The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories by Women (Mammoth Books) Read Online Free PDF Page A

appeared to examine the patterns of light on the flagstones and began to draw.
     
    It started out this way. Men moved stones set in place for hundreds of years, with no mind to the consequences. Sometimes a structure was depleted of spiritual energy and alterations left the ground sleeping. But for a building as entrenched in bloody history as Lichfield Cathedral, the ghosts’ awakening was inevitable. Of course the disturbances could have been avoided with the right consecrations and herbal homages buried beneath the dirt at ten-foot intervals around the building’s exterior. Fortunately for a Spirit Catcher such as Ailen, these rudimentary ghost traps were not common knowledge – which meant there was a profit to be made from tidying up after enthusiastic architects.
    Two hours in and the chalked traps were set. The mid-morning sun shone in weakly at the high windows. Dust speckled the air. Stonemasons could be heard at work on the Gothic façade. Behind the scaffolds, row on row of ancient kings were being restored to their plinths.
    Inside the cathedral, Ailen called his men to order and asked, “Canon, would you say a prayer?”
    The mummers formed a circle and bowed their heads. Nicholas started to speak, the tremor in his voice betraying his nervousness.
    Ailen kept his gaze on his surroundings. He caught flickers of motion from the corners of his eyes. Three figures, all exceptionally tall – and twisting up from the floor near the South Transept. Each wore something on its head – a crown? The figures disappeared when he tried to focus.
    Smaller shadows danced about the walls – hundreds of them, layering over one another. The floor was patterned with them, too. Ailen knew that, for all their numbers, these were harmless shades.
    “See them, Mr Savage?” Despite his devil garb, there was still innocence in Thom’s eyes.
    “I see them, Thom.” Ailen kept his voice low so as not to interrupt Nicholas. Prayer niggled restless spirits. Used in isolation, it was a slow, unreliable method of exorcism. Combine prayer with psychic weaponry and the fight became quicker if potentially messier.
    The boy swallowed and stared down the length of the nave. “We’ve got to clear them all?”
    “No, lad. Most are harmless. We’ve got three ghosts to parcel up. Powerful ones. And then there’s the poltergeist.” Ailen pointed a finger upwards. “I think we have its attention.”
    Twenty or so prayer books levitated overhead. Canon Nicholas’s prayer petered out.
    “Everyone back up slowly.” Ailen led by example, his dragon pipe trained on the floating books.
    The circle of men widened.
    With a tremendous crack of leather spines, the books began spitting out their pages. A few stayed intact and careered down like black hailstones. Ailen saw Nicholas receive a cut to one eyebrow. The wound bled into the canon’s eye; he dabbed at it with a handkerchief and mopped his glistening brow with a sleeve. Other books aimed themselves at Popule and Thom. The ex-clergyman fired his revolver. Slugs of rock salt punched through the books, the blast holes giving off smoke.
    “I take it your prayer woke the blighter.” Willy winked at Nicholas. “You all right there, friend?”
    Nicholas nodded. He looked deathly pale, though.
    All the books had fallen. Except for the sounds of the men working outside, the cathedral was silent.
    “Which direction next?” Ailen kept his pipe close.
    Naw consulted his compass. He pointed south-east. “Originated at The Sleeping Children monument. But the reading is south-west now, vestibule most likely. Also—” The historian wheeled around, checking the coordinates. “I have a second reading from the South Transept.”
    Ailen nodded. He had a partial view of the South Transept, a shaded arm of the cathedral at that hour.
    “Tell me, Canon. What do you see in those shadows?”
    The canon forced his gaze in that direction. He cocked his head.
    “I see nothing.”
    “Good. Then you