Dan and the Dead Read online

  DAN

  AND THE

  DEAD

  THOMAS TAYLOR

  For Robert and Rikke

  CONTENTS

  1 My Invisible Watson

  2 Yeah, Simon Really Does Talk Like That

  3 Murder by Public Transport

  4 The Gentleman of Miracles

  5 Simon’s Party Trick

  6 The Firing Pin Question

  7 A Grave Business

  8 The Deal (If You Can Call It That)

  9 Burke and Hare Had It Easy

  10 Johnny Sparko’s Earache

  11 A Load of Old Cassocks

  12 A Pew With a View

  13 Tea, But No Sympathy

  14 In Which We All Go Down

  15 The Ghost of a Chance

  16 A Touch of the Houdinis

  17 Bullets, Bumpers and Blue Flashing Lights

  18 Gubie Gets His Way

  19 Curtains

  20 The End of It All

  1

  MY INVISIBLE WATSON

  I’m like that kid. You know, the one in the film who says, ‘I see dead people.’

  Only I’m not an actor. And the people I see, well, they’re not part of some script. They’re real.

  And yup – they’re dead.

  For a long time it was scary. And I mean pooing-my-pants scary. When I first realised I was the only one who could see the shapes in my room at night, the only one who could hear them, yeah, I was pretty uncool about it. My parents thought it was nightmares. The doctors thought it was something else and gave me pills. No one believed me, so I’m guessing it’s pretty rare what I can do.

  Anyway, dead scary – the endless chatter, the reaching hands, the staring ‘help me!’ eyes. I suppose I was headed for the loony bin. But then something happened a couple of years back, around my twelfth birthday.

  I met Simon.

  Simon’s one of them too – a dead person, I mean – but he’s the one who made me realise that I was looking at things the wrong way round. Because yeah, okay, the people who haunt me are dead, but they’re something else too. They’re still people. People who need my help. And when people need something, people will always pay.

  Simon’s a bit of a mystery though. When the dead linger it’s because they’ve left something undone or unsaid, or because they want revenge, and boy, do they go on about it! But Simon’s the first one I’ve met who’s keeping his problems to himself. He’s been dead so long, perhaps he can’t even remember.

  Or perhaps it’s because someone put a musket ball through his brain.

  Anyway, Simon sticks to me and keeps the other spooks in line, making sure I can get a bit of normal life during the day. Then at midnight (when else?), the interviews start. It’s like I’m a psychic private eye or something, only I don’t have candles or anything cheesy like that. Simon brings me the desperate dead, one at a time, and I see what I can do for them. Then, if I can help, they give me something very special in return.

  You’ll find out what later.

  And what does Simon get out of all this? I honestly don’t know. He just likes to help, I suppose. It’s like he’s my main ghost.

  Hey, everyone wants to feel important.

  2

  YEAH, SIMON REALLY DOES

  TALK LIKE THAT

  ‘Si, are you there?’

  ‘Yes, Master Dyer,’ comes the silky voice, and I spot Simon in the corner of my room. It’s odd how they just appear like that, but I’m used to it.

  ‘Got anything for me tonight?’

  ‘Naturally. You have a sizeable waiting list, though the dead are nothing if not patient. Excepting the old magician, of course. Mr Lugubrian’s been demanding to see you again. He has found out about your school show.’

  ‘Si, I’ve explained,’ I say, and not for the first time. ‘Lugubrian’s a psycho. I’m not doing what he wants, and that’s flat. And I wouldn’t be seen dead at the school show. Bring me someone else.’

  ‘Someone more your own time, Daniel?’

  I sit on my beanbag and turn up the music. I don’t want my parents thinking I’m talking to myself again.

  ‘Yeah, hit me.’

  There’s a moment when nothing happens, then Simon’s there again, and now there’s someone else there too. I hear a gasp and a high spectral cry, and I dig my fingernails into my hands because it’s still a bit scary, all this. A figure runs into the room and stops dead still in front of me, staring down with a ghastly look.

  She’s about my age, or she was, and even with the terror and fury of the wronged dead twisting her face, I can tell she was quite a looker. Don’t take that the wrong way – I just wish I’d met her before, that’s all. I often feel like that.

