Just for a change...a reprint

This story first appeared on The Dark Krypt webzine in 2003.

Afterlife
by Debbie Moorhouse

When the phone rang, I continued to lie still for a few moments, arms folded on my breast, before I answered.

"How's yourself, Clem?" Tam bellowed down the line. He could stand five yards away from the receiver, and still be heard.

"I was trying to sleep."

"Any luck with that?"

"Not so far." I rolled over, keeping the phone at arm's length.

"It's a favour," his foghorn voice said next. "Can you?"

"What?"

"These fools from the college. Expecting me to run my gear at this haunted house in the middle of nowhere. It's the wife wants me to spend Christmas with the family, as well as Hogmanay." He coughed loudly. The harsh sounds hurt my ear. "I can't be arsed, to tell you true."

"Won't they--" I said.

"Don't worry." He coughed again. "They're only hoping to get some kind of electronic signature of a ghost. I told them they were setting their sights a bit low there." His laugh was even harsher than his cough.

"Will they?"

"Oh aye, with my gear, no worries. Any bugger can win with it." There was a moment's pause, and only then could I hear the tinny carol playing in the background. Had it come round to Christmas again already? "All the gear's in place, just needs setting up. Piece of cake."

"How do I get to this...house?"

"Last train'll do you, if you hurry. Someone'll meet you." The carol might have been Away in a Manger. A piece of electronics no bigger than a button is not a musical instrument, I might observe.

Tam made an impatient sound. "Well, will you?"

"What are these people like?"

"All they are, is scientists. You've nothing to fear."

#

The train was packed. I managed to secure myself a seat between a large drunk and a window onto darkness. The drunk kept looking at me as if he wasn't sure I was really there. I kept my hands tightly clasped in my lap. I was puzzled by Tam's asking me to do this little job for him. Not by him deciding he couldn't be bothered doing it himself - no surprises there. He had moments of childlike enthusiasm widely separated by long periods of indolence. But why me?

I looked at my reflection in the window glass: pale skinned, with the collar of my black coat turned up to cover as much of my face as possible, an old- fashioned haircut, and the faraway stare. Probably there was no-one else available, with it being Christmas.

Hadn't it occurred to him I might have mixed feelings about what he was asking me to do?

In the aisle, standing passengers swayed easily to and fro with the rhythm of the train. The clickety-clack that should have punctuated their movements had been replaced by a dull scraping whine. I was going to miss my home, with its preserved steam trains and girls on horseback. I huddled deeper into my coat.

#

There was no-one to meet me at the station and no-one to ask for directions. The station itself was little more than a bleak platform and a footbridge. A few tubs of earth were dotted here and there. The night was cold and clear, and the sound of my footsteps seemed to carry. I left the platform. A badly-lit road stretched both left and right. I got out the piece of paper on which I'd noted the details Tam had given me. As I unfolded it, snowflakes began to fall all around me.

Once I'd have thrilled at the thought of a lamp-lit snowy night. Tonight the off-color glow of the streetlamps was impossible to read by. I tucked the piece of paper away again, and weighed up the options. Left, right? I chose left, and began walking.

I heard the car coming some time before it was upon me. It seemed to be traveling recklessly fast, but then vehicles these days always seem far too swift to me. I stood aside to let it pass. Instead, it braked, gliding to a halt over the snow, wheels locked. I watched. The driver's door opened.

"Want a lift?" a woman's voice called. "Where are you headed?" Seeing no reason to shout, I walked over to her before replying. She blinked snow out of her eyes as she looked up at me, then added, "You must be frozen."

"Thank you, no." I shook myself to remove the snow that had settled on my head and shoulders.

"It's no trouble."

"We seem to be at a misunderstanding." I smiled. "I am not frozen, thank you, but I would like a lift."

"Okay." She was frowning, as people often did when in conversation with me.

"I need to go to Montague House. Would that perhaps be where you are going? "

"It is." Now she was speaking more slowly, looking very puzzled. "But I can't imagine why you'd be going there. On a night like this. Or any night." She laughed, suddenly. "Not sure why I'm going, to tell you the truth." She jerked her head towards the other side of the car, and began pulling her door shut. "Get in."

#

"Put your seatbelt on." She had barely let me get the door closed before setting off again. The car moved almost noiselessly over the snow-strewn road. The flakes that had settled on my coat began to melt. She smiled at me.

"Dr Claudia Blake."

"I am Clement Porter. Very pleased to make your acquaintance." There was a pause in which she seemed to be assimilating my name. Some people laugh. She had a nice laugh; I wouldn't have minded hearing it again. Instead, she reached out and wiped the windscreen with her sleeve.

"Why are you going to Montague House?" she said, then. "You're not one of us, one of the..." She seemed to feel she'd said something wrong, because she trailed into silence.

