“What do you mean, the plan’s gone a bit wrong?” Pamela said, placing the mug back on the kitchen table, which definitely still had an unpleasant odour of Kester’s stomach contents about it, despite its innocent appearance under the light of the chandelier.
Kester swallowed. He’d put off telling them straight away, hoping that an alternative plan would spring to mind. But the fact was, without a young, unmarried woman to lure the Green Lady from her painting and into the mirror in the hallway, he didn’t know what else to do. All the sites he’d looked at indicated that it needed to be a young woman, though he supposed they could try it with Pamela, and see if it worked. Not that he held out much hope. Pamela was definitely the wrong side of fifty, and didn’t look like the marrying kind, plain and simple. And from what he could tell, the Green Lady wasn’t stupid.
“We kind of needed Serena to get the Green Lady to go into the mirror,” he offered lamely, as the hot tea misted his glasses. “And Serena wouldn’t come. She said I was being ridiculous.”
Mike paced up and down the tiles. “Well, it is a bit farfetched, mate,” he said, as tactfully as possible, which in Mike’s case, wasn’t very tactfully at all. “I mean, it’s like saying a dinosaur has come back to life or something.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Kester snapped, running his hands through his hair. “It’s not the same at all.”
“No,” Dr Ribero agreed. “It’s more like saying Queen Victoria isn’t actually dead. More like that. The Bloody Marys have been extinct for about a couple of hundred years, that’s all.”
“A couple of hundred years is bad enough,” Mike said. “At the end of the day, extinct means extinct. It doesn’t matter if it’s a few hundred years or a few million.”
Kester sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve messed it up again. I feel really awful about it. And I haven’t got a Plan B either. Sorry.”
“To be honest, you never really had much of a Plan A, either,” Mike added, patting him sympathetically on the back. “But I can see why you got excited. The mirror connection was a bit of a red herring, I think.”
“You do not know that for sure,” Dr Ribero berated, rapping at the tabletop with a fingertip. “Stranger things have happened, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. We deal with strange for a living,” Mike said with a gruff laugh. “But no one’s seen sight of a Bloody Mary for centuries. And they were the kind of spirits that really didn’t like to lie low. It seems unlikely that they’d have managed to remain hidden for so long.”
Pamela gave a low whistle. “So,” she said seriously. “What are we going to do?”
Miss Wellbeloved, who until then had been sitting quietly in the corner, raised her head. “Perhaps we should just go home again,” she suggested, staring out of the window. “There’s not much point being here, is there? I’ll call Infinite Enterprises in the morning, ask them to arrange for their team to come and sort it out.”
“No,” Ribero barked, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. He prowled across to Miss Wellbeloved and placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, we are not giving up, Jennifer. Come on. We have been running this agency too long to just give it all up.”
She looked up, giving him a weak smile. “Exactly,” she said. “We’re probably at retirement age anyway. So, what does it matter now? Perhaps it’s easier just to admit defeat.”
Ribero retreated a little, eyes widening. “I don’t think you really mean that,” he said. “I think you are just feeling a bit tired, yes?”
“I’m utterly exhausted,” Miss Wellbeloved answered, with a humourless chuckle. She reached out, taking him by the hand. “I think perhaps it’s just time to know when to quit. Let’s face it, we’ve been struggling for years now.”
Kester coughed, feeling utterly wretched. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled again. “I feel responsible.”
“Don’t be silly,” Miss Wellbeloved said, shaking herself. “You’ve tried to help, and I’m grateful to you. You even gave us a bit of hope for a while, and that was nice while it lasted.”
Kester gulped, feeling even worse than he had done previously. Gosh, he thought, I’ve only known them all for a few days, and already I’ve completely ruined their business. That must be a record.
“Shall we go then?” Mike said. “Doesn’t seem like much point sitting in here, does there?” He glanced at his watch, before adding, “and Chef Maestro has only just started. If I leave now, I’ll only miss a few minutes.”
“Can’t you just watch it on catch up?” Pamela suggested.
Mike shook his head. “It’s not the same,” he said, lifting up the equipment bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “It’s the live finals tonight. I want to see if Sheena manages to win.”
“She was doing very well, wasn’t she?” Pamela agreed, hoisting her considerable bulk off the chair. “That cake she baked last week was amazing, a real work of art. I loved those little chocolate flowers she added.”
