater, but I’m mixing metaphors here) will love this novel . . . A terrific continuation of the Ghost Finders’ adventures, with loads of horrors, thrills, and shocks.”
—SFRevu
GHOST OF A SMILE
“Packed with creepy thrills, Ghost of a Smile is a mighty strong follow-up in this brand-new series. Ghost hunting has never been quite this exciting. Recommended.”
—SFRevu
“[With] plenty of action and chills, this book keeps pages turning even as a feeling of dread builds. The dialogue between the three characters is snappy and humorous, as is the chemistry between them.”
—NewsandSentinel.com
“Ghost of a Smile is a lovely blend of popcorn adventure and atmospheric thriller, and good for a few hours of distraction and entertainment. That’s one of the reasons why Green’s books always leap right to the top of my reading list.”
—The Green Man Review
“[Green] gleefully tweaks the natural fear of experimentation (and the inscrutable motivations of the men behind it), bringing some real-world paranoia into his fantasy-laden playground. It’s a gamble that pays off nicely . . . With his Nightside series ending soon, the Ghost Finders books are quickly proving to be worthy replacements.”
—Sacramento Book Review
GHOST OF A CHANCE
“Thoroughly entertaining.”
—Jim Butcher, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Dresden Files
“If future novels in Green’s new Ghost Finders series are as engaging as this one, they will hold up admirably against his previous work . . . Readers will appreciate the camaraderie and snappy dialogue.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Terrific.”
—SFRevu
“It’s fast-paced, filled with nifty concepts and memorable characters, and quite enjoyable.”
—The Green Man Review
“I’m a huge fan of Simon R. Green’s Nightside novels, and he continues to impress with Ghost of a Chance. He continues to put out great stories and gives readers deeply flawed characters that you still want to root for. This book is a great start to a new series that I will keep reading.”
—Bitten by Books
Praise for the Novels of the Nightside
“A fast, fun little roller coaster of a story.”
—Jim Butcher
“If you like your noir pitch-black, then return to the Nightside.”
—University City Review
“If you’re looking for fast-paced, no-holds-barred dark urban fantasy, you need look no further: the Nightside is the place for you.”
—SFRevu
“Sam Spade meets Sirius Black . . . in the Case of the Cosmic MacGuffin . . . Crabby wit and inventively gruesome set pieces.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“A fast, intelligently written tale that is fun to read.”
—The Green Man Review
“Plenty of action packed in from London to Glastonbury . . . should definitely please fantasy action fans.”
—Booklist
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
From the outside, it looked like any other house. An everyday, semi-detached property, half-way down a side street, on a perfectly ordinary South London estate. On a perfectly ordinary evening in late autumn. Except, lights were blazing in every window. As though whoever was inside this particular house was afraid of the dark. Or something in the dark.
A Land Rover came screeching down the street at speed, sometimes on one side of the road and sometimes on the other, before finally slamming to a halt outside the house. The car rocked back and forth a few times, as though getting used to being suddenly at rest, then the engine shut down. No-one got out. The three people inside sat where they were, so they could take a good look at the house and its surroundings from a safe distance. The last of the light was going out of the evening, and the house stood half-silhouetted against a dark and lowering sky. The windows all blazed very brightly, but there was no sign of movement inside the house. The street-lamps burned orange and amber, illuminating an empty scene. It was all very quiet; nobody about. The house had the feeling of a brightly lit stage, with the action yet to begin. After a while, the Land Rover’s driver turned around in her seat to address her two companions.
“It all looks normal enough to me,” said Melody Chambers.
“I never trust normal,” said JC Chance. “It usually means the universe is trying to hide something from me. And rarely in a good way.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place,” said Happy Jack Palmer.
“You’ve always got a bad feeling,” said Melody, crushingly.
“And I’m always right!”
“That’s as may be,” said JC. “I still want to know what in God’s name made you choose a Land Rover as our team transport? Were they all out of tractors and combine harvesters?”
Melody heaved a deep, put-upon sigh. She was very good at it. She’d had a lot of practice. “I chose this marvellous example of reliable engineering because I got fed up with my scientific equipment always being left behind, or turning up too late to be of any use. How can I be the Ghost Finder girl science geek if I don’t have any investigative equipment to work with? So I went down to the Carnacki Institute car pool and chose this. Because it’s a real work-horse of a vehicle; and because it was the only thing they had big enough to hold all my marvellous machines.”
JC nodded slowly. “Not exactly the most inconspicuous thing to turn up in, though, is it?” he murmured. “We are supposed to do our good deeds on the quiet, with no-one’s ever knowing. On the grounds that if the general public ever finds out why the Ghost Finders exist, and what we have to do, there will be a mass panic and general pants-wetting of biblical proportions.”
