Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

already paid – I checked with the bank when we arrived. Sure, we can get more if we track down the Source, but that’s not essential. The company will survive without it.’
    ‘Will it, though?’ George said. ‘Exactly how many more cases are you expecting to get, Lockwood? Apart from Fairfax’s surprise offer, our reputation’s up in flames.’
    Lockwood didn’t try to deny it. ‘Like I keep saying,’ he said quietly, ‘we need a big success to turn it all around.Solving the Annie Ward murder would do it, of course, and we’re close there, thanks to Lucy. But . . . it’s not guaranteed.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t quite make the final jump. As for finding the Source here – well, that’s certainly another option. But it’s a risky one. Whatever’s hidden in this place is frighteningly strong.’ He sat back and smiled – and this time it wasn’t the full megawatt version, the one you obeyed despite yourself; just a warm, companionable grin. ‘You know me,’ he said. ‘I think we’d be a match for it. But I’m not going to impose that belief on you. If you want to steer clear, that’s fine. I leave it up to you.’
    George and I looked at each other. I waited for him to speak; he waited for me. And in my head the crackling ghostly static died away, as if the thing that controlled the house awaited my decision too.
    Before that evening? I might have held back. I’d chosen wrongly too many times in crisis situations to fully trust my instincts now. But since stepping through the door, and particularly since we’d begun our explorations, my confidence had slowly risen. We’d worked well together; better than ever before. We’d been careful, rigorous, even competent . . . It showed me what Lockwood & Co. might one day become. This wasn’t something I wanted to give up lightly. I took a deep breath.
    ‘I vote we take a quick look,’ I said, ‘ providing we keep an avenue of retreat open behind us. If things go bad, weleave and get out of the building as quickly as possible.’
    Lockwood nodded. ‘Fair enough. And George?’
    George puffed out his ample cheeks. ‘Amazingly, Lucy’s talked some sense for once. I feel exactly the same way. Provided’ – he patted the cylinders at his belt – ‘we’re allowed to use all our weapons if we have to.’
    ‘That’s settled, then,’ Lockwood said quietly. ‘Gather up the bags, and let’s go.’
    Now we’d made the decision, we didn’t hang around – but we weren’t reckless, either. We made cautious progress up the stairs, always watching and listening a few steps ahead. As before, the phantoms kept their distance, but the ghost-fog billowed around our knees. Lockwood saw death-glows on the landing and beyond the bedroom doors. For my part the towering silence was back: it pressed tightly against my temples. The air felt thick and syrupy. The cloying sickly-sweet smell followed us from the landing.
    Outside the defaced door the whispering had died away. When I looked back along the passage, I could sense the apparitions clustering beyond the fringes of the torchlight.
    ‘It’s like they’re waiting,’ I muttered. ‘It’s like they’re waiting for us to go in.’
    ‘Who’s got the mints?’ George said. ‘I just know we’re going to need the mints in there.’
    Lockwood took the key from his pocket and put it in thelock. ‘Turns easily,’ he said. There was a single solid click. ‘OK, that’s done. Here we go. Like Lucy said, we take a quick look, and that’s all.’
    George nodded. I did my best to smile.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Lockwood said. ‘It’ll be fine.’
    Then he took hold of the handle and pushed, and the horror of the night began.

21

    The hinges didn’t squeak eerily or anything. To be honest, they didn’t need to.
    As the door swung open, there was a sigh of dry, cool air, a smell of dust and absence. It was the same sensation you get in any disused room. Lockwood shone his torch into the darkness; its soft round glow picked out bare floorboards, running across the room. They were grey and dark and stained. In places ragged strips of some old rug were visible, fused to the boards by centuries of grime.
    He moved the beam upwards until it hit the opposite wall. A glimpse of high white skirting, then dark-green wallpaper, almost black with dirt and age. In places it had been ripped away, revealing the bricks beneath. Still the beamrose: we saw a strip of heavy coving, then a ceiling of ornate