Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“Okay, okay.” Matt retreated, staying near the bottom of the stairs.

Ryan wiped a hand over his face, breathing deeply. Pete touched his shoulder. “It’s all right. They’ll

be here soon.”

With Matt at the bottom of the stairs, speaking to 999 on the phone, Ryan and Pete stayed with

Ginger. They had to all work together, answering the questions Matt was being asked by the operator.

“Why isn’t the reception working?” Pete frowned in confusion. He checked his own mobile. “My

phone won’t work either.”

“Mine too.” Ryan said.

“Ambulance on its way,” Matt called up the stairs. “They want me to stay on the line.”

“Okay!” Ryan called back. Please, God, he thought to himself. Please, please, please. Ryan

squeezed Ginger’s hand, which felt limp and cold.

“Oh, hang on,” Matt said, then shouted up, “What about Fizz? They want to know if anyone else, er,

needs assistance?”

Pete looked at him, but Ryan couldn’t meet his eyes.

“He...um...”

“Hello?” a small voice called from behind the door.

Pete glanced at the pigeon loft. “Fizz? That you?”

“Can somebody help me, please?”

Ryan grabbed his arm as Pete went to move. “Pete, no. Leave him in there.”

“What?” Pete frowned at him. “What’s wrong? Rachel said he was ill or something? He hasn’t

collapsed as well, has he?”

“No, but...” Ryan’s words faltered. How could he possibly tell his boss about Fizz acting weird, and

rooms full of blood, and strange men in uniform? Pete would think he’d lost his mind.

“Guys?” Matt called again. “Should I tell them?”

“Well, yeah, if he’s ill too,” Pete called back. “Hang on, I’ll check.”

“Shit.” Ryan gripped onto Ginger’s body, as Pete stood up and opened the door to the pigeon loft.

The darkness and the tilting floorboards had mysteriously vanished. It was all as it normally looked.

Ryan stared, not quite believing his eyes.

“Fizz?” Pete stepped inside.

“In here,” the small voice called. “Please...”

“Pete,” Ryan tried again. “Don’t.”

“I can’t ignore him, Ryan,” Pete said. “This mess is all my responsibility, don’t forget.” He went in,

walking down the hall, and turned to Fizz’s room. “Fizz?”

Ryan held his breath, and watched Pete disappear from view as he went into Fizz’s room. Ryan

strained his ears, but he couldn’t hear anything. “Pete?”

No answer.

“Pete!”

“Ryan?” Matt called. “What’s going on? The lady on the phone wants to know about Fizz.”

“Shit,” Ryan muttered. What the hell was going on? “Matt, come up here.”

“What?” Matt walked up the stairs. “But the phone goes all crackly up here.” He held it away from

his ear as he stared at it. Ryan could hear the static blast from the ear piece.

“Never mind that. Go check on Pete, but don’t go in the room. Just tell me what he’s doing?”

Matt turned worried eyes to the pigeon loft. “Uh...okay.” He left the phone on the bannister, and

carefully stepped over Ginger’s legs.

“Just tell me what’s happening,” Ryan said again. “Don’t go in there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt muttered. “I heard you the first time.” He crossed the threshold and crept along

the hall. Ryan watched him. Matt cautiously peeked around the open door to Fizz’s room, then started

backwards. Ryan’s breath froze as Matt hurried toward him, a look of shock on his face.

“Matt, what –”

The door swung in. Ryan saw Matt’s face as he almost reached it, and the stark look in his eyes

before it slammed shut.

“Matt!” Ryan scrambled up, pulling at the doorknob in vain.

“Ryan!” Matt shouted from inside. “Ryan, open up!”

“It opens in. Shit. Look, uh, you pull on the door, I’m going to kick it, all right?”

“Okay.” Matt’s voice hitched in panic. The doorknob rattled, and Ryan could see the wood straining

as Matt pulled from the inside. Ryan leaned back on the bannister with his hands, hoping it would take

his weight. He raised one foot, aimed it where the wood of the door would be weakest, and kicked

hard.

The door stood fast. Pain rippled up his leg. “Fuck,” he ground out, hobbling back to the ground.

“Ryan?” The doorknob rattled. “Shit, don’t leave me in here. Pete’s collapsed in that room, and –

and Fizz–”

The words cut off.