Melody sniffed loudly. “I get the job done. I put ghosts in their place and kick supernatural arse, in a strictly scientific way. And look good doing it. You can worry about public perception.”
“Oh, I do,” said JC. “Really. You have no idea.”
Melody kicked open the driver’s door and got out. She glared at the semi-detached house waiting for them, as though daring it to give her any problems. The lights in every window stared unflinchingly back; with not a trace of anyone’s moving behind them. JC pushed open his door and got out of the back seat, slowly and carefully, then took his time stretching his long limbs. They made clear cracking and creaking sounds on the quiet of the empty street. When he was ready, he moved in beside Melody and studied the house dubiously.
JC was tall and lean and too handsome for his own good, or anyone else’s. Thirty years old now, and loudly protesting he didn’t give a damn, JC Chance had pale, striking features under a rock star’s mane of long, wavy, black hair. He had a prominent nose, an easy smile, and wore dark sunglasses all the time for a very good reason. He also wore a rich, ice-cream white three-piece suit of quite devastating style and elegance, along with an old school tie he stole. JC was team leader because he was the only one brave and arrogant enough to always lead from the front, striding into danger with a careless smile and far more confidence than was safe for him or his companions.
Melody Chambers was advancing into her thirties, and fighting it every step of the way. Conventionally good-looking, in a threatening sort of way, she was short and gamine thin, forever burning with raw nervous energy. She wore her auburn hair scraped back in a severe bow, couldn’t be bothered with even the most basic make-up, and scowled at the world through serious glasses with dull, functional frames. Her clothes had never even heard of style or fashion; and Melody had once shocked and scandalised an entire roomful of women by loudly declaring she didn’t give a damn about shoes. Or any kind of accessory you couldn’t use as a weapon.
“Odd . . .” JC said finally. “I know it’s evening, but there ought to be someone out and about. Hurrying home late from work, or out jogging, or simply walking the dog . . . It’s as though all the people here have sensed it’s not safe to be outside at the moment.”
“Good,” said Melody. “I hate innocent bystanders. Always getting in the way, and underfoot, and dying horribly from collateral damage.”
“Except for when you use them to hide behind,” said JC.
“Except for then,” Melody agreed. She shot the house one last warning glance then marched round to the back of the Land Rover to unload her precious equipment.
“Don’t anyone feel obliged to help me with all the hard work and heavy lifting!” she said loudly.
“Don’t worry,” said JC. “We won’t.”
He banged ruthlessly on the door to the Land Rover’s passenger seat until it finally swung open, and Happy Jack Palmer half fell out. He got his feet under him with something of an effort and pushed the car door shut with an irritated scowl. He then leaned back against the door until he recovered his balance and his thoughts. He looked vaguely up and down the street, as though hoping it might provide him with some idea as to why he was there; and then he produced a small silver pill box from inside his jacket. He popped open the lid and stirred the multi-coloured contents with a finger before selecting two dark green pills decorated with muddy yellow lightning bolts. He knocked them back, dry-swallowing with the ease of long practice, then hiccoughed loudly a few times. He straightened up, pushing himself away from the car door, and made the pill box disappear about his person. His eyes were suddenly a lot brighter, and he smiled a smile with far too many teeth in it. JC looked at him expressionlessly.
“Are you still on the mother’s little helpers? The mental medication? We haven’t even started the investigation yet.”
“It’s the only way I can cope with Melody’s driving,” said Happy.
“I heard that!” said a loud voice from the rear of the Land Rover.
“You were meant to!” Happy said coldly. He slumped a little. “God, I’m tired, JC. I’m always tired. I need something to wake me up and get me moving. Is that the house? I don’t like it. It looks like it’s staring back at me.”
He studied the house in a sullen, antagonistic way, as though daring it to come out fighting. JC left him to it and went to join Melody at the back of the Land Rover as she piled up boxes full of scientific equipment at the side of the road. She didn’t even look at him but kept on working.
“He didn’t sleep well last night,” she said roughly. “He doesn’t like to sleep. Says it makes him feel . . . vulnerable. That things might try and get inside his head while his defences are down. And with a telepath as sensitive as him, who’s to say he’s wrong?”
“Surely he can find a pill to help him sleep?” said JC.
“He can; but his system’s already so compromised with industrial-strength chemicals, some of them only suspected by modern science, that it takes something pretty damned powerful to affect him. He’s afraid to take that kind of pill too often in case he builds up a tolerance. Then he wouldn’t have anything to turn to when he really needed it. He needs more and more pills, JC! Bigger, stronger doses, all the time. Just to function. I don’t like where this is going; but I don’t see what else I can do to help. Sex isn’t enough to distract him any more, and love isn’t enough to make him strong. Sometimes I think it’s only the job that keeps him going.”