“Yes, anyway,” Dr Ribero interrupted, glaring from under his heavy eyebrows, which were twitching in their direction. “I have not yet said we are going home. You are jumping over the gun a little, yes?”
“There’s no point us staying, is there?” Mike said, looking around them, as though an answer would present itself from one of the kitchen cupboards.
“Well, that depends whether or not you have given up, doesn’t it!” Dr Ribero said, his voice rising.
“I was rather under the impression that we all had,” Mike retorted. “Haven’t we?”
“I think we might as well go home,” Miss Wellbeloved agreed, standing up.
Dr Ribero’s shoulders slumped. He turned, fixing his gaze on Kester. “Have you any other ideas?” he pleaded, reaching out and resting a hand on Kester’s arm. “Any other plans that we could try?”
“I did wonder if we could use Pamela to lure the Green Lady into the mirror,” Kester offered, without much conviction. The others all looked at Pamela with varying degrees of scepticism, depending on how polite they were. Pamela didn’t seem to object. Indeed, she looked fairly sceptical herself.
“No, that will not do,” Ribero muttered. “It needs to be a young woman, someone who the Bloody Mary will believe is looking to marry.”
“Oh, that definitely isn’t me.” Pamela shook her head. “I never liked the idea of getting hitched. Far too much hassle.”
“Hear hear,” Mike echoed.
“Well,” Miss Wellbeloved said, plucking her handbag from the back of the chair and walking towards the door, “I believe that’s that then. Shall we?”
They started to troop down the hallway, as despondently as a group of children heading into an examination room. Kester felt so depressed he didn’t even notice the lights flickering overhead, nor the eerie hissing from the living room.
I’ve really blown it this time, he thought. I wish I’d just gone to the train station instead. Anything would have been better than feeling like this.
Pamela swung open the door. “Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, have a good evening,” Dr Ribero said, stepping outside, into the golden glow of the early twilight. “Let’s all have a sleep on it. You never know, one of us might get some sudden inspiration.”
“A few beers would probably help,” Mike added. “Can you give me a lift home, Pamela?”
“What, are you going already?” A sharp voice pierced the still air, and they all turned as one, like a pack of startled flamingos.
Kester’s mouth fell open, leaving him gawping like a breathless goldfish. Serena! But what is she doing here?
“We were told you weren’t coming,” Pamela said, in an unusually tight voice.
“Yeah, thought you’d deserted us,” Mike grunted, crossing his arms and staring out over the river, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
Serena fidgeted, adjusting her t-shirt unnecessarily. “I fancied getting out of the house,” she muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on her shiny stilettoes. “Change of scenery. You know.”
Kester stared, then slowly broke into a smile. Instinctively, he reached out, enveloping her in a hug of pure relief. Serena stiffened against him, then relaxed a little, patting him just the once on the back, as though rapping on a bongo. “I’m so glad you came,” he said quietly. “Seriously. You don’t know how brilliant it is that you’re here.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean I think you’re right. In fact, for what it’s worth, I think you’re very wrong indeed, and I don’t think your plan is going to work.” She paused, watching Kester’s grin falter. “However,” she continued, “it’s worth a shot. And we are a team, after all. I could hardly leave you all stranded, could I?”
Dr Ribero strode over, punching her on the arm. “Good for you,” he beamed. “Yes, you may have messed up badly the last time, but you are ready to try again. Well done.”
Serena grimaced, unsure how to take the comment. “Quite,” she said finally. Standing back, she took in the length of the house, narrowing her eyes. “Shall we get to work then?” she asked. “Or are you still planning on going home?”
Pamela chortled, linking her arm through Serena’s. “Not a chance,” she said, tugging her towards the front door. “I know it’s the Chef Maestro finals, but this is more exciting.”
“Nothing is more exciting than the Chef Maestro finale,” Mike declared, looking horrified at the suggestion. “Apart from the Chef Maestro finale and a pint in my hand. But I’m game to have a go if you all are.”
Dr Ribero laughed out loud, slapping his thigh in delight. “This is good!” he said. He patted Miss Wellbeloved on the back, who looked a little brighter now. “See?” he added, giving her a quick hug. “I told you not to give up.”
Miss Wellbeloved shook her head. “We haven’t got rid of her yet,” she replied seriously. “And if she’s not a Bloody Mary spirit after all, we’re no closer to getting rid of her than we were before.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing to be gathered up!” Ribero replied, with a jaunty wiggle of his hips.
“Gained,” Miss Wellbeloved automatically corrected. “The word is gained.”