“M-Matt?” Ryan pushed against the door but it was useless. That rickety old thing should have

swung free with a gentle nudge, but it felt as solid as metal. Something wasn’t right.

“Ryyaan.” Matt’s voice urged him to hurry. “Something really fucking weird is going on here!”

“What?” Ryan asked through the door. “What is it?”

“The bloody floor is moving! Shit, help me!”

“Hang on!” Ryan moved away, jumped over Ginger’s body, and ran up the three steps to the next

hall. The kitchen was the first room. He stood in the doorway, eyes darting about in panic. There had

to be something he could break down a door with? Pots, pans, knives... A rolling pin? Then Ryan

remembered Ginger’s aborted DIY attempt in the bathroom. To get at the floorboards and the pipes

below, he’s brought up the half-axe from the basement.

Yes!

Ryan ran to the bathroom. The axe was there, leaning against the wall, abandoned along with the

broken floorboards. Ryan stooped and picked it up, testing the weight in his hands. The blade wasn’t

new, but it was sharp enough.

“Ryan!” Matt yelled. “RYAN!”

Ryan ran back down the hall. He slowed to step carefully over Ginger, sparing him a glance.

Nothing had changed; he lay still on the floor, seemingly asleep. Ryan shook his head. He had to

focus. He had to get Matt out of the pigeon loft.

“Stand back!” he shouted. “I’ve got the axe!”

“Bloody hell,” Matt’s voice wavered. “Well, hurry up! I’m slipping, the floor’s tilting, and I can’t

hold on! I don’t want to go in that other room!”

“Okay, I’m going to aim here.” Ryan knocked on the top left panel with his hand, then he gripped

the axe. “Stand back.”

Here goes, he thought. Maybe he could imagine whatever bad thing hounding them was the door.

That was bound to make him hit harder. Ryan swung the axe, bringing it down on the door. He

expected it to lodge in the wood at least; the door was old, the wood soft. But the axe simply bounced

off as if the wood were made of rubber. Ryan gasped as he lost his grip on the axe. It flew out of his

hands, and he spun on the spot, trying to grab it back.

Ginger was below him. In one split second, Ryan’s mind fretted over the probability of the axe

falling on Ginger, blood spurting everywhere.

No!

Ryan wouldn’t let that happen. He pushed himself forward, trying to clasp the axe in mid-air. It just

missed his fingers, but he managed to push it higher in the air, aiming it toward the stairs, where it

wouldn’t hurt anyone.

The axe arched safely over Ginger. But in his desperate lunge forward, leaping over Ginger’s body,

Ryan hadn’t thought of the stairs. He tripped down three of them, then managed to grab onto the

bannister. His arm twisted as he fell hard against the wood, legs sprawled. Ryan grunted in pain. The

axe sailed down the stairs, and Ryan expected it to clatter into the lower stairwell.

Thank God no one was –

A figure appeared. Ryan stared, heart in his throat. Who had he thrown the axe at? He tried to call

out, but the axe had already fallen. The man waiting there caught it perfectly by its handle. Ryan

blinked in open mouthed amazement. It was that man again, in the military uniform. Ryan’s grip on

the bannisters loosened, body aching from his fall. He barely noticed. He watched the man flip the axe

in his hand, raise an eyebrow, then pull his arm back. He nodded once at Ryan.

Sensing what to do, Ryan shouted to the pigeon loft, “Matt! Keep away from the –”

The axe whistled over his head. Ryan was too slow to see it hitting the door, but he heard the BANG

that blasted through the hall like a gunshot. The door swung open.

“Matt!” Ryan called, crawling up to the landing.

Matt was in the hall of the pigeon loft, which wasn’t dark or moving any more. He leant against the

windows, gripping onto a windowsill like his life depended on it. Matt blinked, and looked around him

as if confused, then he lunged forward, bursting onto the stairwell.

“Holy, bloody, mother-fucking GOD!” he shouted, pulling the door shut behind him. “That place is

fucking nuts!”

Ryan sighed in relief. “Matt. You’re okay.”

“But what about Pete?” Matt looked at him, his eyes wide. “He was on the floor! Lying there. Fizz

was...Fizz was, like, standing there, waiting for me. What’s he playing at? He’s turned psycho!”