“He hates the job,” said JC.
“I know!”
They both looked down the street, to where Happy was bouncing slowly up and down on his toes, studying the waiting semi-detached like a boxer about to enter the ring for a fight he strongly suspects is fixed.
Happy Jack Palmer was the Ghost Finder team telepath and full-time gloomy bugger. As he often said, If you could see the world as clearly as I do, you’d be clinically depressed, too. Well into his thirties now, and openly fed up with it, Happy was short and stocky and prematurely balding. He might have been attractive if he ever stopped scowling and sulking long enough. He wore grubby jeans and a T-shirt bearing the message JUST BECAUSE I’M PARANOID, IT DOESN’T MEAN I’M NOT OUT TO GET YOU, along with a battered black leather jacket whose most recent tears had been roughly stapled back together. He took so many pills he rattled when he coughed. Just enough, he said, to keep the world and all the awful things in it safely outside his head.
Melody finally finished loading the more important pieces of her machinery onto a trolley and dragged it down the street to join Happy in front of the house. JC strolled along behind her. He knew better than to offer any assistance because no-one touched Melody’s toys except her. The three Ghost Finders stood together, looking the semi-detached over carefully.
“Are you picking up anything, Happy?” said JC, after a while.
“Something bad happened here,” said Happy. “Quite recently.”
“Obviously,” Melody said crushingly. “Or we wouldn’t be here, would we? What kind of bad?”
Happy thought about it. “Really bad.”
“Good!” JC said cheerfully. “The only interesting kind. Let us all go rushing in there and poke it with sticks.”
“After you,” said Happy.
JC grinned easily and strode up the paved path to the front door. Happy slouched after him, while Melody trundled along in the rear with her trolley. The path cut straight through a neatly trimmed lawn, decorated with a scattered handful of morose-looking garden gnomes. Happy gave each of them a dark, suspicious glare as he passed. The three sets of footsteps sounded very loud on the quiet street, counterpointed with loud creakings from Melody’s heavy-laden trolley. JC frowned slightly as he realised he couldn’t hear anything else. The evening was almost totally silent, as though it were holding its breath and listening. The footsteps sounded so clearly on the quiet path that whoever was inside the house had to know they were there; but no-one appeared at any of the brightly lit windows to look out.
“Does anyone in the house know we’re coming?” said Melody.
“Someone does,” said JC. “A Professor Volke put in a panic call to the Institute, about an hour ago, from this address. Apparently he’s someone’s cousin. Knew enough about us, and what we do, to scream to us for help when whatever it was went horribly wrong.”
“What did he say the problem was?” said Happy.
“I don’t know,” said JC. “This was all arranged in a rush. There’s no file, no case notes. We got the call because we were the closest team, and could get here the fastest. The professor is supposed to supply us with all the grisly and entertaining details.”
“No case file, no details, no warnings,” said Happy. “Oh, this can only go well.”
JC crashed to a halt before the front door. Happy stopped a comfortable distance behind him. Melody leaned on her trolley, breathing heavily. JC rang the bell, knocked briskly on the door, and kicked it a few times for good measure. He raised quite a din; but there was no response from inside. JC tried the door handle, but the door was locked.
“Now what do we do, oh wise and learned team leader?” said Happy.
“I suppose we could break a window . . .” said JC.
“Get out of the way,” said Melody.
She pushed past Happy and JC and produced a slender spikey object from a hidden pocket. She eased it into the lock and wiggled it about; and the lock threw up its hands and surrendered. Melody pushed the front door open with a flourish. JC considered the thing in her hand thoughtfully.
“How long have you been able to open locks, Melody?”
She shrugged and smiled, and made the picklock disappear about her person. “Girl’s entitled to a hobby . . .”
“I am changing all my locks, the moment I get back,” said JC.
“Go right ahead,” said Melody. “See what good it does you.”
They went inside, closing the door carefully behind them.
The three Ghost Finders moved slowly and cautiously down the long, narrow hallway, looking about them, careful to touch nothing. All the lights were on, every bulb glowing brightly, but there was no-one present to greet them. A terrible, oppressive silence lay over everything, seeming to stifle even the smallest noise. Happy winced and rubbed at his forehead.
“Bad atmosphere,” he complained.
“What kind of bad?” JC said patiently.
“Malignant,” said Happy. “Toxic.”
“As in actually, immediately life-threatening?” said JC.
“What do you think?” said Happy.
“Why do cheerful, friendly people never come back as ghosts?” said Melody, plaintively. “Why do we never meet happy smiley people from the vasty deeps, who are actually pleased to see us?”
