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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 05/18/2022
CONSCIENCE MALONE - GHOST DETECTIVE
Born 1965, M, from Te Awamutu, New ZealandCONSCIENCE MALONE - GHOST DETECTIVE
PART ONE - THE LIGHT
Many people believe that ghosts are the lost souls, doomed to wander the Earth like some romanticized Cathy forever searching for her Heathcliff - Wandering spirits, or the tortured dead if you will, but this is very far from the truth. Well, not too far from it, but far enough for it to create a kind of myth that the living like to attach some pseudo belief system to that takes their minds away from the tedium of actually having to live the life they have been given.
Let me explain.
Our bodies are all made of energy, as is everything else.
The same energy that went into the creation of the universe.
You cannot destroy it and you cannot make any more.
It is a constant in an inconstant universe.
So, when we die the energy that once was us has to go somewhere, and in some cases it hangs around until that somewhere is determined - Hence, what the living like to refer to as ghosts. We are not the undead, we just haven’t stopped living yet.
Purpose is the name of the game when it comes to those of us who have not moved on and for many it is the annoyance of a certain 'unfinished business’ that keeps us here and prevents us from ‘stepping into the light’, as it were.
My ‘to do’ list was / is very small but the niggling details of how I died presented me with two options.
Find out who, if anybody was responsible for my death, or
Create a whole new existence that wasn’t hampered by the tedium of carrying around seventy-five kg’s of meat, fat and varying other bits of tubes and organs that most of you have to deal with on a daily basis.
I chose the second option and set myself up as the world's first spirit criminal consultant, or ghost detective, as that title seemed to be a little more popular.
Just to add, I am also the inventor of ‘Garments for Ghosts’, the first, and only clothing range for the dead. Why would the untethered spirits of the dead need clothes? You may ask. Well, it is a little known fact that your organic energy, or soul if you choose, enters this plain naked - A little embarrassing when you think about it.
I mean, like it’s not enough to wake up one day only to find that you are dead but to add to your problems is the fact that you now appear to be walking around with all your bits flapping about for those, with the sight to see - to see.
The reason for this previous omission from the annals of the dead, regarding the initial nudity in the spirit world, is that clothes do not have souls, except shoes of course, and therefore do not form part of the surrounding field that binds your energy together. Some of us that try to cheat this simple law of physics, for the sake of decency or some deluded sense of fashion, tend to get their fields a little mucked up and go a little wobbly around the edges. Also, their psychic connection to the speech centers of the living (their voices) get set to half speed, hence the wooing and moaning sounds you might hear - It’s basically spectral feedback. It’s not meant to scare anyone.
My entrance back initially involved a lot of hiding behind bushes and slinking around in the dark for fifty years or so until the possibility of energy manipulation into something stable enough to mimic clothing presented itself by way of a chance meeting with Madam Strongtable, the famous (ish) fashionista from the latter part of the eighteenth century, who had her own reasons for not ‘stepping into the light’. This, for her was largely due to the fact that she had bigamously married four men, without all that tedious mucking about with divorces and the like. These rich (let’s not deny it) men had all passed over and were now waiting for Madam S with a few harsh words and the expectation of an explanation or four. It was during my time with this woman of absolutely no virtue whatsoever that my ability to hide, more or less in plain sight was perfected which then enabled me to be in places that I shouldn’t be and to spy on people that wished, at a later date, that I hadn’t been there.
Behind curtains.
Under beds
In closets - You get the picture.
I saw some very naughty things being exacted by even naughtier people - Some of it quite illegal. I must add here that, part of being dead, or no longer alive, comes with a massive disinterest in anything of a carnal nature. So, you can rest assured that the naughty things that I speak of are acts that a criminal lawyer would find interesting, not someone who has worked in the vice department for too many years.
There are no ‘Peeping Tom’ ghosts. (The closest we got to that was ‘pee peeing Tom - but he had his own set of issues) For as much as you have to be predisposed to see us, mainly in spooky places such as graveyards, old houses or at the end of your bed, we have to be willing to be seen.