  ‘You can see me?’ she shrieks. ‘Well, can you?’

  ‘Woah, calm down,’ I reply, trying to sound like it’s all under control. ‘Just take a deep breath and tell me your name. I’m here to help.’

  ‘A deep breath? I’m dead, you moron! Dead!’ And then she’s off again, wailing and rolling her eyes. I’m guessing it hasn’t been very long.

  ‘What music do you like?’ I have to ask a few times to get her attention. ‘I’m online right now. You can have anything you want. Be my guest.’

  As I thought, that hits home. The dead can’t do much for themselves, so my DJ act usually gets ’em misty-eyed and nostalgic. And quiet.

  ‘Got any Justin Bieber?’

  I try not to pull a face – this is business, after all – and tap in the name. Bieber’s pretty-boy mug appears on the screen and I click play. The girl stops swooping around and tips her head to one side. The music (if you can call it that) picks up and I can see the girl’s remembering. Boy, am I glad ghosts can’t cry.

  ‘Daniel, this is Emeline Parker,’ says Simon. ‘She’s only been with us a little while, but I think she’s a priority case. It appears to be murder, but I have been unable to obtain details. I’ve never seen her this calm before.’

  ‘Hi, Ems,’ I say, keeping up the professional tone. ‘Would you like to tell me? My colleague and I can sort stuff out for people in your, er, situation.’

  ‘I’m dead.’ Ems doesn’t need to keep saying this, but they usually do. ‘And I so don’t want to be.’

  ‘I know, Ems, I can tell.’ I’m genuinely sympathetic – I wouldn’t want to be dead either. ‘How did it happen? Was it murder?’

  ‘Yes. No! Well… if you must know, I suppose it’s all my own fault.’ She looks terrible as she says this. ‘But he killed me! No matter what it says in the papers.’

  ‘I see,’ I say, even though I don’t. Dead or alive, girls are complicated. ‘Murder weapon?’

  ‘Bus,’ she says, and when she catches me looking all ‘say what?’ she turns her side to me, and I see it.

  She’s definitely a bit flatter round the middle than she should be.

  But I’m not in the mood for Cluedo so I give her another ‘I see,’ just for appearances, and glance at the screen. There’s plenty of Bieber still to go (professional, Dan, be professional) so I put on my best bedside manner and say, ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning?’

  3

  MURDER BY PUBLIC TRANSPORT

  Ems is – was – like a million other girls in London. Well, okay, a bit better-looking than most, but what I mean is, she’s like your sister or your mate’s girlfriend or the popular one at school: full of life and drama and shopping. At midnight she should be with her friends having a good time, not standing in my room telling me how she died.

  But there’s this man in the middle of it all. His name’s Carl Bagport, and Carl has a nightclub and a criminal network to run, starting with organised shoplifting and going down from there.

  ‘But why did you do it in the fir
st place?’ I think I know the answer, but I need to hear it from her.

  ‘Money.’ Ems looks wretched. ‘He pays a lot for… well, it’s stealing. That’s against the law, you know.’

  I know.

  Simon makes a noise like he’s clearing his throat – even though he no longer has one – and I let him speak.

  ‘Forgive me, but I’m not sure I quite understand. You say Mr Bagport was using a photographic apparatus to make pictures of you, Emeline? Doing “shoplifting”. But to what end?’

  Simon’s not quite on the ball when it comes to the twenty-first century. I think he goes back to the eighteenth or something.

  ‘It was just a bit of fun at first. You can pinch things pretty easily if you don’t mind the risk. But he started taking orders from his friends, for antiques and stuff. It just got bigger and bigger. Turns out I was good at it.’

  ‘I see,’ I say, making a mental note of this for later on. ‘So why didn’t you quit?’

  Ems slumps to the floor and I can see I’ve got to the nub of it all.

  ‘The pictures he took of me, you know, stealing? Well, he said he’d send them to the police. And my mum and dad. Called it his “insurance”. So I had to keep stealing for him, even though he stopped paying me, but then he got pictures of that too. I couldn’t get away from him. He said I had to do whatever he told me… then, that last time, I was spotted in Selfridges by a security guard. I ran out into the street, but…’

  This must be where the bus comes in.