“The answer is almost certainly implicit in the question,” said JC. “People at peace and at rest don’t need to come back. It’s the ones who have a complaint to make who end up disturbing the living. Let’s try the lounge.”
He moved quickly down the hall, throwing open each door as he came to it and peering into the room beyond. Until he found the lounge and went inside. Happy skulked along behind him, while Melody struggled fiercely with her trolley as the wheels caught and spun on the rucked-up carpet. The lounge turned out to be a pleasantly spacious room, with comfortable chairs and a huge red leather settee, along with all the usual comforts and luxuries, including a really big wide-screen television. Set a little to one side was a long, narrow coffee table, with four young men and women sitting on the floor around it. They were all wearing assorted jeans and sweaters, and had that indefinable but unmistakable look of students. None of them looked up as the Ghost Finders entered the room. None of them made a sound, or moved a muscle. They sat in place, staring straight ahead of them, with blank faces and empty eyes.
JC started to address them, then stopped as he realised how very still they all were, and how completely empty their faces seemed. He moved slowly forward, one step at a time, until he could lean over and study their faces close-up. They didn’t react, but they were all still breathing, very gently. JC relaxed a little. Where there’s even a little life, there’s hope. He gestured for Happy and Melody to stay back, and moved cautiously around the four seated figures, looking them over, with his hands clasped behind his back so he could be sure he wouldn’t touch anything. He leaned in past the students to look at the coffee table. An old-fashioned wooden Ouija board had been set out on the tabletop in front of the four students. All the usual markings, in old-fashioned lettering, so a message could be spelled out. There was no sign of the usual upturned glass, but there were fragments of broken glass all across the table and on the carpeted floor around it.
“A Ouija board?” said Happy, coming forward very cautiously for a better look. “Oh, that’s never good. Those things should be banned. They open doors, and never to anywhere good. Giving one of those things to a bunch of amateurs is like giving a hand-grenade to a group of toddlers. There are bound to be tears before bedtime.”
JC snapped his fingers fiercely in front of each empty student face in turn, but there was no reaction. He straightened up and turned to look consideringly at a camera on a tripod, set up not far away, aimed at the coffee table. JC gestured to Melody, and she came forward to look the camera over.
“Expensive,” she said briskly. “State-of-the-art, all the latest bells and whistles. The kind of camera that does most of the work for you. Some really nifty filters, and extra options . . . for when you need to be sure you won’t miss anything. What was going on here? What were these four doing . . . that someone needed to record every detail of it for posterity?”
“Is the camera still working?” said JC. “Still recording?”
“No. Someone’s put it on stand-by.”
“And it isn’t transmitting to anywhere else?”
“No. It’s set to record.”
They all looked up sharply as they heard quiet but definite sounds from someone’s moving about, upstairs. The slow, furtive footsteps of someone hoping not to be noticed. JC’s head moved slowly as he followed the footsteps from one side of the ceiling to the other. The sounds stopped, abruptly. JC hurried out of the lounge, with Happy and Melody right behind him.
*
Back in the hallway, it was still and quiet again. JC led the way up the stairs. He made no sound at all as he ascended the carpeted steps; and neither did Happy and Melody. Learning to walk unseen and undetected was one of the first things you learned when working cases like this. Sneaking up on ghosts took special skill. They reached the landing at the top of the stairs, and JC gestured for the others to split up, so they could each take one of the three doors leading off the hall. The silence was so complete now, so heavy, it had an almost solid presence. Melody moved in close beside JC, so she could murmur in his ear.
“How many people are there supposed to be in this house?”
“Beats me,” said JC, quietly. “No case file, remember? But we haven’t found Professor Volke yet. Or his body . . .”
Happy pointed an only slightly unsteady finger at the door nearest him, and JC and Melody padded over to stand beside him.
“Someone’s in there,” said Happy.
“Can’t you tell who it is?” said JC.
Happy sniffed. “The atmosphere in this house is really messed up. There’s so much information present, the aether is saturated. It’s like trying to see through thick fog.”
JC looked at Melody. “He makes this shit up, doesn’t he?”
“Probably,” said Melody.
“All right,” said JC. “Plan B it is. Brute force and ignorance; everything forward and trust in the Lord.”
“After you,” said Melody.
“Why would the professor be hiding from us?” said Happy.
“Let’s ask him,” said JC.. . .
“Setting up a new mystery on the final page, Green keeps the action and laughs flowing in equal measure. Here’s hoping for many more adventures of this terrific quartet. Recommended.”
—SFRevu
“The series really picks up to that same masterful level of storytelling [Green] is known for. And he delivers with this excellent work of classic, good old ghost-hunter fun that we’ve come to love from the genre.”
—The Gatehouse
“It continually amazes me how Green can pump out such original stories . . . Worth the read.”