Anyway, my ability to be a witness to certain crimes set me in good standing to become, as previously mentioned, a ghost detective. My clientele were those that wanted to move on but did not have the skills to discover who had put them here in the first place. Once their murders or the varying misadventures that led to their demise were solved and I had placed the incriminating evidence in the hands of the mortal police, lawyers or insurance brokers, they were free to re-enter the sub ether, spirit world or energy matrix (call it what you will) with the piece of mind that justice had been served and the naughty people had been punished, paid for or paid out accordingly.
Such investigations included,
The case of the missing sporran.
The Artichoke murders.
And the now famous, (or more rightly - infamous) ‘Pram of Doom’
These, amongst other, lesser known cases were all mine.
I bring these first three to the front as it was during my investigations into these that I discovered the existence of a certain Doctor Edward Arthur Diablo, or D.E.A.D as his acronym quite ironically spells (incidentally, the original name for my new venture into the world of crime solving was, Criminal Law Investigators Taking Overwhelming Risks in Society. I will leave you to work out why I changed it to, CONSCIENCE MALONE - GHOST DETECTIVE).
Dr Diablo was my Moriaty, for his presence was always felt during these dark times as the hand behind some of London’s most baffling cases. Some so subtle in their complexity that it was hard to see that a crime had been committed at all - But committed they had been. The nearer I got to unmasking him, the further he seemed to move away until my involvement with what is now known as
‘The case of Ticking Trousers’.
I am sure that you have read about the gruesome events that led up to the solving of this, most heinous of crimes, so I won’t go into details save I put you off of your lunch, and quite frankly the mention of lunch brings up some very nasty images for me - including my own lunch (Yes, ghosts eat - It’s just not what the living would think of as food). It was by complete chance that the wall that separated myself and the murderer had not been built when I was alive and therefore held no barrier for me, I could simply walk through it and catch the guilty person trying to hide the one piece of evidence that would eventually put him away. (The rusty tin of prunes that you all now associate with ‘Prunegate’) On seeing me waft through the wall, Charles, The Shoe-mender, Smiggins and his gang The Peach street Cobblers had made a run for it, straight into the waiting arms of Her Majesty’s finest - The Queen’s own Manure and Aircon Brigade. On that day, for Smiggins and his load of cobblers, the M.A B’s were there to clean that particular mess up, but not before some of it had tarnished the coat-tails of the elusive Doctor Diablo himself. Suddenly, what he thought of as not stinking like everyone else's now reeked to high heaven and the authorities were onto him. Even the police started to take an interest, which was odd as it was a Thursday and it was program change day at the local cinema. Such was the seriousness of the crime.
Dr. Diablo, having his existence thrust into the public arena, was hunted down for weeks that ran into months and months that extended to years before he eventually, and incredulously - handed himself in. Last week this man who had seemed so elusive just popped up out of nowhere and presented himself to the police. For two days he said nothing and asked for nothing except to speak to the one person who held the key to his incarceration - Me. For it was I that had gathered enough information, by way of eavesdropping and being in the wrong place at the right time to have enough to put the mysterious Doctor Death away for thirty years. The only thing I needed was a positive identification - little did I know that it would be Diablo himself that would provide this.
Arrangements were made and a time set for our meeting.
As cameras and recording devices were unable to capture me, it was requested by Dr. Diablo that there would be none present during our interview. This was agreed to as, for evidence sake, this would just be a recording of him talking to himself - Pointless really.
PART TWO - THE DARK
The police building was an old Victorian affair and so I had to be let in and accompanied by a medium by the name of Madam Large as most of my fellow mortal detectives had been trained to see only what was tangible and would therefore have trouble seeing me with enough clarity to do me the honor of opening the door. Madam Large, who again, quite ironically had the maiden name of Small, had not always been so psychically connected. She had not been a medium when she was a Small but on becoming a Large she found that her medium status had grown in some small way (by way of a lesser known brand of toothpaste and a record of Tommy Steele singing ‘Rock around the caveman - a process that she has never, fully explained) as to now make her useful as a connecting conduit between myself and those in the living world. In complete contradiction to her name, Madam Large was a thin woman who had obviously taken some dodgy advice from either bad friends, or a worse ex husband and had enhanced herself somewhat that now made her extremely top heavy. She attempted to add more height to her small frame by way of stiletto heels and because of this Madam Large always appeared to be falling forwards as she walked, clicking noisily on the stone floor as she did so.
