Ghostfinders 01 - Ghost of a Chance

are a first-class gloomy bugger,” JC said affectionately. “You could gloom for the Olympics, and still take a Bronze in existential paranoia.”
    “Everyone has to be good at something,” said Happy, smiling a little in spite of himself. “But don’t change the subject . . .”
    “Happy, you can believe in whatever you want,” said JC, cutting him off with an upraised hand. “As long as it doesn’t get in the way of doing the job. We are not here to take part in some mystic war between Absolute Powers from the Outer Realms. We are here to solve a haunting and put everyone and everything to rest again. That’s what we do.”
    “I swear, you two argue like an old married couple,” said Melody. “And it’s interfering with some of my more sensitive instruments. Go take a walk around, check out the other platforms, look for clues or something, and leave me in peace to get on with my work. Stick your phones in your ears, and I’ll give you a yell when I have something definite to tell you.”
    JC looked at her carefully. “Are you sure, Melody?”
    “Of course I’m sure. Off you go. I can cope.”
    JC nodded. “We won’t be long.” He grinned at Happy. “Exploring time! We need to take a look at the other platforms, see if they all feel the same as this. You check out the rest of the southbound lines, and I’ll take the northbound. Keep in touch, and report back here in an hour, whether you’ve found anything or not.”
    Happy’s eyes got really big. “Are you kidding? Are you out of your mind? You want me to go wandering around this place on my own ?”
    “Yes,” said JC. “What’s the matter? You want someone to hold your hand?”
    “Yes!” said Happy. “Preferably someone I know.”
    “Go,” JC said sternly. “Be a big brave ghost finder, and there’ll be honey for tea.”
    He waved one elegant hand around and strolled away, humming a merry tune. Happy made a really vile gesture at JC’s immaculate back, produced a bottle of pills from nowhere, and defiantly dry swallowed three of mother’s little helpers, one after the other. He looked at Melody, but she was making a point of giving all her attention to the equipment ranged before her. Happy sighed, and his shoulders slumped. He shuffled towards the exit arch, like a small boy on his way to school, knowing that the school bully was waiting.
    They thought he was scared all the time because he was a coward. The truth was, only he could see the world clearly enough to know how truly scary it was. He saw things and heard things, and every single one of them was real. Horribly real. If Humanity knew what they shared the world with, what walked their streets by day and snuggled up beside them at night; if they could see it all, just for a moment . . . they’d all go stark staring mad. Happy had learned long ago not to talk about it. People didn’t want to know. But he had no choice. If the Boss knew what he faced every day, she’d give him a medal. Or, if she was really feeling kind, a lobotomy. And maybe then he’d get some peace at last.
    Ghosts are the only ones who never have to feel scared. Because the worst thing in the world has already happened to them.

    It didn’t take JC long to decide that the whole of the Oxford Circus Tube Station was infected. Everywhere he looked, something looked disturbed, subtly alien. It was hard to judge distances in the unrelentingly fierce light. He walked down one platform for ages, without reaching its end. Eventually he had no choice but to turn around and go back; and there was the exit he’d come in by, waiting for him. Directions become treacherous and signs untrustworthy. The same archway took him to a dozen different places, including one painfully over-bright corridor that twisted and turned like a maze. The angles between floor and wall seemed subtly wrong , and his head ached trying to figure out why. And what shadows there were were very dark.
    He particularly didn’t like one tunnel-mouth, at the end of a certain platform. Its interior was too dark, too deep, as though it might go on forever. There was no sound, and not a trace of movement, but still he kept expecting something to come crashing out of the tunnel-mouth at any moment and sweep him helplessly away to somewhere unbearably awful. He made himself stare into the darkness until his breathing steadied and his hands stopped shaking, then he very deliberately turned his back on the tunnel-mouth and walked away, head