Ghostfinders 01 - Ghost of a Chance

have been handsome if he ever stopped scowling. He wore grubby jeans, a rude T-shirt, and a battered old jacket, and looked like you’d have to put him through a car wash to get the top layer of soil off him. He shaved when he remembered and enjoyed all the worst kinds of food, traces of which still showed on his jacket. He claimed to have a heart of gold. In a box, under his bed. The most reluctant hero ever accepted into the ranks of the Carnacki Institute, and owner of so many medical prescriptions he had to file them in alphabetical order to keep track, Happy had an unequalled talent for detecting the presence of things that most people wouldn’t even admit existed.
    He saw things and heard voices, and only the pills let him lead anything like a normal life.
    Thrown together by fate, held together by repeated success, the three of them made a good team and did good work. And because they worked so well together, they got all the most difficult, dangerous, and demanding cases. Happy was always threatening to quit but never did. Partly because he enjoyed the company, mostly because he enjoyed the free medical benefits. JC made no secret of the fact that he was still looking for some solid proof on the fate of human consciousness after death. And Melody stayed because the Institute gave her access to the very latest tech, and because she couldn’t hope to do nearly as much damage anywhere else.
    She moved happily back and forth in front of her assorted computers, scanners, and certain arcane assemblies of her own design, arranged on a collapsible frame. Her fingers flashed across keyboards, adjusted dials, and administered the occasional warning slap to any piece of equipment that didn’t do what it was supposed to do fast enough to suit her. Lights flared and flickered, monitor screens blazed, and information came flooding in from every direction at once. JC kept a watchful eye on it all, from a safe distance.
    “Picking up anything interesting?” he ventured casually after a while.
    “You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” said Melody, not looking round. “Everything’s operating as it should, all the motion detectors and temperature tests are fine, and there’s not a single energy spike across the board. Rest assured that if anything ectoplasmic should deign to show its face in what’s left of tonight, I am ready and waiting to analyse it in any number of interesting ways. A ghost mouse couldn’t fart around here without me knowing.”
    “And if our ghosties and ghoulies don’t present any measurable activity?” said Happy, cunningly.
    “Then that’s why we have you,” said Melody. “Though I often wish we didn’t.”
    “Girl geek.”
    “Spice Girls fan.”
    “Children, children,” JC murmured. “Play nicely, or there will be spankings.”
    “I hate it here,” Happy said miserably. “It’s cold, it’s damp, and I think moss is starting to grow under my testicles.”
    “Eeew,” said Melody. “There’s a mental image I wasn’t expecting to take home with me.”
    “Hold it,” said Happy, his head coming up suddenly, like a hound catching a scent. “Hold everything. Did either of you feel that?”
    “Feel what?” said JC, moving in close beside Happy and looking quickly around.
    “We’re not alone,” said Happy, frowning, concentrating. “There’s something here with us . . . No visible presence, can’t say I actually heard or smelled anything . . . but there’s definitely a sense of being observed. And not in a good way.”
    “Not friendly, then?” said JC.
    “What do you think?” Happy said pityingly. “When was the last time we encountered a happy ghost? Very definitely not including the Laughing Ghoul of Leicester, bad cess to his mouldering bones. If you were hoping to meet Casper the Dead Baby, you’re in the wrong team. We only get the bad-tempered ones.”
    “Let us remain optimistic,” said JC. “If only out of a sense of perversity.”
    “Easy for you to say,” growled Happy. “You’re not a Class Eleven sensitive. Damn . . . the presence is so strong now it’s almost overwhelming. My head is pounding.”
    “Take some of your pain-killers,” said Melody. “You’re so much more bearable when you’re medicated.”
    “No,” said JC. “No pills, Happy. Concentrate.”
    “Not even the little purple ones? You like those.”
    “Maybe later, Happy. Hang in there. Melody, anything showing up on your instruments?”
    “Nothing. Not a damn