Walking with Ghosts

lid of the chest, but still in darkness, so he couldn’t see what was inside. His exclamation came from the stench that arose from the chest when he lifted the lid. Urine and faeces in a good quantity, and left to accumulate over a couple of days.
    Marie came over with the torch and they gazed down on the still figure of a man. His arms and legs were tied with a new green rope, and his mouth was sealed with clear parcel-tape. The bottom of the chest appeared to be lined with old newspapers.
    Marie edged Sam aside so she could get closer. Sam held his nose and willingly stood back. He watched her probing the front of the man’s neck for his carotid pulse, then she leaned right into the chest and put her face next to his nose.
    ‘He’s still alive,’ she said. ‘It’s Charles Hopper. Help me get him out.’
    Sam took Hopper’s shoulders, Marie his feet, and they lifted him clear of the sides of the chest, carrying him through to the landing and placing him carefully on the floor. Sam unclasped a penknife and cut the rope that was binding him. He pulled the tape away from the man’s mouth. For a moment Hopper’s eyes flickered and his cracked lips moved, but then he lapsed back into unconsciousness. Marie had gone into the bathroom and returned with her scarf dripping water. She held it to Hopper’s lips for a few seconds, then squeezed a few drops of liquid into his mouth.
    ‘He’s dehydrated,’ she said to Sam. ‘We’ll have to get him to a hospital.’
    ‘OK. Let’s find something to use as a stretcher.’
    ‘You do that,’ she said. ‘I’ll go ring an ambulance.’
    She ran down the stairs to the front door. Sam watched until she disappeared outside, then turned to the other room on the landing. He glanced momentarily at the prone body of Charles Hopper, then opened the door to a blazing light.
     
    There must have been two hundred candles burning in the small room. They were lined up along the top of the pelmet above the window, perhaps an inch between each one. There was a writing table, similar to one that Dora had in her room, and the surface of that was festooned with flickering white candles. The bookcases and shelving all housed similar legions of candles, all more or less the same size.
    The lemon-coloured walls, picked out with blue florets, reflected the light and shadow thrown by the moving flames of the candles, and for a brief period the walls seemed to lose all solidity, so that instead of being made of brick and plaster they could have been woven from silk.
    Near the centre of the room, angled away from the door was a distinctive antique chair with a shield-shaped back. A chair, again, which was identical to the one in Dora’s room. Candles had been placed along the top of the shield, and were burning very close to the shoulders of the jacket worn by the chair’s occupant.
    As Sam watched, the man rose from the chair and slowly turned to face him. It was Arthur, Dora’s first husband. Sam knew that it couldn’t be Arthur, and that it must be Billy, but the illusion had been wrought with great skill and a total commitment to detail. Sam had studied the photographs of Arthur from Dora’s album, and the figure that now stood before him was indistinguishable in every detail. Even the suit was authentic. Sam remembered wearing a suit like that himself. Something he wouldn’t be seen dead in now.
    Billy took a step forward and Sam saw the knife glint in the white light of the candles. In his other hand was a length of green rope, which he had fashioned with a noose.
    ‘For Christ’s sake, Billy, it’s all over...’ Sam said. He took a step toward Billy to disarm him, but Billy raised the knife and brought it slashing down like a rocket. Sam saw the movement but couldn’t dodge away fast enough. The blade of the knife went into his forearm, just above the wrist. He saw it happen, found himself watching the blade penetrate his skin. And even as he watched it he was aware that the noose of green rope was looping toward his head.
    Realizing that he had postponed his response for too long, Sam brought up his free arm to wave the noose away. He pulled his injured arm free of the knife and made a movement towards Billy’s wrist, hoping to wrest the knife away from him. As they grappled together, the chair in which Billy had been sitting overturned, and the candles ignited a pamphlet that was lying on the carpet. Billy looked down at the flames, and something wild and uncontrolled