Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

leader. It’s my responsibility—’
    ‘– to make bad decisions? That’s right, I suppose it is.’
    We stood there, arms folded, glowering at each other across the darkened landing of a haunted house. Then, like the sun coming out, Lockwood’s glare softened to a grin.
    ‘So . . .’ he said. ‘How’s your anger management going, Luce?’
    I snorted. ‘I admit I’m annoyed, but now I’m annoyed with you . That’s different.’
    ‘I’m not sure it is, but I do take your original point about the money.’ He clapped his gloved hands together briskly. ‘All right, you win. George wouldn’t approve, but I think we can risk it. I’ve driven her away for the moment, and that gives us breathing space. If we’re quick, we can settle this in half an hour.’
    I stooped and lifted up the duffel bags. ‘Just lead me to the place.’
    The place proved to be on the far side of the study: a blank stretch of wall set between two recessed stretches of the chaotic bookshelf. In the harsh light of our torches, we saw it was still covered with ancient bedroom paper, drab and faded and peeling near the coving. Puffy, shapeless roses ran floor to ceiling in slanting lines.
    In the middle of the space hung a coloured map showing the geology of the British Isles. The base of the wall was concealed by thigh-high piles of geology magazines, one or two of which were weighed down by dusty geological hammers. My keen investigative instinct told me that Mr Hope might possibly have been a geologist by trade.
    I inspected the bookshelves on either side, saw how the wall protruded at that point. ‘Old chimney breast,’ I said. ‘So she went in there?’
    ‘She was fading out before she reached the wall, but yes – I think so. Would make sense if the Source was hidden in the chimney, wouldn’t it?’
    I nodded. Yes, it made sense. A natural cavity, big enough for anything at all.
    We began shifting the magazines away, carting them in cascading armfuls to the other side of the room. Space was an issue. Lockwood wanted to keep my original circle free, and have a good access route to it from the wall where we’d be working, so we dumped most of the magazines by the doorand even out on the landing. Every second armload or so I stopped and listened carefully, but the house remained still.
    When we’d cleared a big enough area, I opened the bags and poured out another plastic pot of filings in a curving line across the floor. It formed a rough semicircle that extended outwards from the crucial section of the wall. I joined up the two ends with a straight line running along the base of the wall, keeping a yard or so back from it so that the iron wouldn’t be messed up by all the falling plaster. Once I’d finished there was enough room inside the lines for us both to stand, and have our duffel bags too. It would be pretty safe, though not as secure as if we’d used some chains.
    I also checked the original circle in the centre of the room. A few filings had got scattered by our feet as we’d tramped past, but I brushed them back into position.
    Lockwood removed the geological map and propped it against the desk. Then he went down to the kitchen and returned with a couple of lanterns. The time for watching in the dark was past; action was required now, and for that we needed proper light. He set the lanterns on the floor inside our semicircle and switched them on low, directing the beams towards the empty wall. The light illuminated it like a little stage.
    All this took about a quarter of an hour. At last we stood together inside the iron, pocket-knives and crowbars ready,looking at the wall. ‘Want to hear my theory?’ Lockwood said.
    ‘Thrill me.’
    ‘She was killed in the house decades ago – so long back she at last grew quiet. Then Mr Hope set up his study in this room, and that’s triggered her somehow. It stands to reason that something of hers must be concealed here; something she cares about, that makes her linger on. Clothes, maybe, or possessions; or a gift she promised another. Or—’
    ‘Or something else,’ I said.
    ‘Yes.’
    We stood and looked at the wall.

4

    Ever since Marissa Fittes and Tom Rotwell conducted their celebrated investigations, way back in the first years of the Problem, finding the Source of a haunting has been central to every agent’s job. Yes, we do other stuff as well: we help create defences for worried households and we advise individuals on their personal protection. We