Ways to See a Ghost

Society was part of it all too. I mean, Norman Welkin dying was what got us all together in the first place. Dad had said there was some fighting going on in the society, that Norman had been suspicious about some of the other people in it. And I bet he’d meant Philip.
    He was covered in ice, like frost.
That’s what Isis had said, afterwards in the pub. I’d thought she was being over the top, back then.
    I ran to Dad’s computer and switched it on. As soon as it was online, the instant messenger started blinking. There he was, like always. Stu the Keeper, ready for a chat.
    I clicked on the chat box and started typing.
    Hi Stu. Just wanted to ask a question about Norman Welkin’s death.
    Blink blink.
Then a reply straight away.
    Hi Gil. Your latest totty let you have a bit of time off then? You tired her out?
    Ha ha.
    “Yuk,” I said, looking at the screen. But Stu was probably going to tell more if he thought he was talking to Dad, so I typed.
    Yes, ha ha.
    Which was the best I could do without actually being sick. Then I typed:
    Have you got any more on Norman
    Welkin? Cause of death?
    Blink blink.
    Do you ever read anything I send you,
    Gil? I emailed the coroner’s report last week.·
    Blink blink.

    Fancy another Doctor Who night some time?
    I didn’t bother to answer, and I don’t care if Dad falls out with Stu. Instead I opened up Dad’s email and typed in his password, which he doesn’t know I’ve worked out, but it was easy to break because he uses my name and birthday for everything.
    Anyway, I scrolled through Dad’s emails and there it was: one from Stu saying ‘NWelkin coroner’s report – we were right!’ Dad hadn’t even looked at it. I opened it up, and started reading. It took a bit to understand it, but I found a line that read ‘cause of death’ and next to it, ‘hypothermia’.
    Norman Welkin didn’t have a heart attack at all, he’d frozen to death.
    On a sunny day in March. I remember, I wasn’t even wearing a coat. He couldn’t have got frozen going for a walk in his garden.
    Except I knew he could. Because I’d got caught in that freezing blue, shivering so hard I couldn’t speak, my hands going numb. And all on a boiling hot day in the shopping centre. The ghost-eater, the Devourer, it was as cold as deep space. If me and Isis had been caught for any longer, we probably would’ve frozen too.
    Isis had tried to tell me something, back when Dad and Cally were fighting – the reason she wouldn’t tell her mum what was really going on. She’d never finished telling me, but now I was sure what it was. I felt like my heart stopped.
    Philip Syndal had used the ghost-eater to kill Norman Welkin, and he was going to use it to kill Isis if she didn’t do what he wanted.
    I sat at the computer, still as a statue.
    Isis was out there with a murderer. I was the only one who knew, and I was fifty miles away.
    You need to hurry, Gray. We haven’t got much more time. I expect a few staff are already starting to wonder about the doctor they’d never seen before, the one who took you away from your treatment room.
    I can’t risk getting caught, because if they find out I’ve gone personal again, they’ll make me forget all about her. And I can’t bear that, not when all I’ve got left is memories.

Philip Syndal dropped the members of the Welkin Society into a trance as quickly and easily as he’d hypnotised Cally. He led them down the rustling tramlines, deep into the wheat, then asked them to push out into the rough stands of the crop, taking up positions in a straggly circle. Isis followed them, taking her place five or so metres from Cally. She didn’t want to do anything that might spark an argument, and so give Philip more ammunition against Cally.
    “Ian,” Philip called, “can you move a pace to your right? Jean, just come forwards a step or two.”
    As if any of it mattered
, thought Isis. This was just another trick, like the ones he used at the theatre. She checked the distant hedgerows, which looked like dark walls under thefading-gold sky. There was no sign of anything. Not yet.
    “Now,” said Philip, “shall we start our meditation?” Isis saw his eyes glitter as he looked her way. “You too, Isis. Just shut your eyes and do what I tell you.”
    Close your eyes.
    Words, half-remembered from a non-existent memory, forced her lids shut. Philip Syndal started talking, a soothing murmur that quickly lulled the others into quiet, then sleep. After a