“Ah, whatever,” he retorted. “It means the same. Let us get on with the task at hand.”
They stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind them. The sound echoed around the hallway, before leaving them in silence.
“Honey, I’m home!” Mike called out, giving the others a wink. “Well, I know I only left two minutes ago, but I’m back again!”
The house made no response, but the air seemed suddenly heavier, and more watchful.
“She knows we’re up to something,” Pamela whispered, casting her eyes to the ceiling as though searching for something in the coving. “I can sense her. We’ve got her attention now.”
“So, how is this going to work?” Serena asked in a low voice after she nudged Kester. “You still didn’t really explain what you wanted me to do. You were rambling on about mirrors when you came to visit me earlier, but I didn’t get much else out of you. Well, nothing that made any sense, anyway.”
Kester coughed, and tugged at his collar. “Serena,” he whispered, looking around them, feeling horribly as though they were being overheard by unpleasant, unseen ears. “You and I will wait out here. In the hallway.”
Serena nodded to the opposite wall, where the large mirror was hanging. “Because of that?” she said.
“Yep,” Kester confirmed. “The others are going to be in the lounge. They already know what to do, we discussed it before you arrived.”
“Can you run me through it?” Serena said, looking interested. Suddenly, an icy breeze ran through the length of the hall, chasing around their heads like a mini whirlwind, before departing again.
Dr Ribero coughed, nodding meaningfully at the others. “Perhaps we should relax first,” he said pointedly. “Let’s not discuss work now. Why don’t we go to the garden, have a drink?”
Serena looked at him as though he had gone completely mad, then grasped his meaning. “Oh, yes, yes of course,” she answered, raising her voice to ensure the spirit would hear. “That’s a great idea. There’s nothing for us to do in here at the moment, is there?”
They looked at Pamela, who paused for a moment, sniffing at the air in a disturbingly dog-like way, before nodding. “That worked,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
They trooped through the kitchen, following Ribero to the small cloakroom at the back, which opened out into the walled garden. The setting sun reflected piercing beams off the Victorian greenhouse, and a set of deckchairs were laid out on the carefully mowed lawn, as though awaiting their arrival.
“Is it safe to talk now?” Dr Ribero asked Pamela, easing himself into the nearest one.
Pamela wrinkled her nose, then nodded. “Yes,” she said in a louder voice. “She doesn’t like to venture too far from that painting of hers when we’re around. But careful everyone, she’s on to us. She must have detected our emotions when we came back into the house.”
“God, just like a bloody woman,” Mike grumbled, kicking at the base of the ornamental birdbath. “Always listening into conversations and jumping to the wrong conclusions.”
“In this instance, it was actually the right conclusion though, wasn’t it?” Kester pointed out.
Mike grunted, refusing to acknowledge the point.
“So talk me through it then,” Serena said, perching next to Ribero. “What’s the plan?”
Kester sat down next to her. Unfortunately, the chair buckled beneath him, clamping shut on his bottom and wedging him in an awkwardly folded position until Pamela prised him free. He bounced up, deliberately avoiding both Serena and Mike’s expressions, which he could already sense were filled with poorly concealed amusement.
“Anyway,” he began, mustering up as much dignity as possible. “The first step will be the mirror. I’ve been reading up on it, and Bloody Marys cannot help but be summoned if a young woman calls to them in a mirror.”
“And that’s where I come in?” Serena asked.
Kester nodded. “Then,” he continued, looking up at the house, “it’s Mike’s turn to destroy the painting, while she’s out of it.”
“What one of your fancy pieces of machinery are you going to use for that?” Serena asked, sneering at his equipment bag.
“Blow torch,” Mike replied with a grin. “I’m going to enjoy flaming that painting to bits, the amount of trouble it’s caused us.”
“It’s at this point,” Kester continued, “that I’m predicting we’ll have the most trouble. The Bloody Mary will be out of the painting, unable to get back in, and we don’t know how she’ll react.”
“Yes, and we all know what the legends say, don’t we,” Miss Wellbeloved said, leaning on the back of Ribero’s chair. “These types of spirit can be vicious if agitated. We’ll be dealing with a highly volatile creature here, make no mistake.”
“Is that where I come in and trap her in a water bottle?” Serena asked, looking excited.
“In theory, yes,” Ribero concluded. “Pamela and Jennifer will attempt to connect with her and soothe her so you can gain better control. Then we have her trapped, yes?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds nice and easy,” Mike said, scratching his beard.