Dr. Diablo did not need a Small or Large medium as his ability to see what should not be there was obvious and was made so by his opening comments.
“Good morning Detective,” he said in a cheerful tone. ”Please, take a seat”
Even seated Diablo was tall. His standing height had been recorded as six foot seven inches with a weight measured at a little over one hundred and eighty pounds. His long black hair was tied back leaving the front, unsecured strands to fall over his weathered and sun-scorched face. His unshaven chin showed signs of a smattering of gray that gave him the classic salt and pepper look, it also betrayed the fact that he dyed his hair.
His voice, when he spoke, sounded like it had been dragged over gravel before reaching your ears. His smile, although irritating as it suggested that he knew a lot more than you did, was that of a country and western singer. Wide, bright and as false as Madam Larges' breasts. He held out his shackled hands towards a chair that sat opposite him. “Thank you Madam Large” he continued as he turned his attention to the medium “Your services are no longer needed.”
Madam Large looked at me for confirmation and I nodded to her. The wind carried the wraith of my voice. “Thank you” it whispered as I sat down. She nodded to me as she left the room, refusing to make eye contact with Diablo, and when the clicking of her heels had faded away both the doctor and I were alone.
Again, as if dragged from another existence my voice came from afar.
“What do you want?” it asked.
When the last word’s echo dissipated the doctor smiled.
“Straight to the point detective” he smiled. “I like that."
“Then why don’t you do likewise” breathed the air around him.
“Of course,” he said, bowing slightly. He cleared his throat before saying “You are the key to my conviction I hear” he said in a cheery tone. “The only witness to my, let us say, indiscretions.”
“If you mean crimes - Then yes” came the spectral voice once more.
“And of course,” he continued “since the spirit laws of 96, you are regarded as a divine truth and one that cannot be bought, corrupted or bargained with - Is that true?”
The room grew a little darker and the doctor looked around, smiling.
“Have I upset you Detective?”
The darkness brought my reply.
“You're wasting my time Diablo. Why am I here?”
“To witness the end of course - and the beginning of something quite wonderful”
He stood up, but hampered by his chains he did not move from his side of the table.
“And to hear me confess of course”
“You don’t need me for that” my voice said “There are policemen outside that will be happy to listen to your egotistical rantings and maybe - Just maybe they might find them interesting”
A look of concern crossed the doctor’s face.
“Oh no” he said, almost apologetically “You see, without you they have nothing”
“They have me,” I replied. I stood up “Now, if you don’t have anything relevant for me then I will bid you good day” I smiled as my voice echoed “See you in court”
“Not if someone kills you first,” he said. ”That someone being me of course” He waved his hands dismissively “But you got the inference”
I tilted my head in question.
“You want to, or think you can kill a dead person?”
“Oh, absolutely,” smiled the doctor. “Wouldn’t that be just so - precious, and the jewel in any career criminals resume. Think of the headlines ‘Doctor Edward Diablo - Ghost Killer’ Who ya gonna call now?” he added with a smirk.
My voice echoed back into the room, carried by the celestial winds.
“This should be good,” it said.
Diablo smiled and said,
“I am hoping so Detective. I am certainly hoping so”
The energy trace of my former self sat on what was, in that moment, a chair and crossed my legs. The image of my skirt fell away slightly causing my force of habitual memory to pull it back over my exposed leg.
“Tell me” said the Doctor, pretending not to notice my impromptu exposure of the energy residue a leg long since dead. “What do you remember of your last days with us on this mortal coil?”
I arched my eyebrow in resignation and questioning.
