Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

my ear. ‘ I’m cold .’
    Fragments. You seldom get more than fragments. The little voice was a whisper uttered at great distance, but also uncomfortably near at hand. It seemed an awful lot nearer to me than Lockwood’s reply had done.
    ‘Oh, Lockwood!’ I cooed again. ‘It’s urgent . . .’
    Can you credit it? I detected a hint of annoyance in his answer. ‘Just wait a sec, Lucy. There’s something interesting here. I’ve picked up a death-glow – a really, really faint one. Something nasty happened in this front bedroom too! It’s so hazy I almost missed it, so it must’ve been a long while back. But, you know, I think it was traumatic . . . Which means – it’s only a theory, I’m just playing with ideas here – there might possibly have been two violent deaths in this house . . . What do you say to that?’
    I chuckled hollowly. ‘I say that it’s a theory I can maybe help you with,’ I sang, ‘if you’ll only come out here.’
    ‘The thing is,’ he went on, ‘I don’t see how the first death’s got anything to do with the Hopes. They were only here two years, weren’t they? So perhaps the disturbances we’re experiencing aren’t—’
    ‘– actually caused by the husband?’ I cried. ‘Yes, well done! They’re not!’
    A brief pause. Finally he was paying attention. ‘What?’
    ‘ I said, it’s not the husband , Lockwood! Now get out here!’ You might notice I’d slightly abandoned my attempts at keeping it light-hearted. That was because the thing in the study had already picked up on my agitation, and was now drifting through the door. The toenails on the thin, pale feet were long and curled.
    Both my hands were at my belt. One gripped the rapier hilt; the other had closed on a canister of Greek Fire. Youshouldn’t really use magnesium flares in a domestic environment, of course, but I wasn’t taking any chances. My fingertips were icy, but sweaty too; they slipped against the metal.
    A movement on my left. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lockwood emerge onto the landing. He too stopped dead. ‘Ah,’ he said.
    I nodded grimly. ‘Yes, and next time I call you while in an operative situation, do me a favour, and get your butt out here double-quick.’
    ‘Sorry. But I see you’ve got it well in hand. Has she spoken?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What did she say?’
    ‘She says she’s cold.’
    ‘Tell her we can sort that for her. No, don’t fiddle-faddle with your weapon – that’ll only make it worse.’ The girl had drifted a little closer across the landing; in response, I’d begun to draw my blade. ‘Tell her we can sort it,’ Lockwood said again. ‘Tell her we can find whatever she’s lost.’
    I did so, in as steady a voice as I could manage. It didn’t have much effect. The shape neither shrank nor changed, nor became vaporous, nor departed, nor did any of the other things the Fittes Manual claims they’ll do when you give them hope of release.
    ‘ I’m cold ,’ the little voice said; and then again, much louder, ‘ Lost and cold .’
    ‘What was that?’ Lockwood had sensed the contact, but couldn’t hear the sound.
    ‘Same words, but I’ve got to tell you, Lockwood, this time it wasn’t much like a girl talking. It sounded really deep and hollow, and echoed like a tomb.’
    ‘That’s never good, is it?’
    ‘No. I think we should take it as a sign.’ I drew my rapier. Lockwood did likewise. We stood facing the shape in silence. Never attack first. Always wait, draw out its intentions. Watch what it does, where it goes; learn its patterns of behaviour. It was so close now that I could make out the texture of the long fair hairs sweeping down around the neck; see individual moles and blemishes on the skin. It always surprised me that the visual echo could be this strong. George called it ‘the will to exist’, the refusal to lose what once had been. Of course, not all of them appear this way. It’s all down to their personality in life, and what precisely happened when that life came to an end.
    We waited. ‘Can you see her face?’ I asked. Lockwood’s Sight is better than mine.
    ‘No. It’s veiled. But the rest is really bright. I think it’s—’
    He stopped; I’d lifted up my hand. This time the voice I heard was the barest tremor in the air. ‘ I’m cold ,’ it whispered. ‘ Lost and cold. Lost and cold . . . and DEAD! ’
    The wisps of light that hung about the girl flared bright and desolate, and for an instant the dark