"Tam asked me to take his place." To my surprise, she hit the steering wheel at this point. The car lurched.

"I knew that Scots git would let us down!"

"I am perfectly competent," I said.

"All those promises, all those lies! This is our last chance to get anything, the damn place comes down in January!" Perhaps she heard my sharp intake of breath, because she made an attempt to get control of herself. " Sorry, but I kept telling them, and they'd say, oh it'll be all right, don't worry. Bah!"

"They will not go away."

"What?" She glanced quickly at me.

"The ghosts will not go away, just because the building is destroyed. Why should they?"

"Well, if the theory about ghosts being impressions on buildings is correct- -"

"But as it isn't?" I caught her eye when she glanced at me again. Her mouth quirked into a slightly patronizing smile.

"You're the expert, huh?"

"You might say I have some firsthand knowledge of the subject."

"Oh, don't tell me," she said, laughing. "When we finally reach Montague House, you'll have mysteriously disappeared. Vanishing Hitchhiker-style."

"I wish I could," I said.

#

Tam had been correct about his gear being in place, if you took "place" to be the entrance hall. I wanted to be angry with him, but, as usual, my feelings were as dull and gray as my surroundings appeared. Everything was in boxes, neatly labeled. And what else did I have to do anyway? It didn't seem to me as if Tam had had any intention of turning up.

Claudia took off her coat and shook it, hard.

"I'm freezing," she said. "Want some coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Sure?"

"I am quite sure, thank you."

"There's no need to start now," she said, watching me pick up the nearest box.

"I may as well." I looked down at the box's label. "Where is the library?"

"Beats me." She walked over and took the box from me. I imagine she meant to set it gently back on the floor, but it was far heavier than she expected. It dragged her down and landed with a thump on her foot. She pulled a face. " Ow." Hastily, I pushed the box aside. She smiled ruefully at me. "You're stronger than you look."

Then, all in a moment, the expression on her face changed again, to one of wonder and surprise. She was looking directly over my shoulder. Slowly, I turned. And there, in the hall, almost but not quite transparent, was the ghost of a young girl. She was wholly unaware of our presence. Her mouth open in a laugh, she ran round in small circles, her hand held out, as if playing with an invisible companion, one shorter than herself. A dog, perhaps, which existed only for her. Some spirits are more imaginative than others.

"An impression on a building?" I said. The little girl was perfect in every detail, down to the roses in her hat.

"It's a theory which is gaining credibility." To my surprise, she pushed past me, went over to the girl, and endeavored to attract her attention. She had no success. The girl ran through her as gaily as before. "If it had a conscious existence--"

"She doesn't see you; you're not there. Not everyone would see her." Even as the little girl faded out of existence, a few rose petals fell from her hat to the floor.

#

The next morning, I found Claudia in the library, staring out across a vast expanse of white.

"They're not coming," she said, turning her head momentarily in my direction. She was hugging herself tightly. "So it's just thee and me. Merry Christmas ."

"The snow?"

"The snow." She sighed. "So much for my plans."

"Why do you want to do this anyway?" I joined her at the window, and looked out. There were several animal tracks in the snow. One set seemed to be those of a small dog.

"There's so much rubbish talked about ghosts. It's obvious to me they have some kind of objective existence." Slowly, she shook her head from side to side. "Not to others."

"Stables?" I pointed in the direction of a long, low building with two blocks separated by an arch in which was set a clock, stopped at eight fifteen. I used to be fond of horses; the feeling was almost still there, but it was as if I were separated from it by an impenetrable bank of fog. Impossibly distanced.

"Your friend Tam seemed very keen on the idea that a ghost could be brought back into the material world. At one time." I let my hand drop back to my side. Obviously she wasn't to be distracted. I wondered if the snow had the crisp, cold smell I remembered.

"He has these fits of enthusiasm." I moved my hands so that they gripped the lapels of my coat. I was still staring out. "They pass."

Claudia turned away from the window, and rubbed her hands together, hunching her shoulders as if she were cold. There was a look of determination about her .

"How long will it take you to get set up?" she said.

"Everything is prepared."

"Already?" She glanced sharply at me. "You must have worked all night."

"I had nothing else to do."

"So if and when the ghost reappears...?"

"You'll be able to make measurements of any electro-magnetic radiation that's produced, yes." I looked up, to see if icicles had formed along the top of the window, but there were none. Breaking icicles used to be one of the joys of winter for me, as a boy, and the resulting chilblains one of the pains. Later in life I learnt to take better care of my hands.

"Tam's already done this, hasn't he?" Claudia said. "I wonder why he never published."