“Indulge me,” he added.
I took a long, unnecessary breath and let out a sigh.
“It was the evening of January the 30th 1969” whispered my voice. “The day before my twentieth birthday”
“And how were you feeling?”
It was an odd question but one that I could answer easily without trying to recreate the situation - Or the misery attached to that day.
“Before the pain, higher and happier than I had felt in a long time - For I had witnessed, what I considered to be one of life’s true miracles”
The last words faded into echoes before the Doctor spoke again.
“Did you know that you and I are the same age?” He said, going off at some unexpected tangent. He sat back in his chair and shrugged, “Or would be if, well - You know”
“Sixty three. Yes” my voice said “I know everything I want, or need to know about you”
He leaned forward.
“I wonder if you do,” he said with a smile. “I wonder if you do”
“As I said,” my voice repeated. “Everything I want or need to know”
“My first crime?”
I smiled.
“Lady Hampshire’s murder - The case of the talking knickers. The killer, you” my voice added as I pointed a spectral finger towards him “in his, or your hurry to hide the evidence dressed her in underwear that did not match. Lady Hampshire would have died before committing such an act of mismanaged couture - Indeed she did.
Who dressed her by the way?”
“Not I” said the doctor in his precocious ‘I will never refer to myself as ‘me’ as it is far too common’ manner. ”I had one of the Sisters of Doom take care of that particular stuff up”
The Sisters of Doom were, and still are an order of the black church dating back to the 1600’s that were, still are in the employ of varying nefarious organizations that require their hired hands to not ask questions and not give evidence later if those unasked questions start being asked by nosey people such as, for example - the police.
“I see” wafted my voice. “Out of curiosity, who did you use?”
“For my sins” shrugged the doctor, “Sister Harbinger”
He lamented for a few seconds before snapping himself back to the room. “My turn,” he smiled. “What did you do before joining Spook Airlines?”
A look of confusion must have crossed my face as my voice involuntarily asked
“What the hell is Spook Airlines?” I instantly regretted this when the doctor burst out laughing.
“The Celestial Plane?” he said - “Get it?”
“Dad jokes,” my voice said flatly. With your impending trial and, let’s face it, inevitable incarceration, you choose to make jokes.” I got up to leave “I have better places to be”
“My first, actual crime was also one of murder, well manslaughter actually - Woman slaughter if we are relying on technicalities.” he said, using these words to anchor me back to this absurd situation. “For it was yours - true story,” he added.
This time there was no mirth in his tone or hint of a lie on his face.
The room grew darker, highlighting the outline of a door that had appeared in the far wall and in anticipation of the doctor's words being true. It opened slightly and a figure poked its head around the opening, cursing under its breath when the hood of its cowl snagged on the scythe that, in all sensibility, should have been left behind.
I looked towards the opening and shook my head slowly.
“Not yet” whispered my voice.
The figure shrugged and said,
“Just checking”
I focused my attention back to Diablo.
“I’m listening” said my voice inaccurately
Doctor Diablo smiled.
“Is the door open? Can you see the light detective?
“Yes” echoed my voice.
“Good” he laughed, clapping his hands together as best he could. “Then I shall begin.
I had decided to travel to London, Saville Row to be precise in order to have a suit made for me.” For a moment he lost himself in the years as the mists of time clouded his eyes. “It was my first tailor made suit that I had been saving up for. Four years of working for that horrible Mrs. Arkdale so that I could complete my studies, and this suit was part of my plan to secure an interview with Goringtons and Son”
“The lawyers?” came my question.
“The very same” answered Diablo. “There was nothing I did not know about criminal law. The cases, the trials and all the loopholes that would allow me to bring all the naughty people to justice”
There was a pause while the spirits of irony and explanation had an exchange of glances whilst both crossed ‘well, that explains that then’ off of their respective lists.
