Ghost of a Dream Read Free Page B

to be an old storm lantern, held high in the hand of a dim figure. JC looked sharply at Happy, who shook his head and mouthed the word
civilian
. The figure came walking slowly down the platform towards them, taking its time, holding the lantern out ahead. The advancing golden glow quickly revealed an old man, in comfortable clothes and sturdy working-man’s shoes. He finally swayed to a halt in front of the Ghost Finders and looked at them. He didn’t give any impression of being particularly impressed. He squared his old shoulders, lowered the storm lantern some, and nodded brusquely.
    “About time you got here,” he said, in a rough, worn-out voice. “Ronald Laurie, representing the Bradleigh Preservation Trust.”
    “Here to help us of his own free will,” murmured Melody. “Try not to frighten him.”
    Ronald Laurie was a tall but stoop-shouldered oldfellow, well into his seventies, in a battered tweed suit of a kind that men of a certain age like to wear when gardening, or doing odd jobs, until their wives decide they can’t stand the sight of it any more and drop it off at a charity shop when their husband’s out and can’t object. Laurie wore a battered cloth cap on a bald head, troubled here and there with a few wispy grey strands. He had a deeply lined face, a pursed mouth, and piercing steel grey eyes. He managed a small smile, for each Ghost Finder in turn, but didn’t offer to shake hands. He still held the lantern high as though to be sure he was spreading the light as far as he could. And he took his time looking the Ghost Finders over, as though he wanted to be sure they were what they appeared to be.
    He’s seen something,
thought JC.
What have you seen, old man?
    “So,” Laurie said finally. “You’re the experts, are you?”
    From the way he said the word, it was clear he didn’t take much assurance from it. In his world, experts were people who came down on orders from the bosses to meddle in things they didn’t understand.
    “That’s us,” said JC as positively as he could. JC was usually the one who got to talk to civilians and put them at their ease, as much as was possible. Happy and Melody didn’t have the knack. Or the inclination. JC offered Laurie his hand, but the old man nodded brusquely again.
    “You took your time getting here,” he said. “It’s late. Getting dark. But then, we’re a long way from anywhere. These days.”
    “We got here as soon as we could,” JC said smoothly.“Hope you haven’t been waiting too long. It was good of you to agree to meet us and help out.”
    “Aye. Well,” said Laurie. “Didn’t seem right to let you just walk into this ungodly mess without at least a warning.”
    “I want to go home,” said Happy. “Right now.”
    “So this is a bad place?” Melody said to the old man. “Nice to have that confirmed. What have you seen here?”
    “This is Melody Chambers, girl scientist and plain speaker,” murmured JC. “That cheerful soul is Happy Jack Palmer, professional worrier. Don’t get too close or try to feed him. And I am JC. I lead this team, for my many sins. Let us all play nicely together, people. We’ve a lot to discuss and not much time before night falls. It would help us a great deal, Mr. Laurie, if you could fill us in on exactly what’s been happening here. We do have official reports, but we prefer to get our information from first-hand sources, wherever possible. From people who’ve actually experienced the events in question. Whatever they may be.”
    “Details,” said Melody. “We want details.”
    “And you can leave the rumours and gossip at home,” said Happy.
    “Hush, children,” said JC. “Daddy’s working.”
    “Who are you people?” said Laurie, looking back and forth between them. “All I was told was to expect some experts. Are you with British Rail?”
    “Not in any way, shape, or form,” said JC. “We are all experts in the field of unnatural situations. We investigate bad places,