—Crooked Reviews
“An extremely fast-paced book with some great gallows humor, introspection, and references to both the Nightside and Secret Histories series . . . I found it intriguing and highly enjoyable with some crazy action and twisted characters.”
—The Bibliophilic Book Blog
GHOST OF A DREAM
“Green once again mixes and matches genres with gleeful abandon . . . Readers who enjoy a roller-coaster ride through a haunted house (well, theater, but I’m mixing metaphors here) will love this novel . . . A terrific continuation of the Ghost Finders’ adventures, with loads of horrors, thrills, and shocks.”
—SFRevu
GHOST OF A SMILE
“Packed with creepy thrills, Ghost of a Smile is a mighty strong follow-up in this brand-new series. Ghost hunting has never been quite this exciting. Recommended.”
—SFRevu
“[With] plenty of action and chills, this book keeps pages turning even as a feeling of dread builds. The dialogue between the three characters is snappy and humorous, as is the chemistry between them.”
—NewsandSentinel.com
“Ghost of a Smile is a lovely blend of popcorn adventure and atmospheric thriller, and good for a few hours of distraction and entertainment. That’s one of the reasons why Green’s books always leap right to the top of my reading list.”
—The Green Man Review
“[Green] gleefully tweaks the natural fear of experimentation (and the inscrutable motivations of the men behind it), bringing some real-world paranoia into his fantasy-laden playground. It’s a gamble that pays off nicely . . . With his Nightside series ending soon, the Ghost Finders books are quickly proving to be worthy replacements.”
—Sacramento Book Review
GHOST OF A CHANCE
“Thoroughly entertaining.”
—Jim Butcher, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Dresden Files
“If future novels in Green’s new Ghost Finders series are as engaging as this one, they will hold up admirably against his previous work . . . Readers will appreciate the camaraderie and snappy dialogue.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Terrific.”
—SFRevu
“It’s fast-paced, filled with nifty concepts and memorable characters, and quite enjoyable.”
—The Green Man Review
“I’m a huge fan of Simon R. Green’s Nightside novels, and he continues to impress with Ghost of a Chance. He continues to put out great stories and gives readers deeply flawed characters that you still want to root for. This book is a great start to a new series that I will keep reading.”
—Bitten by Books
Praise for the Novels of the Nightside
“A fast, fun little roller coaster of a story.”
—Jim Butcher
“If you like your noir pitch-black, then return to the Nightside.”
—University City Review
“If you’re looking for fast-paced, no-holds-barred dark urban fantasy, you need look no further: the Nightside is the place for you.”
—SFRevu
“Sam Spade meets Sirius Black . . . in the Case of the Cosmic MacGuffin . . . Crabby wit and inventively gruesome set pieces.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“A fast, intelligently written tale that is fun to read.”
—The Green Man Review
“Plenty of action packed in from London to Glastonbury . . . should definitely please fantasy action fans.”
—Booklist
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
From the outside, it looked like any other house. An everyday, semi-detached property, half-way down a side street, on a perfectly ordinary South London estate. On a perfectly ordinary evening in late autumn. Except, lights were blazing in every window. As though whoever was inside this particular house was afraid of the dark. Or something in the dark.
A Land Rover came screeching down the street at speed, sometimes on one side of the road and sometimes on the other, before finally slamming to a halt outside the house. The car rocked back and forth a few times, as though getting used to being suddenly at rest, then the engine shut down. No-one got out. The three people inside sat where they were, so they could take a good look at the house and its surroundings from a safe distance. The last of the light was going out of the evening, and the house stood half-silhouetted against a dark and lowering sky. The windows all blazed very brightly, but there was no sign of movement inside the house. The street-lamps burned orange and amber, illuminating an empty scene. It was all very quiet; nobody about. The house had the feeling of a brightly lit stage, with the action yet to begin. After a while, the Land Rover’s driver turned around in her seat to address her two companions.
“It all looks normal enough to me,” said Melody Chambers.
“I never trust normal,” said JC Chance. “It usually means the universe is trying to hide something from me. And rarely in a good way.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place,” said Happy Jack Palmer.
“You’ve always got a bad feeling,” said Melody, crushingly.
“And I’m always right!”
“That’s as may be,” said JC. “I still want to know what in God’s name made you choose a Land Rover as our team transport? Were they all out of tractors and combine harvesters?”
Melody heaved a deep, put-upon sigh. She was very good at it. She’d had a lot of practice. “I chose this marvellous example of reliable engineering because I got fed up with my scientific equipment always being left behind, or turning up too late to be of any use. How can I be the Ghost Finder girl science geek if I don’t have any investigative equipment to work with? So I went down to the Carnacki Institute car pool and chose this. Because it’s a real work-horse of a vehicle; and because it was the only thing they had big enough to hold all my marvellous machines.”