Kester frowned, studying the windows, which looked ominously black and empty, despite the warmth of the sun at their backs. “Let’s hope it will be,” he muttered. There was something about the plan that was worrying him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Am I missing something? he wondered. If so, I need to find it fast. This isn’t a situation we want to mess up.
“And what if it’s not a Bloody Mary?” Serena asked. “Which, let’s face it, it’s unlikely to be. What then?”
“Then we are back to where we started,” Miss Wellbeloved said. “We’re no better or worse off than we were before.”
“But we must give it a try,” Ribero said, clapping his hands together, then gesturing to Mike. “Here, help me up. I am an old man, right?”
Mike snorted, but hoisted him out of the deckchair nonetheless. “Come on then,” he muttered. “Let’s do this. I’ve had it with this miserable git of a spirit, I want her out of my hair. She’s keeping me from my favourite TV programmes.”
As they walked back towards the house, Kester fell back in step with Serena. “By the way,” he said in a low voice, “when you summon her in the mirror, you know there’s a chance she’ll show you your future husband, don’t you? After all, that’s what Bloody Marys do, isn’t it?”
Serena gave him the most scathing look she could muster. “I hardly think I need be worried about that,” she retorted, stepping into the cloakroom. “I have no intention of ever getting married.”
“Okay,” Kester said with relief. “I just thought I’d better warn you.”
“No need,” she snapped. “I already know the legend. To be honest, I think it all sounds like complete and utter rubbish anyway.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed, following her in after meticulously wiping his feet on the mat.
The house was still eerily silent and still, and Kester had the distinct impression that they were being watched, as intently as bugs under a magnifying glass. He could feel the weight of the heavy, scrutinising stare, radiating from the walls and ceilings, observing their every move. She really dislikes us, he realised, with a shiver. She wants us gone, every bit as much as we want her gone. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
“So,” Dr Ribero boomed, as they entered the living room. “Shall we just sit here for a while instead, as the garden wasn’t so comfortable for my old bones?”
Miss Wellbeloved shot him a look. “Why not,” she said, nodding to the others. “I’m not in the mood to carry on this investigation, are you?”
Mike caught her eye and gave her a wink. “Oh no, me neither,” he said deliberately, launching himself into the armchair and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Let’s just chill out here for a bit, then head home.”
“Are you ready?” Kester whispered to Serena. She nodded and gave the hallway a grim look.
“Shall we go home then?” she said out loud. “As there’s nothing else for us to do here?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Kester replied, fighting to keep the nerves from his voice. Please let this work. His mother came to mind, and he closed his eyes. Let me have the strength to do this, he added. If you’re listening anywhere, Mother, please help me.
They moved towards the front door, pausing by the large mirror. Serena adjusted her hair, meeting his gaze. “Are you ready?” she whispered.
“Ready when you are,” he stuttered.
She nodded, then turned to face the mirror.
“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary!” she shouted, clutching the frame with both hands. To begin with, there was nothing. Then slowly, the mirror began to darken, as though someone was pumping black smoke into it from behind.
“My god,” Serena whispered, her eyes widening in shock.
My god, Kester thought, staring. I was right. I was actually right.
The mirror continued to darken, until the surface was jet-black, shiny and empty as a black hole. Serena gasped.
“Kester, what’s happening?” she hissed.
“You’ve done it, you’re summoning her!” he replied, half terrified, half fascinated.
“I don’t mean that,” she stammered. “Why can’t I move my head?”
Kester looked at her with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t move my head!” Serena repeated, her voice tight with panic. “And my hands are stuck to the mirror!”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I don’t know,” he whispered, still transfixed on the shifting surface of the reflection. “Do you want me to try to move your head for you?”
Serena began to say something, then suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard.
“What? What can you see?” Kester asked, looking over her shoulder. He could see nothing but blackness.
“Mike?” Serena whispered. “Is that you?”
“No, it’s Kester here, not Mike,” he replied, confused. Serena looked dazed, as though she’d only just woken up. Then suddenly, her head reared back, as though she’d been slapped. She winced, pulling away.
“She’s there!” she cried out. “She’s in the mirror, Kester!”
Kester peered over her shoulder, but couldn’t make anything out, only the darkness, which seemed to be shifting, like a brewing storm.