“There was a young girl behind the counter of the particularly fine tailor I had chosen to visit,” he continued. “Do you remember, detective?” His question was met by silence and so, with a shrug of his large shoulders Diablo continued. “Anyway, she was not part of the tailoring team of course, I mean, it was the sixties and that sort of thing was not done, no - She was merely there as a runner, taking various items of clothing from one store to another in order to have them altered.”
“Is this going anywhere?” said my voice impatiently.
“Oh, indeed detective, indeed, for you see that young girl had been asked to run my pants down the street to have the necessary alterations exacted, and far from carrying out her duties she chose to stop in the street and listen to some hack musical combo blare out their nonsensical tripe from the adjacent rooftop.”
I smiled. “Not your miracle maybe” whispered my voice.
“Because of her tardiness” he continued angrily, choosing to ignore my last words, or those of my spiritual voice, “I was running late for my interview - The biggest and most important interview of my life”
The doctor was red in the face. He took some time to slow his breathing down before carrying on with his account of that day.
“I lost my patience with the girl, especially as I could see her in the street, staring up with a gormless look on her face and my pants in her hands. I stormed out of the shop in order to retrieve the said article of clothing and to give her a piece of my mind”
My voice echoed back into the room.
“I remember you now”
“What a comfort that is to me” he replied sarcastically.
“May I interrupt your pity party for a minute and ask you a question?”
The last words echoed around the room and eventually into silence.
“If you must - But I would think that the door would be open quite wide by now,” said the doctor with a smirk. “Can you hear them calling you my dear? Can you feel the urge to step into the light?” He chuckled to himself.
“My question is this. Did you really think it would be that easy?” said my voice. “Confess to my murder and then have me disappear, having been confronted with the details of my death - You are a lot more pathetic and ill informed that my intel suggested. It’s quite disappointing really. I expected more from you”
The door closed quietly, but the outline remained. The only sound was the wind that would carry my voice, the doctor’s breathing and something heavy being dropped on the other side of the door.
“You did not kill me doctor. Well, not directly anyway - No, the girl you slaughtered was my sister. My twin sister” My voice added. “Although it’s true that I died on my birthday - our birthday, I was not murdered. I did not kill myself nor was I taken from the living world by an accident. On that day and at the sight of my sister's broken body - I simply stopped living”
The spectral voice that echoed around the room was tinged with sadness in its wraith-like way but it continued on with this tale of woe and heartbreak as if exorcizing the pain felt by its once living soul.
“I was in the unfortunate position of identifying her body on the day before we both stopped being teenagers. The body that you pushed in front of a tube train. It was reported that it was a young businessman in too much of a hurry to realize what he had done, but it wasn’t until this, very helpful confession today that I realized that both my sister’s killer and this near mythical ‘Doctor Death’ were one and the same person - You can imagine how much satisfaction this gives me knowing that my death’s work has all been focused on bringing you both to justice - And here we are. All my eggs in one, very nasty basket.”
A look of confusion flashed across the doctor’s face.
“Let me tell YOU a story” came the whispers. “My sister worked in a men’s clothing store in Saville Row, not me. I was on duty that day as part of my training to become a police officer - a training day that was halted by the, aforementioned miracle”
“I was there that day - remember” scoffed the doctor. ”I remember no miracle”
“Because, as I said before, it was not your miracle to experience” hissed my voice.
The room darkened once more and the outline of the door faded into nothing. “As I was saying” my voice continued, “My training day was halted due to the fact that the officer in charge of me had been called to stop the very miracle that had encapsulated the people around me - And later, the rest of the world it seems”
I closed my eyes as the memories flooded back - And yes, ghosts can cry.
“My sister joined me in the street to witness what was happening. No words were said as the music seemed to fill the air and any gaps in the conversation. I laughed when I saw that Harmony, that was her name if you are interested”
“Not really” Diablo sneered, clearly upset that his arrow had missed its mark in such a devastating way.
“Well.” continued my voice “Harmony still had a pair of pants in her hands that belonged to a young man that had come in to to be measured for a suit - The same young man that was now the source of ridicule as he had taken it upon himself to march out in to the street, dressed only in his shirt, underwear and sock suspenders, snatching the aforementioned pants from her hands before returning to the store”
My spectral brow furrowed.