JC nodded slowly. “Not exactly the most inconspicuous thing to turn up in, though, is it?” he murmured. “We are supposed to do our good deeds on the quiet, with no-one’s ever knowing. On the grounds that if the general public ever finds out why the Ghost Finders exist, and what we have to do, there will be a mass panic and general pants-wetting of biblical proportions.”
Melody sniffed loudly. “I get the job done. I put ghosts in their place and kick supernatural arse, in a strictly scientific way. And look good doing it. You can worry about public perception.”
“Oh, I do,” said JC. “Really. You have no idea.”
Melody kicked open the driver’s door and got out. She glared at the semi-detached house waiting for them, as though daring it to give her any problems. The lights in every window stared unflinchingly back; with not a trace of anyone’s moving behind them. JC pushed open his door and got out of the back seat, slowly and carefully, then took his time stretching his long limbs. They made clear cracking and creaking sounds on the quiet of the empty street. When he was ready, he moved in beside Melody and studied the house dubiously.
JC was tall and lean and too handsome for his own good, or anyone else’s. Thirty years old now, and loudly protesting he didn’t give a damn, JC Chance had pale, striking features under a rock star’s mane of long, wavy, black hair. He had a prominent nose, an easy smile, and wore dark sunglasses all the time for a very good reason. He also wore a rich, ice-cream white three-piece suit of quite devastating style and elegance, along with an old school tie he stole. JC was team leader because he was the only one brave and arrogant enough to always lead from the front, striding into danger with a careless smile and far more confidence than was safe for him or his companions.
Melody Chambers was advancing into her thirties, and fighting it every step of the way. Conventionally good-looking, in a threatening sort of way, she was short and gamine thin, forever burning with raw nervous energy. She wore her auburn hair scraped back in a severe bow, couldn’t be bothered with even the most basic make-up, and scowled at the world through serious glasses with dull, functional frames. Her clothes had never even heard of style or fashion; and Melody had once shocked and scandalised an entire roomful of women by loudly declaring she didn’t give a damn about shoes. Or any kind of accessory you couldn’t use as a weapon.
“Odd . . .” JC said finally. “I know it’s evening, but there ought to be someone out and about. Hurrying home late from work, or out jogging, or simply walking the dog . . . It’s as though all the people here have sensed it’s not safe to be outside at the moment.”
“Good,” said Melody. “I hate innocent bystanders. Always getting in the way, and underfoot, and dying horribly from collateral damage.”
“Except for when you use them to hide behind,” said JC.
“Except for then,” Melody agreed. She shot the house one last warning glance then marched round to the back of the Land Rover to unload her precious equipment.
“Don’t anyone feel obliged to help me with all the hard work and heavy lifting!” she said loudly.
“Don’t worry,” said JC. “We won’t.”
He banged ruthlessly on the door to the Land Rover’s passenger seat until it finally swung open, and Happy Jack Palmer half fell out. He got his feet under him with something of an effort and pushed the car door shut with an irritated scowl. He then leaned back against the door until he recovered his balance and his thoughts. He looked vaguely up and down the street, as though hoping it might provide him with some idea as to why he was there; and then he produced a small silver pill box from inside his jacket. He popped open the lid and stirred the multi-coloured contents with a finger before selecting two dark green pills decorated with muddy yellow lightning bolts. He knocked them back, dry-swallowing with the ease of long practice, then hiccoughed loudly a few times. He straightened up, pushing himself away from the car door, and made the pill box disappear about his person. His eyes were suddenly a lot brighter, and he smiled a smile with far too many teeth in it. JC looked at him expressionlessly.
“Are you still on the mother’s little helpers? The mental medication? We haven’t even started the investigation yet.”
“It’s the only way I can cope with Melody’s driving,” said Happy.
“I heard that!” said a loud voice from the rear of the Land Rover.
“You were meant to!” Happy said coldly. He slumped a little. “God, I’m tired, JC. I’m always tired. I need something to wake me up and get me moving. Is that the house? I don’t like it. It looks like it’s staring back at me.”
He studied the house in a sullen, antagonistic way, as though daring it to come out fighting. JC left him to it and went to join Melody at the back of the Land Rover as she piled up boxes full of scientific equipment at the side of the road. She didn’t even look at him but kept on working.
“He didn’t sleep well last night,” she said roughly. “He doesn’t like to sleep. Says it makes him feel . . . vulnerable. That things might try and get inside his head while his defences are down. And with a telepath as sensitive as him, who’s to say he’s wrong?”
“Surely he can find a pill to help him sleep?” said JC.