“I can’t see her,” he replied, squinting. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m bloody sure!” she yelled back. “Tell the others to get started, quickly! Hurry up, she’s trying to hurt me!”
Kester gasped, then leapt towards the lounge door, galvanised into action. He thrust the door open with a bang, jabbing his fingers in the direction of the painting.
“Now!” he cried out, feeling light-headed with nerves, excitement and raw terror. “Mike, get on with it, for goodness’ sake! She’s hurting Serena!”
“Bloody hell,” Mike exclaimed, flicking on his blow torch. The flame burst out immediately, a fierce blue tongue that he directed at the base of the painting. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, concentrating on the task at hand. The flames licked the corner of the frame, blackening the gilt edges.
“Is Serena okay?” Miss Wellbeloved asked, eyes creased with worry. She peered out the doorway, then looked back at Kester, her slate-grey eyes like circles. “Does this mean your idea has actually worked?”
“I rather think it might have done,” Kester breathed, feeling faint. “I’ll go and help Serena. How about you get ready for the next stage?”
The flames were now starting to travel across the base of the picture, caressing the brushstrokes almost indecently, sending the aged canvas curling and spitting with fury. Once they had taken hold, they spread rapidly, snaking upwards, turning the bright green dress to a murky shade of black. Kester gulped as the flames reached her face, and forced himself to turn away.
“Er, anyone have any thoughts about how we put the fire out?” Mike commented. No one replied. Kester closed the door behind him, preferring not to know the possible solutions to that particular problem. He switched his attention to Serena, who had gone deathly white.
“Oh my goodness,” he muttered, reaching towards her. “Serena, let go of the mirror, quickly!”
“Can’t . . .” she whispered, eyes roving across the mirror’s surface. “Can’t move. Hands. My hands are melting.”
Kester frowned, studying her hands, which were clasped tightly around the ornate frame, knuckles white as limestone pebbles. He touched them, then leapt back with a shout. She’s on fire, he thought irrationally, looking at Serena’s face, half expecting her to burst into flames at any moment. Dear Lord, is that what this Bloody Mary spirit does to people?
Steeling himself, he grabbed her by the wrists, and started to pull. Serena screamed, closing her eyes with pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he shouted, cringing at the noise. “Oh god, Serena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this would happen.”
“Get Pamela,” she whispered, head pitched backwards at an unnatural angle. Kester realised that she was close to passing out. “Quickly.”
“Righty-o,” Kester replied, in a voice that was verging on hysterical, then pulled open the lounge door with a bellow of desperation. “Pamela! A little help here please!”
“We’ve got a bit of a situation of our own here, love!” Pamela called from somewhere by the sofa. Kester looked upwards, to see large pieces of ash flying around the room, not to mention the wallpaper behind the painting, which was now burning merrily.
He tried not to think too hard about it. Sometimes, he reasoned to himself, it was counter-productive to think about things too much. Instead, he focused on the main priority, which was helping Serena.
“It’s absolutely 100% urgent that you help me now!” he said, in as authoritative tone as he could muster. Pamela looked at him with surprise, looked back at the fire, then shrugged.
“You guys have got this one, right?” she said to Mike and Dr Ribero, who were desperately trying to stamp the fire out with some particularly large velvet cushions.
“Yeah, got it covered,” Mike said, looking completely unconvinced. He ducked as a section of frame collapsed, spraying him with sparks. “No problems here.”
Pamela scuttled after Kester, rolling up her sleeves. “What’s happening here then?” she asked, then faltered at the sight of Serena, who had now passed out, and was leaning crazily against the mirror, suspended only by her hands, which were still stuck tight to the frame. “Jesus,” she whispered. “What has that horror done to her?”
“I don’t know,” Kester said, scooping Serena up to ease the pressure on her arms. “But you’ve got to help her, Pamela. I don’t know how.”
Pamela peered into the mirror, examining the fretful swirling shadows. Then she nodded grimly. “Only one thing to stop this cow doing any more damage,” she declared, placing her hands on her ample hips. “Bloody Mary! Listen to me now! Your painting is on fire, and you’ve nowhere else to go. Better get out of this mirror now, whilst you still can!”
A low, sickly thrum began to emanate from somewhere deep within the mirror’s surface, spilling out like poisoned treacle. It grew louder, rising in volume until it started to rattle the ornamental vase on the hallway table, sending it teetering from side to side. Kester brought his hands to his ears, taking the weight of Serena’s frail frame against his chest.