“Is that why she died?”
“She was still laughing about it to her friends when I went to go home” snarled Diablo. I lost my dignity and the chance of a job interview because of that brazen gutter whore.
The room darkened once again but Diablo ignored the anger in the air.
“I was standing behind her in the tube station, listening to her ridicule me and so when the train came along I took care of that particular problem.”
He held eye contact with me until forced to blink against a specter that has no eyelids.
“It was because of your sister that I took the path that I did.” He said meekly, but not even he believed the convictions of his words. “All the crimes, all the deaths and all the pain caused by me is blood that will forever stain her hands every bit as much as it drips from mine”
There was a pause as both of us reflected on the events of that day.
Both sides of the same coin that had spun in the air for nearly fifty years.
“I was called to the scene as the other officers were busy with crowd control” my voice continued eventually, ignoring the pain of that time and his obvious attempts to get me angry. “A young girl had fallen under the train - It was always believed to be an accident and so her soul moved on without any need to find a truth that was never known about. But here’s the thing” whispered the air, “Do you know what these souls become when this truth contradicts the terms and conditions of said ‘moving on’?”
“Do tell” yawned the doctor in apparent boredom, an act that froze when he looked back at me - for standing by my side was Harmony.
“Demons” rasped her voice. “Tormentors, to be precise” it added.
The fire of unavenged fury poured from her and the beauty she once held now was savage in its intensity. Her quest for revenge against this monster was barely held at bay, restricted only by the veneer thin separation of one realm from another. But time is an enemy only of flesh and blood, it holds no contract of a ticking clock to those of us who swim within the energy streams of what once was, is now or will soon become.
All Harmony had to do was wait.
All Diablo had left was fear.
A small puddle of something unspeakable formed under Diablo’s chair and his face turned gray with fear. He looked pleadingly at me.
“You serve justice” he whimpered “mortal justice. You can’t just hand me over to this - this” he repeated when his articulate and self pleasing attitude failed him.
Both Harmony and myself tilted our heads to one side.
“This very much sounds like a plea for mercy Edward” came my voice from all sides of him.
Diablo pushed his chair back in an attempt to get away from Harmony’s stare, only to be hampered by the shackles that bound him to the table.
"Please help me” he whimpered. Fear took him and the doctor’s body started to shake uncontrollably. Tears rolled down his face as Edward Diablo was forced to face the punishment of his crimes, for where one of his victims stood, now stood others as one by one the dead raised their army against him..
All calling for justice.
All seeking revenge.
To call them Legion - For they were many.
“Go to Hell” said my voice.
“I’ll show you the way” said Harmony’s
EPILOGUE - TWILIGHT
There may, or may not be something on the other side of the door.
Some would have you believe that paradise awaits you.
Some would argue that things are about to get very hot if you have been naughty.
Either way, death is inevitable and should not be feared because, if it is the end of something then it is up to you to make that something beautiful and worthwhile while you are here. If, however, there is a better existence waiting for you, be aware that we, the ‘yet to move on’ do not reward bad behavior.
Diablo drove himself mad at the prospect of what was waiting for him when he died, but in a way, don’t we all do that? He dedicated the rest of his incarcerated life finding cures that would end any potential condition that would bring the reaper to his door and himself to the mercy of my sister thus, inadvertently saving millions of lives in the process. The irony is lost on no one.
My death is still unknown to me.
Can you truly die of a broken heart?
Maybe.
So for the moment, here I stay to solve the mysteries of others until I face the one that moves me on. I do, however, have one question for you before I go.
A little mystery for you to solve maybe.
One for all of you that still breathe the air and taste the wine.
Who smell the flowers and grow with the children.
Who run and jump, dance and sing and fall in love with those who would bring out the real person that lives on long after you cease to be.
That energy that forms this better version of you and one that never truly dies.
My question is this.