“He can; but his system’s already so compromised with industrial-strength chemicals, some of them only suspected by modern science, that it takes something pretty damned powerful to affect him. He’s afraid to take that kind of pill too often in case he builds up a tolerance. Then he wouldn’t have anything to turn to when he really needed it. He needs more and more pills, JC! Bigger, stronger doses, all the time. Just to function. I don’t like where this is going; but I don’t see what else I can do to help. Sex isn’t enough to distract him any more, and love isn’t enough to make him strong. Sometimes I think it’s only the job that keeps him going.”
“He hates the job,” said JC.
“I know!”
They both looked down the street, to where Happy was bouncing slowly up and down on his toes, studying the waiting semi-detached like a boxer about to enter the ring for a fight he strongly suspects is fixed.
Happy Jack Palmer was the Ghost Finder team telepath and full-time gloomy bugger. As he often said, If you could see the world as clearly as I do, you’d be clinically depressed, too. Well into his thirties now, and openly fed up with it, Happy was short and stocky and prematurely balding. He might have been attractive if he ever stopped scowling and sulking long enough. He wore grubby jeans and a T-shirt bearing the message JUST BECAUSE I’M PARANOID, IT DOESN’T MEAN I’M NOT OUT TO GET YOU, along with a battered black leather jacket whose most recent tears had been roughly stapled back together. He took so many pills he rattled when he coughed. Just enough, he said, to keep the world and all the awful things in it safely outside his head.
Melody finally finished loading the more important pieces of her machinery onto a trolley and dragged it down the street to join Happy in front of the house. JC strolled along behind her. He knew better than to offer any assistance because no-one touched Melody’s toys except her. The three Ghost Finders stood together, looking the semi-detached over carefully.
“Are you picking up anything, Happy?” said JC, after a while.
“Something bad happened here,” said Happy. “Quite recently.”
“Obviously,” Melody said crushingly. “Or we wouldn’t be here, would we? What kind of bad?”
Happy thought about it. “Really bad.”
“Good!” JC said cheerfully. “The only interesting kind. Let us all go rushing in there and poke it with sticks.”
“After you,” said Happy.
JC grinned easily and strode up the paved path to the front door. Happy slouched after him, while Melody trundled along in the rear with her trolley. The path cut straight through a neatly trimmed lawn, decorated with a scattered handful of morose-looking garden gnomes. Happy gave each of them a dark, suspicious glare as he passed. The three sets of footsteps sounded very loud on the quiet street, counterpointed with loud creakings from Melody’s heavy-laden trolley. JC frowned slightly as he realised he couldn’t hear anything else. The evening was almost totally silent, as though it were holding its breath and listening. The footsteps sounded so clearly on the quiet path that whoever was inside the house had to know they were there; but no-one appeared at any of the brightly lit windows to look out.
“Does anyone in the house know we’re coming?” said Melody.
“Someone does,” said JC. “A Professor Volke put in a panic call to the Institute, about an hour ago, from this address. Apparently he’s someone’s cousin. Knew enough about us, and what we do, to scream to us for help when whatever it was went horribly wrong.”
“What did he say the problem was?” said Happy.
“I don’t know,” said JC. “This was all arranged in a rush. There’s no file, no case notes. We got the call because we were the closest team, and could get here the fastest. The professor is supposed to supply us with all the grisly and entertaining details.”
“No case file, no details, no warnings,” said Happy. “Oh, this can only go well.”
JC crashed to a halt before the front door. Happy stopped a comfortable distance behind him. Melody leaned on her trolley, breathing heavily. JC rang the bell, knocked briskly on the door, and kicked it a few times for good measure. He raised quite a din; but there was no response from inside. JC tried the door handle, but the door was locked.
“Now what do we do, oh wise and learned team leader?” said Happy.
“I suppose we could break a window . . .” said JC.
“Get out of the way,” said Melody.
She pushed past Happy and JC and produced a slender spikey object from a hidden pocket. She eased it into the lock and wiggled it about; and the lock threw up its hands and surrendered. Melody pushed the front door open with a flourish. JC considered the thing in her hand thoughtfully.
“How long have you been able to open locks, Melody?”
She shrugged and smiled, and made the picklock disappear about her person. “Girl’s entitled to a hobby . . .”
“I am changing all my locks, the moment I get back,” said JC.
“Go right ahead,” said Melody. “See what good it does you.”
They went inside, closing the door carefully behind them.
The three Ghost Finders moved slowly and cautiously down the long, narrow hallway, looking about them, careful to touch nothing. All the lights were on, every bulb glowing brightly, but there was no-one present to greet them. A terrible, oppressive silence lay over everything, seeming to stifle even the smallest noise. Happy winced and rubbed at his forehead.
“Bad atmosphere,” he complained.