“What’s happening?” he shouted above the noise. “What’s she doing?”
“She’s getting royally hacked off, that’s what’s happening,” Pamela announced, with grim pleasure. “Go on, you old devil, you! Out of the mirror before we trap you!”
The humming noise rose, turning into a shrill, eardrum-bursting whistle. Then suddenly, it stopped. The darkness seeped out of the mirror like smoke pouring out of a window, leaving the surface clear once more. Serena’s hands fell from the frame, and she slumped to the floor like a broken puppet.
Kester crouched down, lifting her head. Her eyes rolled back, showing nothing but the whites of her eyes. He swallowed hard. God, what have I done? he thought, searching her face for signs of life. Is she okay? What happened to her?
A noise from the living room caused him to look up, startled. Pamela shook her head, gesturing to the door.
“It’s kicking off in there now,” she announced with an ominous nod. “I can feel her anger. She’s realised what’s happened.” Without warning, she reached over to the mirror, pulled it off the wall, and smashed it against the door frame. It shattered with a piercing crash, spraying shards across the hallway.
“What did you do that for?” Kester squawked, surveying the mess. He brushed some stray glass off Serena’s lap.
“She’ll be looking for another place to hide in a moment,” Pamela said grimly, as she strode into the living room, wading through the puddle of broken glass at her feet. As she entered, a wild breeze tore out through the door, whipping around Kester’s head with such power that it nearly knocked his glasses off.
“Oh boy,” he heard Pamela mutter, before the door slammed behind her with a deafening bang, leaving Kester alone in the hallway, with Serena still unconscious on his lap.
“Serena, please wake up!” he murmured, prodding her as hard as he dared on the stomach. Taking her chin firmly between his finger and thumb, he moved her head from side to side, searching her eyes for signs of wakefulness. However, her eyes remained white, rolled back as far as they would go. It was a hideous sight, and were it not for her chest, rising and falling in shallow, rasping breaths, he would have thought she was dead.
Now what are we going to do? he wondered, looking up at the lounge door, which hulked over them both like an impenetrable fortress. Serena’s a vital part of this plan. I didn’t imagine she’d end up being knocked out cold!
Gently, he moved her on to the floor, then rose to his feet.
“Everything alright in there?” he asked in a quavering voice, rapping at the door politely.
“No it bloody isn’t!”
Kester grimaced at the declaration, grasping the doorknob in an agony of indecision. He didn’t want to go into the room. Every cell in his body was rebelling against the idea. But he knew he had to. Even the excuse of being the world’s worst coward wouldn’t cut it now. He owed it to the others to at least try to do something. After all, he was the one who had come up with this awful plan in the first place.
Slowly, he poked his head around the door, trying very hard to not see the pandemonium inside.
“Need my help at all?” he asked quietly, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. Even there, he could see feet leaping anxiously from place to place, not to mention charred pieces of canvas littering the carpet.
“Yes, that might be nice, dear!” Pamela replied, straining to be heard above the noise. The room oozed diabolical sounds, quite unlike anything Kester had ever heard before—low, throbbing, moaning that needled right into his eardrums.
“Where is Serena?” Miss Wellbeloved asked, staggering across the room. Her normally immaculate hair was a wilderness of steel fuzz, and her hollow cheeks were flushed.
“She’s still unconscious!” Kester shouted. A wind buffeted against him with hurricane force, sending him reeling towards the sofa. He tottered, fighting to steady himself against the side-table.
“She keeps doing that,” Mike mentioned, still trying to stamp out the flames on the wallpaper. “It’s a right pain in the backside. Any ideas what to do now then, mate?”
“No!” Kester whimpered. “In the original plan, Serena wasn’t unconscious at this point!”
“At least we’ve got her out of the painting,” Pamela said, as brightly as possible, before being thrown across the room like a hot air balloon in a storm. She landed on the armchair in the window, bouncing like a beach ball and looking rather dazed.
“Kester, we need to come up with something,” Ribero shouted, reaching across to him. “This is bad. This is very bad indeed. This spirit, she is so powerful, we need to get her locked up in a water bottle quickly. Can Serena be woken up?”
Kester thought back to the shallow breathing and the whites of her eyes. Not a chance. He shook his head. “I wish she could,” he answered, clasping the edge of the sofa as another whirlwind crashed into him, “but she’s out cold. The Bloody Mary did something terrible to her, I think.”
