Haunted: A Lockwood & Co Story

Chapter Eighteen: The Bone Glass

Charlotte stood frozen, rigid with panic. The knife tip prodded her gently.

"Quickly, now. I get jumpy when I'm cross. My hand slips. Do as I say."

Charlotte unclipped her belt, and let it and her rapier drop to the floor.

"Now walk back across to Kipps. Don't try anything. I will be right behind you.

Slowly, stiffly, Charlotte obeyed. In its circle, the hooded phantom moved closer to the iron. She saw the grinning mouth, its snaggle teeth; its hungry eagerness crackled through the room.

Kipps was gazing bleakly at her from his chair. "Yes, this is just about the efficiency I'd expect from Lockwood and Co." He said. "What next? Lockwood comes in, trips over, and impales himself on his sword?"

Pamela Joplin said, "Stand next to Kipps, put your hands against the back of the chair. Wrists together. Now, I have one more piece of cord which- no- you do what you're told!"

Charlotte had tried to turn; the knife jabbed into her, making her cry out in pain.
"That's better." Joplin said. With a series of quick movements, she bound Charlotte's hands to the chair. Charlotte stood beside Kipps, neck stinging, as Joplin walked away.

She looked as crumpled as ever, her jacket laced with grave-dust, her hair a storm-tossed crow's-nest. She was circling back to George. There was a short, stubby knife in one hand; and in the other a notebook. A pen was tucked behind one ear. She hummed softly to herself. When she glanced back, Charlotte saw that her nose was red and swollen-looking and he had a bruise on his chin.

But it was her eyes that really shocked Charlotte. They were dark and sunken, the pupils very wide. She seemed to be staring intently at something far away. Her head was cocked, as if listening.

In it's circle, the Bickerstaff ghost swayed from side to side.

"Yes, yes... in a moment." Joplin talked absently as if to herself. When she got to George, she bent down and squinted towards the shrouded mirror, perhaps comparing heights. What she saw seemed to satisfy her. Joplin straightened and slapped George sharply twice around the face. George gave a croak and stared wildly all around.

"That's it, my boy. Time to wake up." Joplin patted his shoulder. Taking her pen from her ear, Joplin made a mark in her notebook. "We must make haste with our experiment, as agreed.

Kipps uttered an oath. "Agreement my foot." he muttered. "I don't know what Karim thought he was up to coming here in the first place, but they had some sort of argument in the church upstairs. One minute they were talking; then, all at once they were coming to blows." He shook his head. "It was pathetic. The worst fight ever. They knocked each other's glasses off, and spent half the time crawling around trying to find them. I'm surprised they didn't pull each others hair."

"And you didn't go to help George?" Charlotte said icily. She pulled at her cords. They were so tight; she could scarcely move her hands.

"To my lasting regret, I did. I'm sorry to say Joplin put that knife to Karim's throat and forced me to throw down my rapier. When we got down to the catacombs, Karim tried to escape, and was knocked out for his trouble. Joplin's been setting up this ridiculous contraption for the last half-hour. She's out of her mind."

"Yes, she is. More than you know."

One glance at the mirror, and George had been affected; one brief moment of exposure to Bickerstaff's ghost, and it's influence had remained. But how long had Joplin been exposed to it since then - how many nights had she been near the body in the chapel, with the ghost's silent, baleful energies directed upon her? She probably couldn't even see the phantom clearly. She probably didn't know what it was doing to her.