LITMIR.BIZ

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“What was it, a floating face or a demonic monkey or something?”

      “Nah,” Tommo sniggered. “Evil monkeys live in closets.”

      “I’m sick of this ghost garbage, man,” Jezza said. “First Shee, now you.”

      Miller wasn’t listening. He was tentatively sniffing the back of one hand. Then he pushed his sleeve up to the elbow to inspect his heavily tattooed forearm.

      “What you doing?” Tommo hooted. “You madpot!”

      Miller looked up at them. “There was a terrible stink,” he said.

      “Always is with you!” Tommo agreed.

      Miller shook his head. “A stink of damp!” he said. “Terrible stink of damp – like rotting leaves – or worse. Decayed and rotten and rank and death, cold death.”

      “Just normal damp and wet rot,” Jezza told him. “What d’you expect in a rancid dump like this, Chanel No 5 potpourri?”

      Miller wiped his hand on his clothes. “No,” he breathed. “No, it wasn’t normal. There was something else. When I touched…”

      He jumped up, almost knocking Tommo over, and glared back at the staircase.

      “That wall!” he cried. “When I put my hand on it. The bloody stuff moved! Ran over my bloody hand and up my arm! I had to shake it off!”

      “What stuff?” asked Jezza sternly.

      Miller turned a bewildered, fearful face to him. “The mould!” he said. “The black bloody mould! I felt it on my skin – it’s alive!”

      He gave the stairs one last look, then blundered towards the front door, only to find Shiela standing there.

      “Jezza,” she called. “Let’s ditch this place. I want to go – right now.”

      The man looked at her and placed his hand on the banister. “Just cos Miller puts his great mitt in a web and feels a spider run over him?” he said. “Don’t be a stupider cow than normal, Shee.”

      “It wasn’t no spider!” Miller shouted.

      “Roaches or woodlice then,” Jezza said, not caring either way. “Get real. There’s no way I’m leaving this gold mine. It belongs to me now. I’m going to strip it right down and flog even the bricks, if they’re worth anything.”

      “Listen to Miller!” she told him.

      Jezza ignored her and jumped nimbly on to the first stair.

      “Jezza!” Shiela said urgently as he began to ascend. “Don’t! It’s a bad place.”

      “Don’t go up there!” Miller joined in.

      “Oh, Mr Ghostman…” Jezza sang out as he climbed slowly, step by step. “I’m so going to kick your see-through arse and evict you off my property. This is my gaff now, you hear me? And unless you can pay rent, in living cash, you aren’t welcome.”

      “Ha!” Tommo laughed. “You tell him. Who we gonna call? Umm… just Jezza – he ain’t afraid of no ghost!”

      “Belief in the supernatural is cut from the same twisted psychology as the need for religion,” Jezza began propounding. “It’s a man-made hang-up, yet another method of controlling the gullible proletariat by the fat cats at the top to keep us down and scared and not dare to ask real questions of the real people. Instead they made us kneel and pray against the terrors in the night that they invented. It’s always been about control; there is no evil substance to darkness – it’s just an absence of light.

      “Like I always say, you should only be afraid of realness. It’s not some vampire that’ll get you along the lonely midnight lane, but the paranoid schizophrenic who prefers junk to his meds and believes his Ricicles are telling him to collect human livers in a blue bucket. Be scared of that poor sod, and the NHS trusts who turf him into the community expecting him to function without proper care because it’s cheaper and they can afford some extra salmon on the buffet when the next bigwig comes round for the usual glad-handing and a mugshot in the local rag.”

      “Listen to me, for God’s sake!” Shiela cried. “I know who that kid was, the one with the magazine. I know what happened to him. Jezza – stop. Come down!”

      The man reached the small landing. He half turned to grin at them. That conceited little grin which always preceded some proud, pig-headed action. Then, turning away into the wedge of shadow, he reached out with both hands and placed them squarely in the centre of the mould on the wall.

      “Stupid to the power of ten,” Shiela uttered in disgust.

      The three disciples waited. Staring up at the back of the man they knew only as Jezza, they watched and wondered. Jezza remained perfectly still. He made no sound. He just stayed with his hands against the wall and the moments dragged into minutes. Shiela dug her fingernails into her arms. The tension was unbearable.

      “That’s enough!” she said, unable to take it any longer. “This isn’t funny!”

      “Yeah,” Miller called. “Joke over.”

      Jezza did not move.

      Tommo smiled at the others. “Chill,” he told them.

      “Rich,” the girl said to Miller. “Go get him. Bring him down.”

      The burly man hesitated.

      “Bring him down!” she repeated forcefully, pushing him forward.

      Miller moved towards the stairs. Passing a puzzled-looking Tommo, he began to climb, reluctantly.

      “Come on,” he called up. “Enough’s enough. You’re spooking Shiela.”

      “You two are so over-reacting,” Tommo declared. “Jezza’s winding you up. Whirrrrrrrr – there you go.”

      Miller neared the small landing. His forehead began to sweat as he recalled the terror that had overwhelmed him before. He took a deep breath and smelled the same putrid reek of decay, and coughed as it caught the back of his throat.

      He took a step closer to Jezza. The man’s head was hidden in the gloom and when Miller leaned sideways to catch sight of his face, he could see nothing but a black profile.

      “Jezza, mate,” he said. “Stop this now.”

      In the corner of his eye something moved over the wall. He jumped back and stumbled down two steps.

      “Jesus!” he cried.

      And then Jezza stirred. He jerked his head back then turned slowly around. His narrow eyes danced over his followers as if viewing them properly for the first time and a smile spread across his face.

      “Look at you,” he laughed softly. “Doesn’t take much to panic my little chickens, does it? Another minute and you’d be screaming – and all for the fear of nothing at all. Very instructive.”

      “You’re bleeding hilarious you are,” Shiela snapped.

      “And you’re terminally predictable,” he answered coldly.

      His eyes left her mutinous, wounded stare and fixed on Miller in front of him.

      The big man was looking past him, at the wall. But there was nothing to see in the shadows there, just the staining mould.

      “You’re in my way,” Jezza told him.

      Miller shook himself. Whatever he had thought he had seen was no longer there. He lumbered about and stomped back down the stairs, glad to feel the floor beneath him once more. With far lighter, almost dancing steps, Jezza followed.

      “I wasn’t scared!” Tommo piped up. “Dunno what’s wrong with these two today.”

      “Shut it, you tedious prat,” Jezza instructed, without even looking at him.

      Shiela

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