  ‘It’s okay, Ems,’ I say, sensing another wailing fit coming on. I wish I could put my arm round her, but you can only comfort a ghost with words.

  ‘Those photos.’ Ems is whispering now. ‘If my mum had seen them… and my dad – I was his princess – it would have broken his heart.’

  Sounds like it already has, I think to myself, and there’s actually a lump in my throat because of the stupid tragedy of it all, but there’s no time for all that now.

  ‘Listen, here’s what happens next, Ems. We need to know everything you know about this Bagport, so we can eliminate him.’ I like saying that, ‘eliminate him’, but I’m just thinking of turning him over to the police – there are enough ghosts about already. ‘But first, there’s just the little matter of payment.’

  Em’s head snaps up and her eyes lock mine. Whoops! Bad timing, Dan.

  ‘What do you think I can give you?’ Ems is not happy. In fact, she’s flaming mad and her ghost’s all fierce and flickery. ‘God, you’re just like him! All you men are the same!’

  ‘Wait, Ems.’ I’m holding my hands up like she has a gun or something. I need to make her feel strong again, so she’ll listen. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  She’s upright now, and her eyes are like the business end of a double-barrelled tank, but at least she’s stopped shouting.

  ‘It’s not what you think.’ I say again. ‘Simon and me, we don’t expect money or anything, we just need a little favour from you. We’ll help you get even, and do our best to put Carl Bagport out of business for good. In return, before you move on to the Hereafter, I just need…’

  And I tell her. It’s the same deal I offer them all, and like the others she just stares at me in amazement. Then she laughs.

  ‘Is that even possible?’

  I nod and smile back.

  It looks like a done deal to me.

  4

  THE GENTLEMAN OF

  MIRACLES

  The thing about school is, even top paranormal investigators have to go there if they’re only fourteen. You’d think Ems would understand this, but when I tell her that hunting down Bagport’s going to have to wait till after Geography, History and a visit from a fireman, she’s not best pleased.

  She even trails me out of the house, moaning, despite Simon’s best efforts to clear the decks for the day. It’s only when the school bus wheezes up that I lose her.

  I suppose she’s got a thing about buses now.

  There’s one good side to school though: there aren’t any ghosts there. Simon sees to that. And anyway it’s so new that no one’s died there yet, despite the dodgy smells that hang around the canteen. So it’s just the living at school, though, yeah, some of the teachers are dead boring. Especially Mr Harris. History Harris is so deathly dull he turns kids into zombies.

  ‘Today we shall discuss the Congress of Vienna and its long-term impact on Franco-German relations,’ drones the Harris, and I tune out while I still can. I’m drawing skulls in my exercise book, thinking about poor Ems, when something makes me look up. A shape is looming. Why do shapes do that?

  ‘Pick a card,’ creaks a voice I dread almost more than the Harris’s, and there, standing in front of me, is the scraggy spirit of Mr Lugubrian, rigged out like Count Dracula in the get-up he died in. ‘Go on, boy, pick one!’ And he leers at me through his whiskers, fanning a deck of enormous ghostly playing cards.

  ‘Buzz off,’ I manage to hiss without drawing too much attention. ‘You know what Si’ll do if he catches you here.’

  ‘Bah! I’m not scared of Bullet Brain,’ says Mr Lugubrian, and he snaps the cards shut in a puff of ectoplasm. ‘But I am most displeased with you, boy. How dare you let that strumpet jump the queue? I demand you address my affairs first.’

  ‘Ems is no strumpet,’ I say, making a mental note to ask Si what ‘strumpet’ means, but it seems I spoke too loudly, because everyone turns to stare at me. The room is silent. The Harris pulls his specs down his nose and stares hardest of all.

  ‘Do you wish to say something about trumpets, Daniel, or are you talking to yourself again?’