“It’s...I don’t think it’s him,” Ryan said. He glanced back down the stairs, but the strange man had

vanished. “Matt, do you remember when we went in the pigeon loft that night? You, me, and Sammy,

with the spray paint? Remember we heard those...weird noises? And we all ran off scared.”

“Yeah, but...we were drunk.”

Ryan let out a humourless laugh. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sober right now,

and I’ve seen some weird shit.”

Matt nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay. So what the fuck do we do?”

“Sheila and Ash have gone to get a girl called Beth. I don’t know what’s going on here, but Sheila

seemed to know.”

“Sheila? The red-head? And Beth, the blonde girl?”

“Yeah.”

“But what can they do?”

“I don’t know!” Ryan snapped. “I don’t know what’s going on, okay? We never should have put

Fizz in the stupid bloody room.”

“Ryan?” Sammy’s voice called up the stairs. “Ambulance is here.”

Chapter Eighteen

Two paramedics, a man and a woman, hurried up the stairs. Their green uniform was a welcome

sight, but Ryan honestly wasn’t sure what they could do here. Everything that had just happened

whirled around in his head, and all the answers pointed to weird shit, unexplainable apparitions, and

things he couldn’t see.

What could anyone do against all that?

Sammy was right behind the paramedics, peering through the bannisters to watch. They set their red

bags of equipment down, and asked Matt and Ryan to move aside.

“What’s his name?” the man asked, indicating Ginger.

“Daniel,” Ryan said, swallowing hard. He conceded to move away, but stayed as close as he could,

crouched beside Ginger’s body. “He is breathing, but he just collapsed, we...I...” He glanced up at

Matt, who shared his nervous look.

The woman pressed her fingers to Ginger’s neck. “There’s a pulse, but it’s faint.”

“Daniel?” the man said, leaning over Ginger. “Daniel, can you hear me?”

No response.

Ryan swallowed again, trying to keep himself together. He watched the paramedics set to work.

“Got the air,” the woman said, pulling out a clear, plastic mask and turning on a machine in her bag.

“Set up the pads. Checked his airway?”

“Yes, all clear.” The man opened his bag, bringing out more equipment. “And there’s someone

else?” he asked, looking round at Ryan.

“Huh?”

“They told us on the radio you had two people unconscious?”

“Oh. Um...”

Should he lie? Ryan wasn’t sure. He wanted someone to come in and make everything all right

again. He wanted the paramedics to save Ginger, Pete, and Fizz.

Matt took the decision out of his hands when he said, “Actually...there’s three.”

“Three? We’ll have to radio for back up.”

The woman nodded. “There’s all those stairs, too. We’ll need help getting them down to the van.”

The man pulled at the little radio attached to his shoulder. He pressed a button and said, “Control,

this is–” The radio crackled loudly, and the man paused. “What the?”

“Sorry,” Ryan said. “The reception up here doesn’t work.”

The paramedic tapped his radio impatiently but it still crackled. “That’s weird,” he said. “It

shouldn’t interfere. You’d better show us the others first. We need to make sure they’re stable like this

one, then I’ll radio it in from the van.”

“Uh...” Ryan faltered. “Why don’t you radio first? The other two aren’t...well, they aren’t going

anywhere.”

Before the paramedic could reply, Sammy interrupted. “What happened to Pete then? Is he in there

with that nut Fizz?” He gestured at the pigeon loft’s door.

“Sammy, don’t –” But Ryan wasn’t quick enough. The paramedics wanted to check what was going

on. Ryan had to admit, if his face looked half as guilty as he felt, he wouldn’t have trusted him either.

He moved aside for the paramedics as they marched to the pigeon loft. They opened the door with

ease.

Ryan peered after them warily. Everything looked normal now, but he knew in his gut that it

wasn’t.

Sammy nudged Matt. “What happened?” he hissed.

“Not now,” Matt whispered back, staying put.

Ryan couldn’t let the paramedics go alone. He followed them into the pigeon loft, with one last

glance at Ginger on the floor. I’ll make this right, he promised silently. I will.

The paramedics rushed into Fizz’s room. Ryan walked after them, half expecting what he would

see, but he was still shocked when he saw the scene. Pete was motionless on the floor, just as Matt had

described. He looked as though he’d collapsed there. Fizz sat next to him, hunched over like he had

trouble holding himself up.

