Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

a Raw-bones. Panicked and ran off a roof.’
    ‘Right, whereas I’ve survived, and have done so out on the front line. Which is where you seldom go, George. And it’sstarting to get to you, isn’t it? You’re feeling a bit left out. Well, tough. And don’t try to make me feel guilty for going out and doing things. This job’s not all about dusty books. It’s about efficient action.’
    ‘OK.’ He pushed his glasses up his pudgy nose. ‘OK. Maybe you’re right. I’ll have to think about what you said. While I’m doing that, perhaps you can take a little peek at this dusty old research I did yesterday, while you were back here efficiently forgetting to pack your iron chains. This first bit of paper’s from the Housing Registry. It’s for Sixty-two Sheen Road, where you’ve just been. Gives a run-down of all the owners of the house for the last hundred years. Look, there’s Mr and Mrs Hope at the end, but you knew about them. What you didn’t know about was this one: a Miss Annabel E. Ward, who bought it fifty years ago. Remember that name a minute. Now, the reason I was so long yesterday was that I was down at the National Archives, cross-referencing all these names against stories from the newspapers. Why? Because I don’t like surprises, and funnily enough, I did find a surprise. You see, I was just wondering if any of these owners had come to public attention for any reason. And – guess what? – one of them had.’
    With ink-stained fingers he pushed another sheet of paper forward on the desk, a smudged photocopy of a small newspaper article. It was from the Richmond Examiner , dated forty-nine years before.
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MISSING GIRL: POLICE APPEAL FOR HELP
    Police investigating the disappearance of popular young socialite, Miss Annabel Ward, yesterday appealed for fresh information from the public.
    Miss Ward, 20, of Sheen Road, Richmond, has not been seen since late on the night of Saturday 21st June, when she dined with a group of friends at the Gallops nightclub on Chelsea Bridge Road. She left shortly before midnight, and failed to keep an appointment the following day. Detectives have since questioned her circle of associates, but have yet to make a breakthrough with the case. Anyone with any information is urged to call the number below.
    Searches for the missing girl, an aspiring actress a familiar figure on the society circuit, have been carried out in and around her home and surrounding areas over the last few days. Police frogmen are searching ponds and rivers. Meanwhile Miss Ward’s father, Mr Julian Ward, has issued a statement, offering a substantial reward for any
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    ‘Having trouble reading it?’ George said. ‘Don’t blame you. Must’ve got, ooh, at least two paragraphs. Let me help you figure it out. They don’t mention her exact address, but I think it’s pretty obvious this Annabel Ward must be the same one from the Housing Registry. The dates fit too. So she lived at Sixty-two Sheen Road, the house where you andLockwood were busy investigating an apparition. Coincidence? Maybe, but finding this made me sit up and take notice. So I hurried home to tell you – only when I got there, surprise, surprise, off you’d gone already. Even then, I wasn’t worried. I thought you were well equipped. It was only later that I saw you’d left the chains behind.’
    Silence. The ghost in the jar had now devolved into a grainy, luminous mass of plasm, swirling slowly like green water at the bottom of a well.
    ‘So what about it?’ George said. ‘Any of this fit with your experiences last night?’
    It was like a hole had opened in me somewhere, and all my anger had drained through it. I just felt very weary now. ‘Got a picture of her?’ I said.
    Of course he had. He stretched out among the papers. ‘That’s all I’ve got so far.’
    From another edition of the Examiner . A girl in a long fur coat, caught in flashlights as she stepped outdoors. Slim glimpse of leg, bright teeth, primped hair up in a beehive look. She was probably coming out of one of those society clubs or bars the papers loved so much. If she’d been alive now, she’d have been a glassy-eyed half-page feature in one of Lockwood’s magazines, and I’d have hated her.
    As it was, I only saw that other face – eyeless, shrunkenand cupped in cobwebs – propped behind the bricks. It made me very sad.
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s her.’
    ‘Grand,’ George said. He didn’t say anything else.
    ‘It says