“What kind of bad?” JC said patiently.
“Malignant,” said Happy. “Toxic.”
“As in actually, immediately life-threatening?” said JC.
“What do you think?” said Happy.
“Why do cheerful, friendly people never come back as ghosts?” said Melody, plaintively. “Why do we never meet happy smiley people from the vasty deeps, who are actually pleased to see us?”
“The answer is almost certainly implicit in the question,” said JC. “People at peace and at rest don’t need to come back. It’s the ones who have a complaint to make who end up disturbing the living. Let’s try the lounge.”
He moved quickly down the hall, throwing open each door as he came to it and peering into the room beyond. Until he found the lounge and went inside. Happy skulked along behind him, while Melody struggled fiercely with her trolley as the wheels caught and spun on the rucked-up carpet. The lounge turned out to be a pleasantly spacious room, with comfortable chairs and a huge red leather settee, along with all the usual comforts and luxuries, including a really big wide-screen television. Set a little to one side was a long, narrow coffee table, with four young men and women sitting on the floor around it. They were all wearing assorted jeans and sweaters, and had that indefinable but unmistakable look of students. None of them looked up as the Ghost Finders entered the room. None of them made a sound, or moved a muscle. They sat in place, staring straight ahead of them, with blank faces and empty eyes.
JC started to address them, then stopped as he realised how very still they all were, and how completely empty their faces seemed. He moved slowly forward, one step at a time, until he could lean over and study their faces close-up. They didn’t react, but they were all still breathing, very gently. JC relaxed a little. Where there’s even a little life, there’s hope. He gestured for Happy and Melody to stay back, and moved cautiously around the four seated figures, looking them over, with his hands clasped behind his back so he could be sure he wouldn’t touch anything. He leaned in past the students to look at the coffee table. An old-fashioned wooden Ouija board had been set out on the tabletop in front of the four students. All the usual markings, in old-fashioned lettering, so a message could be spelled out. There was no sign of the usual upturned glass, but there were fragments of broken glass all across the table and on the carpeted floor around it.
“A Ouija board?” said Happy, coming forward very cautiously for a better look. “Oh, that’s never good. Those things should be banned. They open doors, and never to anywhere good. Giving one of those things to a bunch of amateurs is like giving a hand-grenade to a group of toddlers. There are bound to be tears before bedtime.”
JC snapped his fingers fiercely in front of each empty student face in turn, but there was no reaction. He straightened up and turned to look consideringly at a camera on a tripod, set up not far away, aimed at the coffee table. JC gestured to Melody, and she came forward to look the camera over.
“Expensive,” she said briskly. “State-of-the-art, all the latest bells and whistles. The kind of camera that does most of the work for you. Some really nifty filters, and extra options . . . for when you need to be sure you won’t miss anything. What was going on here? What were these four doing . . . that someone needed to record every detail of it for posterity?”
“Is the camera still working?” said JC. “Still recording?”
“No. Someone’s put it on stand-by.”
“And it isn’t transmitting to anywhere else?”
“No. It’s set to record.”
They all looked up sharply as they heard quiet but definite sounds from someone’s moving about, upstairs. The slow, furtive footsteps of someone hoping not to be noticed. JC’s head moved slowly as he followed the footsteps from one side of the ceiling to the other. The sounds stopped, abruptly. JC hurried out of the lounge, with Happy and Melody right behind him.
*
Back in the hallway, it was still and quiet again. JC led the way up the stairs. He made no sound at all as he ascended the carpeted steps; and neither did Happy and Melody. Learning to walk unseen and undetected was one of the first things you learned when working cases like this. Sneaking up on ghosts took special skill. They reached the landing at the top of the stairs, and JC gestured for the others to split up, so they could each take one of the three doors leading off the hall. The silence was so complete now, so heavy, it had an almost solid presence. Melody moved in close beside JC, so she could murmur in his ear.
“How many people are there supposed to be in this house?”
“Beats me,” said JC, quietly. “No case file, remember? But we haven’t found Professor Volke yet. Or his body . . .”
Happy pointed an only slightly unsteady finger at the door nearest him, and JC and Melody padded over to stand beside him.
“Someone’s in there,” said Happy.
“Can’t you tell who it is?” said JC.
Happy sniffed. “The atmosphere in this house is really messed up. There’s so much information present, the aether is saturated. It’s like trying to see through thick fog.”
JC looked at Melody. “He makes this shit up, doesn’t he?”
“Probably,” said Melody.
“All right,” said JC. “Plan B it is. Brute force and ignorance; everything forward and trust in the Lord.”
“After you,” said Melody.
“Why would the professor be hiding from us?” said Happy.
“Let’s ask him,” said JC.. . .
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