“What happened?” the man asked, rushing to Fizz’s side.

Fizz looked up, eyes wide and pleading. “Help me?” He held out his arms.

Ryan watched as the man held out his hand. Fizz gripped onto him, and the man crumpled to the

floor. “Greg!” The woman, who had stopped to crouch beside Pete, rushed over to her partner. Fizz

touched her shoulder as she neared him. She gasped, then fell over in a heap. She lay on the

floorboards as lifeless as the two men before her.

Ryan stepped forward. He felt sick, frightened, but he knew this had to stop. “Who are you?” he

demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

Fizz grinned up at him. “Questions, questions.” With a flick of his hand, his body rose jerkily from

the floor, like a puppet yanked on its strings. He leant back in what seemed like a seat, except there

was nothing there.

This couldn’t be real, Ryan thought, yet it was happening right before his eyes. Everything felt so

wrong. From every move Fizz made, to the look on his face, it felt wrong. Ryan stared, trying to

distinguish between what he was seeing now, and the boy he’d come to know as Fizz.

“Who are you?”

“A bad dream, nothing more.” The boy fixed his dark eyes on Ryan; a black mist began to seep out

of them.

Ryan started back in alarm. “What – what have you done to Fizz?”

“Mmmm. My dear Ryan.” The boy closed his eyes and stretched his body out, reclining in the air.

“There’s so much space inside him, you see. I’m merely making better use of it.”

“B-better use?”

“Why, yes.” Those eyes opened, fixed on him, and the black vapour poured out. “As soon as I have

enough energy, I’ll leave this place, never to return. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“A-and Fizz?”

“Fizz is me, now.” The voice grew dark. Ryan felt the room darken with it. Trails of blood trickled

down the walls, and the stench of sulphur was in his nose. Ryan tried not to look, tried to hold his

breath. He focussed on the boy in front of him and said, “No, you can’t have Fizz. Whoever you are,

you need to leave now. Leave us alone!”

A low laugh sounded within the room, rolling round the walls. The boy only smiled, but Ryan knew

it was him laughing. He recognised that laugh. “Whatever you are,” he said, speaking over that

mocking laughter. “No one cares. You’re nothing but a...a shit. You need to leave.”

The smile left his face. Fizz’s body snapped straight, standing before him. “No one speaks to me

like that.”

“Ryan!” someone hissed.

Ryan turned, seeing Matt had edged into the hallway, and was peering around the door. “Ryan, get

out of there!”

“Matt, stay back,” Ryan said. “I-I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

Ryan jerked his head back just in time to see Fizz move, but it was so fast, he couldn’t react. One

moment Fizz was standing there, the next Ryan felt something slam into him, like being smacked by a

steel door. He went down, his back hitting the floor. Fizz appeared over him, sitting on his chest. His

weight was crushingly heavy for someone of his size.

“Fizz, don’t –”

“Ahh, but I’m not Fizz, am I?” The boy smiled, a mean smile. His eyes moved to the side, focussed

on Ryan’s cheek. Ryan realised what he was looking at a mere moment before the familiar pain lashed

across his face. He cried out, closing his eyes. He tried to hit, to defend himself, but his limbs had

become sluggish, heavy. His body couldn’t move.

A hand turned his face gently. Ryan’s eyes flew open when he felt a rough tongue lick the side of

his cheek, lapping away the blood. “Stop it!” he pleaded. He didn’t want to look at Fizz, but then his

eyes saw the blood on the ceiling above. So much red; it bubbled, pulsed. Boiling. Ryan stilled,

terrified it was going to rain down on him again. That stench, it was too much.

I’m sorry, he thought miserably, thinking of Ginger out in the hall, and his friends. He’d failed

them all. In a last ditch attempt, Ryan tried to move, but it was hopeless. Like being trapped in a bad

dream, unable to make any part of his body obey. Fizz settled back on top of him. He licked his lips,

tonguing away the traces of Ryan’s blood, and smiled.

“Mmm, you taste good, Ryan. What is it about you? Something clear like...like water. Yes, that’s it.

You taste like water.”

