Ways to See a Ghost

net of fire-lines above the field. And then they started drifting apart, stretching the glittering net, spreading it across the stars. Wider and wider, the lines getting fainter, until… snap! The net broke into a thousand fading whiplashes, the lights shooting back together into a single point. And out of that point: a burning streak. Straight up into the night. Like a flaming arrow, or a rocket going up, and so bright it etched in my eyes.
    The next second it was gone.
    We were both out of our chairs. Both staring.
    “What…?” said Dad.
    FLASH.
    Light boomed silently over the field. A white-fire storm, a blazing whirlwind. Boiling up out of nothing, making a new sun overhead. It blued up the night, turning it back into day.
    “Is it ball lightning?” I shouted.
    A soundless wind flapped at our clothes, blowing my eyes to a squint.
    “No! Much too big!” Dad’s face was lit up, the happiest I’ve ever seen him. “It’s them! They’re coming!”
    The swirling light-storm opened out, unravelling into streamers, coiling and twisting through the sky. The air shimmered, and wisps of steam blew in from nowhere. Wisps that grew into vapour trails, wrapping and turning around the light. Tighter and tighter, spinning the light inwards, pulling it into a single, glowing sphere. It hung over the valley. Every head of wheat was picked out clear, every leaf on the trees.
    I mean, loads of people made reports that night, from Bristol even.
    Everything went still; you could’ve heard a mouse squeak. I think I stopped breathing. Then the hairs on my arms stood up, just like they were being pulled, and the sun-ball started growing. Bulging and bloating, fading from blinding white, to yellow, to sunset orange.
    “Here, take the camera!” Dad shoved his camcorder at me. He was holding a meter in each hand; they were beeping like crazy.
    I bet you’ve seen the film. It’s on loads of websites, it’s even been on telly a couple of times. The ball of orange light suddenly booms outwards, blasting right past the camera.There’s nothing but colour for a few seconds, then the light starts sucking back, rolling like storm clouds, or water in a river. It rushes away from the lens, pulling together into a bright-glowing coil. The coil unfurls, slowly, like a snake made of light, or a huge tentacle. I wanted to run then, but I didn’t. The light fills the sky above the valley, waving this way and that, and then starts moving. Up and up into the night, until it’s just a faint streak, heading for the stars.
    My dad yells out, “Look at that!” and the camera pans down. In the field, all the wheat’s been flattened into this pattern. Circles inside circles, so many you can’t tell how they all fit together.
    You know.
    After, I could hardly breathe, my heart was going so fast, and my legs were shaking right under me. All the hairs on my arms were singed off, and my skin looked sort of cooked.
    An interesting story, Gray, and yes, I have seen that footage. Now, tell me. What has this got to do with the death of Isis Dunbar?

“Jonathan, I had a brother called Jonathan.”
    A large, sad-faced woman was on her feet. Hands fluttering near her throat, mouth wobbling at the start of tears.
    From her place at the back of the hall, hidden in darkness, Isis watched. Up on the makeshift stage, Cally had her head tilted, ‘listening with her spirit ear’. She always started the show by telling the audience she’d be channelling the spirits, letting them speak through her. Isis hated her saying that; it made Cally sound like a mobile phone for ghosts.
    A single spotlight picked Cally out. Pale and dark-eyed, with gleaming black hair and a shimmering purple dress. She looked exotic, out of place; Cleopatra in a communitycentre. Only Isis could see her mum, hiding beneath the sparkle.
    “Jonathan…” said Cally softly, as if calling him back from some faraway land. She looked down at the woman. “He’s recently departed?”
    The large woman shook her head, just a little.
    “Jonny died five and a half years ago…”
    Cally nodded briskly. “That’s right, he’s saying five and a half years, which is very recent in the spirit world.”
    Isis kept one hand near the switches on the wall, just in case she had to bring the lights up suddenly. Other nights they’d had fainters, or people who couldn’t stop crying. Her left hand was tight on the takings bag. It had £157 inside, which wouldn’t leave much when the hall was