“That evil cow,” Mike spat. He glared up at the ceiling, searching for the spirit amongst the wind and chaos. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, you nasty piece of work. I don’t care how powerful you are, you’ve been a nightmare from the start, and I, for one, am sick to death of you.”
“That probably won’t achieve much, Mike,” Miss Wellbeloved suggested, before being lifted off her feet and tossed like a wayward twig on to the sofa next to Pamela.
“What are we going to do then?” Mike shouted, running a hand through his hair. “Seriously. Are we totally screwed here? Have we just unleashed a complete monster into the world, without any means of bringing her under control? Is that what we’ve done?”
Kester thought it was very kind of him to use the expression we, when, in fact, it had been all his idea. His shoulders slumped, and he clasped his forehead, wishing that he had never come tonight. He’d thought that the worst outcome would be that he’d been wrong, and that the spirit hadn’t been a Bloody Mary after all. He now realised that the ridicule and disappointment of the others would have been a lot easier to deal with than this.
“Kester?”
He looked up to see Ribero’s face, only a few inches from his own.
“What?” he murmered. “Don’t ask me, I’ve got no idea. I’ve messed up again, haven’t I?”
Ribero seized him by the shoulders. To Kester’s great surprise, he smiled at him. It was an incongruous gesture, given the madness of the moment, but for the briefest moment, he felt as though everything would be alright.
“I don’t think you have messed up,” Ribero whispered, pulling him closer. “I think you have achieved something marvellous. Something that none of us managed, and we’ve been doing this for years, yes? And I think you can solve this. I believe you can do it.”
Kester looked up at the old man, blinking with confusion. The wind continued to hurtle around them, smashing against them from all angles, but for a moment, he hardly noticed.
“But I don’t know how to,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. He felt like a child again—confused, bewildered and scared. “I don’t know what to do. I wish I did.”
“Think what your mother would have done.”
“But what would she have done?” Kester fretted, clutching Ribero. “That’s just the problem! I don’t know what she would have done. It turns out I didn’t really know her at all, did I? She had this whole life with you, and I knew nothing about it!”
“She would have been brave,” Ribero replied, lowering his arms. “She would have been brave, and nothing else.”
Kester bit his lip. Is that true, Mother? he thought, fighting back a sob. Would you have known what to do, in this situation? An image of Gretchen came to him, not as she had been as she was dying, but before that, when she had been strong, full of energy and purpose.
Yes, she would have been, he realised. I understand now. You would have been scared, but you would have solved the problem. Because that’s what you did, your whole life. You solved all my problems. And that’s what I’ve got to do now. His eye widened, as he looked around him. It was as though everything had slowed down, as though he was watching a scene that he’d seen before. He took it all in: the ashes blowing in crazy circles, Mike desperately beating at the flaming wall, the two women clutching one another on the sofa, and his father calmly watching him. It didn’t seem real. I’m not afraid, he thought. I’m not afraid at all.
And just like that, the door appeared.
Initially just a tiny hole in the air, Kester watched with detached fascination as it tore itself wider, becoming a thick line of darkness that stretched downwards, until it formed a ragged doorway. The air around his head screeched even more loudly, in protest.
“I can see it!” he shouted, pointing. “The door! The spirit door! It’s appeared!”
He heard Ribero laugh with delight, and felt a hand clapping him on the back, but his attention was centred on the hypnotic sight of the doorway, shifting and slithering in the air like a living thing.
“Hang on, hang on, let me get my phone out!” Mike announced for some inexplicable reason, but Kester was too focused to give it much thought. The screeching rose into a deafening crescendo, sending a monsoon of wind tearing around the room, until it began to be sucked away, through the spirit door.
Kester continued to fix his gaze upon it, terrified that if he looked away, it would disappear. The winds gathered in front of him, rippling and rolling in the air like two fighting dogs, before shaping into a shadowy, bony form. He gasped, horrified by the sight of it—the ugly, jutting limbs; the dome-like head; and the mouth, open in a maw of rage.
“You are doing it!” Ribero bellowed behind him. “I see her! I see her now!”
Kester winced, then focused all his energy on driving the spirit backwards through the door. She howled, an inhuman sound of fury, scratching at the air by his face, trying to stop him. Then, as he felt he was about to collapse, the door sucked her through, and closed completely.
The wind dropped. The howl ceased, giving way to silence. The swirling ashes dropped to the floor like pieces of parchment. Kester fell to his knees, rested his head in his hands, and promptly passed out.