"Maybe he lost interest." Slowly, I turned away and looked across the empty, dusty library, with its bare and sagging shelves. "Or maybe the results weren't what he expected."

#

After giving Claudia a brief overview of the equipment, I left her staring at the needles trembling in their dials, and the ever-redrawing shaky green lines, and went out to the stable buildings. They were in even worse condition than the house, with missing roof tiles and rotten timbers. Barely a wisp of straw remained to show that the place had ever been used for its intended purpose. One of the stalls still held a remnant. It tossed its head and pulled energetically at a long-decayed hay rack. To me it appeared dark gray, almost black. A fine head, with some Arab blood, strong shoulders, a long, slightly hollow back...a pleasure to the eye, or it would have been, once.

I watched in silence for a long time. Had my presence triggered the apparition? Had I made the little girl appear? Or was Claudia the catalyst, or did these spirits endlessly play out small portions of their lives, whether anyone saw them or not? I had little knowledge of how a ghost's life conducted itself, relative to the observer.

A more violent passion than any I had felt in years took hold of me. Here was the horse, there, in the house, was Tam's equipment--what was to stop me bringing the horse back to some semblance of life? At least then I would have a companion. Surely a horse's spirit wouldn't suffer from being brought out of the shadows? Or not much, anyway, how much could a horse really feel? I looked at the spirited head, at the sensitive nostrils dilating at the phantom scent of hay. Temptation, I remember thee, oh my enemy. I swallowed, dryly, hard.

"Fascinating," Claudia said, from just behind me. Absorbed in the horse, I hadn't heard her approach. "The meters said something was out here." She laughed, insincerely. "I wondered if it was you."

"Not I."

"You've been very meticulous, setting up." She came to stand beside me. " This place must be crawling with ghosts."

"They'll always be here for you to study. If you must."

"Why are you helping me, if you're opposed to what I'm doing?" She clapped her hands sharply together. The horse did not shy. She walked over to it; I followed. Her hand went right through its neck. "Hard to tell if there's any change in temperature, isn't it?"

"I have little will of my own."

"I've got loads of data to crunch," she said, shifting position, trying to insert herself into the horse's field of vision. "I need to work out why this doesn't appear on the tape. What the eye can see, a camera should see. A blur, streaks, that's all."

"The eye refines what's there."

"A ghost sighting is partially constructed in the vision centers of the brain? Perhaps." She gave up on the horse, which was fading. "I wish I had my team. What's a little snow?" Impatiently, she brushed hair out of her eyes. "This is so exciting! Do you think I should ask the girl her name, next time she appears? Like in the stories?"

"I think you should leave her alone," I said.

#

We walked back to the house together. Claudia seemed glad of my company; perhaps her desertion by her fellows had left her feeling isolated. I was glad I had overcome the temptation held out by the horse. Every step which took us further from the stables also seemed to take me away from that unusual surge of desire. Still, to run my hand over a horse's firm, warm flank again, to ride again...I had given all that up in pursuit of my career. My unexpectedly short career.

We entered the house through the French windows, finding ourselves in the dining room. One of the few rooms which still held furniture--a grand pianoforte, standing dusty and ageing in one corner. Claudia half-ran over to it, and began trying to pick out a scale. I had already seen it, during my night's work. It was badly out of tune.

Music was my life, was to have been my life. Music had drawn Tam to me, and my inability to embrace it again had, perhaps, driven him away. Or perhaps his childlike fascination with me would in any case have quickly died. The sounds Claudia was producing were painful. More painful, however, much more numbing to the soul, was the fact that I would never play again. The passion, the heart, had gone out of me. All that remained was a shell that went through some of the mechanical motions of existing.

"I wish I'd had more lessons," Claudia said.

The little girl ran noiselessly into the room and began to dance, holding the hem of her skirt up off the floor in both hands. Claudia let her hands just rest on the piano's discolored keys.

The girl continued dancing to her own music.

"She's happy," I said. "Why not let her be?"

"What about other ghosts, ones that aren't happy? That are in torment?"

"Who are you to know you will make things better?"

"That'd be a good reason not to do anything." The piano made even more discordant sounds as she used the keyboard to push herself back to her feet.

"It's a good reason not to do this thing. These are people you're dealing with--"

"And horses." She smirked.

"Would you kill a person to make yourself a ghost to study?"

"That's hardly the same."

"What you want to do is wrong." I felt helpless in the face of her self- confidence, her certainty in the course she was following, so different from Tam's butterfly approach. If I killed her...my hands clenched momentarily into fists. No, even if I could bring myself to such a monstrous act, there would be others. You can't stop progress, I have been told.

I walked over to the little girl, and held my hand out to her. She took it, her touch as light as a feather, and curtseyed to me.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Copyright 2003 Debbie Moorhouse