Ghostfinders 01 - Ghost of a Chance

perhaps?”
    The cat head considered the question for a long moment while its glowing mechanisms went quietly mad. “It’s not from around here,” it said finally. “From over the hill and far away. From out of the past, to put an end to the future. The wolf has come down upon the fold, and it’s bigger than anyone ever dreamed of.”
    “Forget the poetry,” snapped Natasha. “What does it want?”
    “Everything,” said the cat head, turning its eyes to look directly at her. “It’s going to eat you up.”
    Natasha glared at the head. “Technology should know its place. You watch your manners, kitty cat, or I’ll pluck out your whiskers.”
    “Please don’t threaten the machinery while it’s working,” said Erik. “And let us not get distracted, please.”
    “Well,” said Natasha, “the cat started it.”
    “We should have been told about this before we came down here,” said Erik.
    “What if . . . nobody knows, but us?” said Natasha, thoughtfully. “We could do anything we wanted, down here, and no-one could do anything to stop us.”
    “Let’s not lose track of what’s important,” Erik said stubbornly. “I am not going back to Vivienne MacAbre without, at the very least, JC’s heart and brains in my little collecting box. As ordered. I have to say, I am far more afraid of displeasing Vivienne than I am of facing some other-dimensional Intruder. I know what your problem is,” he said craftily. “All these manifestations down here are giving you an appetite. Why don’t you indulge yourself? Maybe you’ll think more clearly with a full stomach. So to speak.”
    “Don’t try to get round me, little man,” said Natasha. “The ghosts make me stronger. That’s all that matters.”
    “Of course, of course,” said Erik. “And you will need to be so very strong, for this.”
    Natasha turned to Happy, still standing absolutely motionless, where she’d left him. Blood continued to drip from his face. She smiled at him sweetly. “Work with me, little telepath. Lend me your energies. It’s time for Daddy’s bad little girl to go hunting again.”
    She reached inside him and drew on his power, despite everything he could do to stop her, sucking it right out of him. Natasha laughed out loud as new strength filled her from head to toe. Faces and figures flickered on and off before and around her, echoes of people and personalities soaked into the surroundings, imprinted on Time itself. They came and went like so many swiftly shuffling cards, until Natasha spotted one that appealed to her and pounced.
    A man appeared, standing stiffly on the very edge of the platform, his feet planted well past the yellow safety line. He was only a man, no different from many others, except that perhaps his suit was that little bit too hard worn, too shabby. He looked older than his years, beaten down and hard done by, and his hands were clenched into determined fists at his sides. His face was beaded with sweat and full of a great concentration. There was the sound of a train approaching, and the man’s head jerked round to look for it. The sound grew louder and louder, then the man threw himself forwards, into the path of the on-coming train.
    His body all but exploded under the force of the impact, blood flying everywhere, and the remains were carried the length of the platform before finally slipping down to be finished off under the grinding wheels. There was nothing defiant or even meaningful about the suicide—only a small broken man, doing something pitiful. It was like looking at a child that had fallen and would never get up again.
    There was never any sign of the train itself, only the sound it made and the awful things it did to the fragile human body. The man was the subject of the haunting, nothing else.
    And then the man was back, unharmed, standing at the edge of the platform again, waiting for his train. Repeating the last few moments of his life, for all eternity. Trapped in the Hell he’d made for himself. Natasha and Erik watched the ghost kill himself several times until they grew bored with it.
    “Could be a stone tape,” said Erik, critically. “Nothing there but a recording. Want me to check it out with my little catty box of tricks?”
    “No need,” said Natasha. She was smiling, and it was not a nice smile. “This was a suicide, so some small part of him remains here still, trapped in the moment. A part of his consciousness, or his soul, whichever you