Haunted: A Lockwood & Co Story

Chapter Five: Jessica Lockwood

To protect their clients' sanity, and Charlotte's own peace and quiet, the skull in the ghost-jar ordinarily resided in a remote corner of the basement office, concealed beneath a tea cosy. The tea cosy had been sent by the only person who knew her whereabouts from back home. Felicity's mum. Chrissy, had sent her the tea cosy for her birthday, and now it covered the nuisance that was in the jar. Occasionally it was brought up to the living room and the lever in its lid opened, so that it could communicate eerie secrets of the dead - or exchange childish insults with Charlotte, whichever it felt like doing. It so happened that it was sitting on the sideboard late that afternoon, when Charlotte came in to gather equipment for the evening.

As arranged earlier, they were splitting forces. George had already departed for the Whitechapel public toilets in search for the reported Shade. Lockwood was readying himself for his expedition in search of the veiled woman. Charlotte's visit had been cancelled. She'd just been gearing up for the block of flats when she'd had a call from her client, postponing the visit due to illness. That meant she had a swift choice: stay home and do the ironing or accompany Lockwood. One could probably guess which one she chose.

Charlotte gathered her rapier from where it had been chucked the night before, and also a few scattered salt bombs that had been dumped beside the sofa. As she made for the door, a hoarse voice spoke from the shadows. "Charlie! Charlie..."

"What now?" With the onset of evening, dim flecks were swirling in the glass. The hunched mass of the battered skull faded from view. The flecks congealed to form a malicious face, glowing green and soft in the darkness.

"Off out?" the ghost said agreeably. "I'll come along."

"No you won't. You're staying here."

"Oh, do a skull a favour. I'll get bored."

"So dematerialise. Rotate. Turn inside out. Stick around and enjoy the view. Do whatever it is ghosts do. I'm sure you can find ways to amuse yourself." Charlotte turned to go.

"Enjoy this view? In this hellhole?" The face swivelled in the jar, the tip of its nose dragging against the inside of the glass. "I've been in mortuaries with better standards of housekeeping. I wish I didn't have to see the squalor I'm surrounded by."

Charlotte paused with her hand on the door. "I could help you with that. I could bury you in a hole and solve your problem altogether."

Not that she was truly likely to do this. Of all the Visitors they'd encountered - of all the Visitors anyone had encountered in recent times - the skull was the only one capable of true communication. Other ghosts could moan, knock and utter snippets of coherent sound; and agents such as Charlotte, who were skilled at psychic Listening, were able to detect them. But that was a long way from the skulls ability to engage in proper sustained conversation. It was a Type Three Visitor, and very rare - which was why, despite great provocation, they hadn't lobbed it into the bin.

The ghost snorted. "Burying requires digging, and digging requires work. And that's plainly something none of you are capable of. Let me guess... I bet its Whitechapel again tonight. Those dark streets... those winding alleys... take me! You need a companion."

"Yep." Charlotte said. "And I'm going with Lockwood." In fact she had to hurry. Charlotte could hear him putting his coat on in the hall.

"Ah-ha... Are you? Oh I see. Better leave you to it then."

"Right. Good." Charlotte paused. "Meaning what?"

"Nothing, nothing." The evil eyes winked at the girl. "I'm no third wheel. Best to leave that job to Karim."