Ryan stared at him. He couldn’t even begin to understand, but Fizz’s words gave him his only way

out. He had to keep the boy talking.

“W-what do you mean, water?”

“Mm. Calm, placid. But there’s a raging torrent beneath, isn’t there?” He chuckled darkly. “You

hide it well. Still waters run deep, as they say.”

Ryan swallowed. “T-that sounds like c-crap to me.”

Fizz threw his head back, laughing loudly. Ryan saw his chance and tried to move, but his limbs

wouldn’t cooperate. “Please.” He resorted to begging. “Please, let me go.”

“Oh, my dear, dear Ryan.” Fizz lowered down, bring himself nose to nose. “Maybe one day, you’ll

understand. I’m not a bad man, but I am rather...desperate.”

“Desperate?”

“Yes. I have to get out, Ryan. I can’t stand it any longer. No one here but demented old souls to chat

to. If I wasn’t dead already, I’d simply have to kill myself. I need more, Ryan. I hadn’t even lived my

life before they took it from me.”

“They?” Ryan squeaked.

“Hmm.” Fizz pulled back, studying him. “Should I show you? I showed the boy, and he felt so sorry

for me that he let me into his body. That’s why I’m here, you know. I didn’t take it, he gave it to me.

Silly fool was letting it go to waste anyway, so I thought, why not?”

“H-how can you say that?” Ryan breathed. “Fizz is a good kid. Leave him alone!”

“But what about me, Ryan?” The black vapour seeped from his eyes. The blood on the ceiling above

them raged and boiled. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair! I have to show you what happened. Maybe then

you’ll understand.”

“No, please, I –” Ryan gasped. His eyes widened and his vision grew, seeming to be everywhere at

once. As if he were the very walls looking in on the room, and yet still in its centre at the same time.

The room was transported back to a simple barrack room, with its single beds in rows, and neatly

folded sheets on top. A framed picture of King George hung on the farthest wall. It was night now; two

soft lamps burned. Ryan felt himself stagger into the room, drunk on something stronger than alcohol,

some kind of drug. Opium. He was seeing and experiencing everything as if it were a hazy dream. He

gazed down at his suit, rumpled in places, but still neatly pressed.

The walls around him shuddered. With that strange knowledge that often came with dreams, Ryan

knew that these weren’t the same walls. Their bricks and mortar were different now, but their dust and

energy had been re-used in the new building. He could feel the pulsing energy within every brick,

within the very lining of the room. The walls watched him, and Ryan in turn watched through them, as

the vision unfolded.

Drunk, drugged, all by his own making, but the effects distorted what he saw. His delirium pulled at

the edges of his vision, like an artist’s impression. The room was dark and colourful. Ryan felt giddy.

He heard brash laughter echo through the room, and realised it was his own. Two men were with him.

They had been laughing along before, but now they’d stopped. Their dark, hulking figures closed in on

him, dangerous in their intent.

Ryan looked around the room in panic, realising he was alone. Truly more alone than he’d ever felt

before. He looked at the man nearest to him, feeling a surprise as the man’s fist connected with his

face. Sound went first; things became muffled, warped. Time itself slowed down. A sharp pain rang in

Ryan’s head. He blinked, only to see that fist come again, and again, raining down blow after blow

until he was on the floor.

Darkness invaded, his eyelids drooped. Keep them closed, he thought. Don’t look. But his eyes kept

opening. He saw flashes of the room, of the men’s faces with their twisted, distorted expressions.

Their voices were garbled, nasty. Ryan felt them pull and tear at his clothes. No! No, please! He tried

to scream. Breath wheezed through his lungs, but no voice came out. The men’s faces became

shadows, sinister and leering. Their taunts echoed in his ears as they groped his body and forced his

legs open.

Ryan tried to call out. His lips moved, trying to speak. Enough! I’ve seen enough, let me go!

The vision didn’t stop. Hands clamped around his throat, squeezing tight. Ryan closed his eyes, and

his mind drifted, attempting to escape the pain, the humiliation. He knew he wouldn’t be able to come

back from this, and that hurt more than anything. His last thought was of face framed by red hair, and

a familiar smile he loved so much.

Daniel, I’m so sorry.

