Ghostfinders 03 -Ghost of a Dream

shimmering light. And from out of the darkness and into the spotlight walked the ghost girl, Kim. She took up her position in the pool of brilliant light, standing tall and proud and serene, and smiled dazzlingly at everyone. She looked exactly the same as she had before, dressed in exactly the same way as when she’d been murdered, down in Oxford Circus Tube Station…when JC first met her. He started toward her, then made himself stop. He looked fiercely at the others.
    “You can all see her this time?”
    “Certainly looks like her,” said Happy. “But…I’mnot getting anything from her, JC. I can’t even sense her presence, never mind her personality. And normally, she blazes in my mind like a balefire at midnight. Are you sure this isn’t another illusion?”
    “You haven’t been picking up much of anything recently, Happy,” said JC, not unkindly.
    “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed,” growled Happy. “Something, or more probably Someone, has been deliberately blocking me. And so thoroughly, and so subtly, I didn’t even notice. Until now. After what happened here, I thought it was Alistair Gravel who’d been misdirecting me with his scary visions, so I wouldn’t see through the Old Tom disguise he was wearing…but now I’m not so sure. This Faust you met, Melody; how long has he been here? How much of what we’ve seen and experienced could be down to him? And if he can make things, physical things like the Phantom, then maybe…”
    “That looks like our Kim,” said Melody. “But why isn’t she saying anything? Normally, you can’t shut her up.”
    “Could Alistair Gravel be behind her?” said Happy.
    “How would he know about her?” said Melody.
    “He’s dead!” said Happy. “The dead know all kinds of things they’re not supposed to!”
    “Or maybe, just maybe, she really is my guardian-angel ghost,” said JC. “Come to save us all in our hour of need.”
    He moved slowly forward, his footsteps loud and clear and echoing on the open stage. Kim smiled happily at him but made no move to leave the spotlight and come to him. JC stopped, carefully, right at the edge of theshimmering light. It was her face, every detail exactly right. He should know. He’d spent enough time staring at it. He spoke softly to Kim, doing his best to be persuasive without pressuring her.
    “Why are you here, Kim? Can you tell me? Can you tell me anything? Something, anything, so I can be sure this is you.”
    But she looked at him, smiling sadly, her eyes fixed on his, saying nothing. JC reached out a hand to her, and Kim immediately fell back a step. Her smile disappeared, and she looked at him warningly, admonishingly. JC stayed where he was. He wanted it to be her. Needed it to be her. But he didn’t trust anything in the Haybarn Theatre any more. Not even himself. He raised a hand to his sunglasses, to take them off and look at her directly with his altered eyes, then he stopped and spun round as the swing doors at the back of the auditorium smashed open, and the Phantom of the Haybarn came crashing through them.

    Everyone turned to look. Both swing doors were blasted right off their hinges, thrown away to either side, by the sheer force of the Phantom’s arrival. He struck a pose in front of the great dark gap he’d made, letting everyone on the stage get a good look at him. Stooped, half-crouching like an animal, resplendent in Victorian finery and a night-dark opera cape with blood-red lining. He should have looked like a gentleman, like a civilised man from a civilised time; instead he looked more like some creature from the wild places, a beast that had beenraised up to walk like a man but left none of its savagery behind. Murder was in his every move, death in his smile, horror in his rotting half-face and grubby half-mask. He laughed silently at them all, like some terrible predator from the jungle night.
    “Told you,” said Melody. “The Phantom of the Haybarn.”
    “Okay,” said Happy. “That is seriously ugly, with a really big side order of disgusting and distressing. But I have to say, although I’m quite definitely sensing its presence, I’m not picking up any thoughts from it. As such. That’s not a person. More like a projection from some other mind, further away.”
    Melody said, “It’s a creation of the Faust. He made it. Right there in front of me. It’s bits of flesh, shaped by his will and intent.”
    “Flesh?” said Happy. “Oh ick.”
    “Not an