  Laughter ripples round the room and a ball of paper bounces off my head. Yup, I have a certain reputation.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then kindly shush.’ The Harris’s mouth is as tight as a cat’s bum. ‘Now, class, turn to page 879…’

  In the rustling that follows, I hiss at the ghost of the Victorian magician to get lost, but the old man knows he’s got me cornered. Where the hell’s Si?

  ‘They laughed at me too,’ Lugubrian says, the purple bags under his eyes quivering. ‘Afterwards. They said I was nothing but a penny conjuror, a rabbit worrier, a… a… vaudevillian! Me! Just because that last trick went awry. But I was Silas Lugubrian, Gentleman of Miracles! Lugubrian’s “Head-in-his-hands” Illusion should have been the wonder of the age!’ and he rolls his head at me.

  Literally.

  It’s always the same thing with old Gubie. He died 130 years ago, performing a magic trick of his own invention in front of a live audience. It’s a cage with a couple of spring-loaded blades at neck height, a cage you put over your head. Can you guess where this is going? Yup, that’s right. Anyway, at least it was named well, the trick. Lugubrian’s ‘Head-in-his-hands’ Illusion did indeed leave Gubie’s very own head in his very own hands. Along with a lot of his very own blood.

  ‘But you can help me, boy.’ Lugubrian’s getting into his stride now. He’s stalking his invisible way round the classroom like a hunchbacked spider, one hand fixed behind his back, the other gesturing in the air, while his head bobs up and down on his shoulders. There are flashes of daylight where his neck should be. ‘You must help!’

  ‘No,’ I manage to cough, and the Harris glances at me.

  ‘Dig up the apparatus!’ Lugubrian turns on his heel and delivers his words at me like he’s back on stage. ‘Make the adjustments! Perform my trick for me, so that the name of Silas Lugubrian can live down the ages!’

  And it would take ages to live down a name like that, I think, but out loud I hiss, ‘Stop yabbering, you stupid old codger!’ Only I shouldn’t hiss this, should I? Because now everyone’s staring at me again.

  ‘Daniel Dyer, on your feet!’ shouts History Harris, and Mr Lugubrian, unseen by everyone but me, spreads his mouth into a hook-tooth grin. Me? All I can do is stand up.

  ‘Yabbering, am I?’ The Harris is closing in like an elderly knight in corduroy armour. ‘Old codger,
am I? How dare you?’

  ‘Sir, I wasn’t talking to you, sir,’ is the best I can do, because all I’m thinking is how I’d kill Simon if he wasn’t already dead. Where is he?

  ‘Woooh!’ go a load of voices around me, and ‘There’s a ghost!’ Even the Harris chuckles along. There are some things you just don’t live down at school, and talking to people who aren’t there’s pretty high on the list.

  ‘All right, Daniel.’ You can tell Mr Harris thinks he’s got me. And this time, perhaps he has. ‘Before I give you a month’s detention, you have one last chance. Let’s see if your invisible friends can help you answer a question about the Treaty of Vienna. When was it signed?’

  Well, I haven’t a clue, have I? But you can tell old Gubie has by the way his head somersaults. Then, with the hand that isn’t always behind his back, he plucks his head off its stump and flings it, top hat and all, to where I stand sweating in front of Harris.

  ‘Spot of bother, boy?’ the head croons in one ear. ‘Need old Silas to help you out?’ it simpers in the other.

  I shake my head very, very slightly. There’s no way I’m sticking the old brain box in Lugubrian’s death-trap apparatus just to avoid detention, but at the same time, I need to get out after school to help Ems.

  The Harris leans closer. ‘Well?’

  I’m in a pickle, though I won’t lose my head over it. But what’s Ems gonna say?

  Lugubrian’s grin presses closer and closer, his blood-filled eyes glowing red with glee.

  ‘Dig up the apparatus! Perform my trick at your wretched school show! I’ll tell you the answer if you do…’

  And that’s when, finally, Simon arrives. He cries ‘Zooks!’ when he spots what’s going on.

  I roll my eyes his way and give him one of my ‘where-in-Death’s-name-have-you-been’ looks. The Harris is about to start shouting when Simon speaks rapidly into my ear. Detention is heading my way, but thanks to Si I can now deflect it.