Haunted: A Lockwood & Co Story

Chapter Two: Ghosts and interesting decor

So there Charlotte stood with Lockwood and George on the first-floor landing of the boarding house. All of a sudden it was very cold. All of a sudden, she could hear things.

"Don't suppose there's any point trying to break down the door." George said.

"No point at all..." Lockwood's voice had that far-off, absent quality that it gets when he's using his sight. Sight, Listening and Touch: they're the main kinds of psychic Talent. Lockwood had the sharpest eyes of the three of them, and Charlotte was best at Listening and Touch. George is an all-rounder. He's mediocre at all three.

Charlotte had her finger on the light switch on the wall beside her, but she didn't flick it on. Darkness stokes the psychic senses. Fear keeps your Talent keen.

They listened. They looked.

"I don't see anything yet." Lockwood said. "Char?"

"I'm getting voices. Whispered voices." it sounded like a crowd of people, all speaking over one other with the utmost urgency, yet so faint it was impossible to understand a thing.

"What does your friend in the jar say?"

"It's not my friend." Charlotte prodded the rucksack. "Skull?"

There's ghosts up here. Lots of them. So... now do you accept that you should've stabbed the old codger when you had the chance? If you'd listened to me you wouldn't be in this mess now, would you?"

"We're not in a mess!" Charlotte snapped. "And by the way, we can't just stab a suspect! I keep telling you this! We didn't even know they were guilty then!"

Lockwood cleared his throat meaningfully. Sometimes, Charlotte forgot the others couldn't hear the ghost's half of the conversation.

"Sorry." She said. "It's just being annoying, as per usual. Says there's a lot of ghosts."
The luminous display on George's thermometer flashed briefly in the dark. "Temp update." He said. "It's dropped five degrees since the foot of the stairs."
"Yes. That fire door acts as a barrier." The pencil-beam of Lockwood's torch speared downwards, and picked out the ridged grey surface of the door. "Look, it's got iron bands on it. That keeps our nice little old couple safe in their living quarters on the ground floor. But anyone who rents a room up here falls victim to something lurking in the dark..."

He turned the torch beam wide and circled it slowly around them. They were standing just below a poky landing - neat enough, but cheaply furnished with purple curtains and an old cream carpet. Several numbered plywood doors gleamed dully in the shadows. A few dog-eared magazines lay in a pile on an ugly bureau, near where a further flight of stairs led to the second floor. It was supernaturally cold, and there was ghost-fog stirring. Faint wreaths of pale green mist were rising from the carpet and winding slowly around their ankles. The torch began to flicker, as if it's (fresh) batteries were failing and would soon wink out altogether. A feeling of unquantifiable dread deepened in Charlotte. She shivered. Something wicked was very close.

Lockwood adjusted his gloves. His face glowed in the torchlight, his dark eyes shone. As always, peril suited him.
"All right." He said softly. "Listen to me. We keep calm, we sort whatever's up here, then we find a way to tackle Evans. George, rig up an iron circle here. Charlotte, see what else the skull has to say. I'll check out the nearest room."
With that he listed his rapier, pushed open a door and disappeared inside, long coat swirling behind him.
They got to work. George took out a lantern and set it on low; by it's light, he busied himself with the iron chains, creating a decent circle in the centre of the carpet. Charlotte opened her rucksack and - with some difficulty - took out the large, faintly luminous glass jar. Its top was secured by a complex plastic seal and inside it, floating in green liquid, was a leering face. And it wasn't nicely leering. This was more the kind you get behind bars in a high-security prison. It was the face of a ghost tied to the skull that rested in the jar. It was godless and disreputable and had no known name.
She glared at it. "Are you going to be sensible now?"