Chapter Nineteen

Abruptly, the vision dispersed, like a dark cloud blown away. Ryan gasped. His hands raised to

shield himself from the men...

They were gone.

Sammy was there, his hands in Fizz’s hair as he yanked him back, away from Ryan. “Shit-head!

I’m gonna smack your fucking –”

Fizz swept his arm out, throwing Sammy off as if he weighed nothing, sent him flying across the

room. Ryan heard the sickening crack as Sammy’s body hit the wall.

“Sammy!” Matt rushed in, dodged around Fizz, and fell to the small body on the floor.

Ryan saw Fizz glare at Matt, and worried what would happen. “Wait!” he reached out to grab Fizz’s

arm, to stop him from moving. His skin was cold, slippery, like holding onto ice. Pain throbbed

through Ryan’s fingers, but he held on. “Y-you didn’t tell my your name,” he said, trying to think of

something – anything – to distract him. “Please?”

“My name?” The boy turned back to him. His eyes were black, smoking.

“Y-yes. I c-can help you find your, um, your family? Or where you’re buried? Tell me your name,

and I’ll help you.”

“Ah.” Fizz smiled, leaning over him. Ryan tried not to flinch, tried to stay as still as possible. He

had to keep this thing away from Matt and Sammy, whatever it took.

“They took me,” the boy hissed out. “Wrapped it in a sheet, and dragged it outside.”

“Y-your body?”

“Yes.”

“Oh-kay.” Ryan swallowed, trying to think straight. He put the horrible images and feelings of mere

moments ago aside, and tried to focus. “I-I can help you.”

Dark eyes searched his. Ryan watched, and the black vapour seemed to recede. The eyes grew

lighter, hazel in colour. Risking a glance up, Ryan saw the blood on the ceiling had stopped churning

around. If it had been boiling before, now it only simmered. The stench wasn’t quite so powerful

either.

This was it, he realised. If he could somehow appease whatever bad feelings there were. That was

what spirits wanted, right? Ryan had spent many a late night watching spooky documentaries, mostly

for their comedic value. Now he was clinging onto a growing belief that he was in the middle of some

crazy ghost story himself.

“You’d help me?” Fizz stared at him like he could see right through him. Ryan tried to project the

clearest, most honest feelings he could muster. If it would help everyone else then, yes, he would help

this...this person.

“Yes.”

“Ryan, don’t talk to him!” Matt stood above them. “He hurt Sammy! And Pete, and Ginger!”

Fizz rose up, glaring at Matt. The blood on the ceiling bubbled anew.

“Matt, wait!” Ryan shifted; his limbs were finally able to work, although they felt painfully sore.

He tried to get up, to stop the inevitable, but he wasn’t quick enough. “Don’t do anything! Fizz? Come

back here, talk to me.”

Fizz glanced at him, at Ryan’s outstretched hand.

“Come here, okay?” Ryan gestured to him. He shifted onto his knees, but he couldn’t stand up. His

body was stiff, sore. He didn’t even have time to think about it, as Fizz snapped his eyes to the door.

Ryan heard footsteps thundering closer, and looked up just as Ash burst into the room.

“What’s –” he gasped, breathless. “Fizz? Oh, shit!”

“Ash!” The boy backed away, holding out a hand. “They’re trying to hurt me.”

“Ash, don’t!” Ryan tried to grab Ash’s leg as he charged into the room. “ASH!”

He couldn’t stop him. Ryan could only watch as Ash ran into Fizz’s arms, and they embraced like

long lost lovers. Fizz kept moving back, taking Ash with him into the corner.

“ASH!” Ryan tried once again to get up. He was in too much pain. “Fizz, don’t do anything, okay?”

Fizz peered at him warily over Ash’s shoulder. Ash’s body appeared to sag, while Fizz held him up.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Fizz said. “I don’t need your help, Ryan.”

“You do,” Ryan insisted. “You –”

More footsteps echoed down the hall. Ryan hoped it wasn’t Rachel. She would only go to Pete, still

lifeless on the floor, and put herself in danger. He saw with surprise that it was Sheila. She was about

to run to him, then stopped herself as she looked about the room. “Dear God,” she whispered.

A small, blonde woman was right behind her. Ryan recognised her as Beth. She swept a glance

across the room, then focussed on Fizz. Beth put a hand out, and pushed Sheila behind her, stepping

into the room.

