Ways to See a Ghost

the audience. Narrowing her eyes, Isis could see something gripping onto the gilded plasterwork.Hands? Claws? There were definitely eyes, staring down at Philip Syndal.
    He was at the far left of the stage, talking to an elderly woman called Mavis.
    “Edith says George is fine, and he sends his love.” Philip smiled at the white-haired lady, squashed into her wheelchair. She was parked at the end of one of the rows, handbag on her lap.
    “I’ll be seeing them soon, I shouldn’t wonder,” she said cheerfully.
    Philip Syndal looked sideways at nothing, then chuckled.
    “Edith says there’s no rush. Take your time and enjoy the grandchildren.”
    The audience laughed. A few people called out, “Ah bless” and “Sweet”.
    Philip thanked Mavis and walked back to centre stage, turning to the audience. He opened his hands.
    “Now I think the time really has come to draw this seance to a close. Those departed friends who wished to speak have done so, and we are nearing the end of the night…” People groaned in the audience, and Philip shook his head, as if sorry to disappoint them. “There is just one last spirit I want to call on.” He paused. “Julian Chambers.”
    There was a cry at the back of the theatre.
    “Me! That’s me! Oh thank you! I’m here, I’ve been waiting! I need to speak to my Greta, I didn’t say the things I should have…”
    Isis turned, astonished. The shouts were coming from one of the ghosts at the back of the theatre. A short, barely visible man, with straggly grey hair and wearing an old-fashioned corduroy jacket. He rushed forwards, heading to the stage, pushing through the oblivious crowd. People shuddered in their seats, shivering as he passed straight through them. An elderly lady was half-standing up, her hand raised.
    “Here, Greta! I’m here!” the ghost shouted at her, waving his arms, almost jumping with delight. “Just wait another moment and I’ll be speaking to you again, after all these years!”
    On stage, Philip Syndal was staring out into the theatre. He put his fingers to his forehead, slowly, and stayed in pose for a few moments. Then he dropped his hands, shaking his head.
    “I’m sorry. It seems this spirit isn’t with us tonight after all.”
    “No! NO! I
am
here!” the ghost shrieked, wadingdown the slope of the audience. The elderly woman sat back down again, clearly not sure if it had been a mistake, while the ghost looked torn between reaching out to her and continuing his rush to the front.
    Next to Isis, Mandeville was observing the frantic spirit with a pitying yet scornful expression.
    At the front of the theatre, Philip Syndal opened his hands. “So, I think we’ve come to the end of the show.”
    “No! I’m HERE!” screamed the ghost, flinging himself towards the stage and Philip.
    Isis saw a flutter of violet, high up on the ceiling. Shimmering wings pulled back, a grip loosened from the carved plaster. She heard a soundless sigh, like an inward rush of breath, and the something dropped in shifting blue. Straight down, straight for the audience below. A splash of colour landed on the stage. A swirl of violet poured upwards from the puddle, filled with eyes and open mouths, folding itself around Philip Syndal and the ghost right in front of him. The living man didn’t even notice, but the ghost’s pleading to speak with Greta was cut off with a cry.
    There was another soundless sigh, like a breath being exhaled, and violet-blue barely visible wings flapped upwards. Philip Syndal was unharmed, unaffected, but theghost of Julian Chambers was carried away. His head and body were lost in the ooze, only his legs stuck out from the flickering nothing. They kicked weakly as the creature flew back into the air. When it reached the ceiling, it faded into the plaster and disappeared.
    On stage, Philip Syndal smiled, then stepped out of the spotlight. It winked off, and in the same moment all the house lights came up.
    Wild clapping poured around the theatre. People whistled and whooped, crying, “More! More!” Cally was on her feet, clapping madly. Everyone was cheering, except Isis. And the middle-aged woman next to her.
    She was blinking into the light, rubbing her eyes and looking around.
    “Has he started yet?” she asked.
    Her eyes and her tired face were her own again. The ghost who’d been squatting inside her was gone.

I knew it was getting serious when Dad invited them on one of his chasing trips. I mean, he never did that