“Wait,” Ryan said. “It’s too –”

“Silence!” Beth barked. She planted her feet wide on the ground, pulling something from her

pocket, some kind of pendant on a chain. Holding one hand out, she began to swing the pendant in

front of her in a figure of eight. “Take back your energy,” she said in steely tones. “Accept my light.”

Her hair shone. Ryan watched, dumbfounded, as white light poured from it, stretching out across

the room. The blood shied away, receding into the walls. The darkness lifted. On the other side of the

room, Fizz gasped. His hands let go of Ash, who slumped to the floor.

“Ash!” Ryan tried to move toward his friend.

“Leave him!” Beth snapped. “Don’t move, don’t speak.” She swung the pendant to a standstill in

front of her; its motion abruptly ceased in mid-air, as though being held by something unseen. Ryan

could see now that the pendant was wood, a cluster of different coloured wood, bound together in a

oval shape. Beth began to swing the pendant, creating a circle in front of her. The motion was calmer

than before, and she stared straight at Fizz as she did so.

“Accept my light. Leave this body. Leave this place.”

Fizz seemed entranced by the pendant, yet he slowly backed away to the wall. Just as he touched it,

the wall shuddered, rippling like liquid. Fizz jumped away, some of the wall coming with him as

though it were sticky. He swiped a hand out, smacking the sticky tendrils away. The wall sucked back

into place, becoming as it had before.

Ryan was scared. He caught Matt’s expression from across the room; he had moved in front of

Sammy’s body, like he was trying to protect him. Fizz glared at Beth, prowling sideways. He kept his

distance from the wall now.

“I will not leave,” he rasped out. “No one commands me.”

“Leave this body,” Beth repeated firmly, still swinging the pendant. “Leave this place.”

“I won’t!”

“You must move on. Leave this place.”

“No!” Fizz’s hands clutched his head as a sob wracked out of him. Ryan watched as the edges of his

body appeared to blur, and something else appeared over him. What was happening? It looked as

though there were two images where Fizz should be, one overlaid on top of the other. With a

wrenching cry, the images moved apart. Ryan recognised Fizz, the boy who stood in the same spot, but

he didn’t recognise the faded image of a young man in a suit, who staggered to the side.

The young man growled, his hand snapped out to grab Fizz’s wrist. “I’m not leaving!”

“Leave. This. Place,” Beth said.

Fizz stared at the young man, his eyes bright and full of tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The man sneered. “If I can’t have your body, no one will.” He pulled sharply on Fizz’s wrist. A

faded blur – the same shape and size as Fizz – lifted from Fizz’s body.

A second man appeared, planting a huge knuckled hand over Fizz’s chest. He pushed the faded

shape back into Fizz’s body.

“No,” the man in uniform said, glaring at the younger man. “That’s enough.”

The younger man tried to shove at him, but the uniformed man stood in place.

“You can’t hurt me, you fool,” he said in a brusque Northern accent. “I’ve saved up all my energy

for years, unlike you, who squandered it away.”

“Bastard!” The younger man flailed at him, trying to attack.

Beth swung her pendant faster. “Leave this place!” she shouted.

Ryan watched, horrified at what he saw. The two men appeared to be fighting, but too fast for him

to see, blurring in motion. A third shape – Fizz’s shape – was pulled between them, and Fizz’s body

crumpled to the ground.

The faded image of Fizz was left standing between the two men.

“Oh no!” Sheila raced into the room, dropping down beside Fizz’s body. Beth followed her,

swinging her pendant at the wispy forms of the two strange men. “Be gone!” She shouted, cutting her

pendant through them. “Leave this place!”

The men disappeared, shrinking into wisps, and falling to the floor. Beth rounded on the third form,

the one that looked like Fizz. “What’s his name again?” She glanced at Ryan, a worried look on her

face.

“Fi – I mean, Jamie!”

“Jamie.” Beth opened her hands in the air, wafting them at the form. “Jamie, it’s not your time. Go

back into your body now.”

Sheila knelt on the floor, moving Fizz onto his back, tilting his head up. It wasn’t until she pressed

her mouth to his, holding his nose, that Ryan realised the enormity of the situation. Fizz hadn’t just