If the fear of what awaits you, when the fleshy bit of you stops being of any use to anyone, is your only motivation for helping others, doing good or being kind - Who gave the driver of the car, that steers you inevitably towards the end of your time on earth, the license to do so? Seize control of the wheel now and take your own journey.
It might take a little longer to get here - But the scenery on the way is much prettier.
Just a thought - See you soon.
THE END
CONSCIENCE MALONE - GHOST DETECTIVE(Iain Cambridge)
CONSCIENCE MALONE - GHOST DETECTIVE
PART ONE - THE LIGHT
Many people believe that ghosts are the lost souls, doomed to wander the Earth like some romanticized Cathy forever searching for her Heathcliff - Wandering spirits, or the tortured dead if you will, but this is very far from the truth. Well, not too far from it, but far enough for it to create a kind of myth that the living like to attach some pseudo belief system to that takes their minds away from the tedium of actually having to live the life they have been given.
Let me explain.
Our bodies are all made of energy, as is everything else.
The same energy that went into the creation of the universe.
You cannot destroy it and you cannot make any more.
It is a constant in an inconstant universe.
So, when we die the energy that once was us has to go somewhere, and in some cases it hangs around until that somewhere is determined - Hence, what the living like to refer to as ghosts. We are not the undead, we just haven’t stopped living yet.
Purpose is the name of the game when it comes to those of us who have not moved on and for many it is the annoyance of a certain 'unfinished business’ that keeps us here and prevents us from ‘stepping into the light’, as it were.
My ‘to do’ list was / is very small but the niggling details of how I died presented me with two options.
Find out who, if anybody was responsible for my death, or
Create a whole new existence that wasn’t hampered by the tedium of carrying around seventy-five kg’s of meat, fat and varying other bits of tubes and organs that most of you have to deal with on a daily basis.
I chose the second option and set myself up as the world's first spirit criminal consultant, or ghost detective, as that title seemed to be a little more popular.
Just to add, I am also the inventor of ‘Garments for Ghosts’, the first, and only clothing range for the dead. Why would the untethered spirits of the dead need clothes? You may ask. Well, it is a little known fact that your organic energy, or soul if you choose, enters this plain naked - A little embarrassing when you think about it.
I mean, like it’s not enough to wake up one day only to find that you are dead but to add to your problems is the fact that you now appear to be walking around with all your bits flapping about for those, with the sight to see - to see.
The reason for this previous omission from the annals of the dead, regarding the initial nudity in the spirit world, is that clothes do not have souls, except shoes of course, and therefore do not form part of the surrounding field that binds your energy together. Some of us that try to cheat this simple law of physics, for the sake of decency or some deluded sense of fashion, tend to get their fields a little mucked up and go a little wobbly around the edges. Also, their psychic connection to the speech centers of the living (their voices) get set to half speed, hence the wooing and moaning sounds you might hear - It’s basically spectral feedback. It’s not meant to scare anyone.
My entrance back initially involved a lot of hiding behind bushes and slinking around in the dark for fifty years or so until the possibility of energy manipulation into something stable enough to mimic clothing presented itself by way of a chance meeting with Madam Strongtable, the famous (ish) fashionista from the latter part of the eighteenth century, who had her own reasons for not ‘stepping into the light’. This, for her was largely due to the fact that she had bigamously married four men, without all that tedious mucking about with divorces and the like. These rich (let’s not deny it) men had all passed over and were now waiting for Madam S with a few harsh words and the expectation of an explanation or four. It was during my time with this woman of absolutely no virtue whatsoever that my ability to hide, more or less in plain sight was perfected which then enabled me to be in places that I shouldn’t be and to spy on people that wished, at a later date, that I hadn’t been there.
Behind curtains.
Under beds
In closets - You get the picture.
I saw some very naughty things being exacted by even naughtier people - Some of it quite illegal. I must add here that, part of being dead, or no longer alive, comes with a massive disinterest in anything of a carnal nature. So, you can rest assured that the naughty things that I speak of are acts that a criminal lawyer would find interesting, not someone who has worked in the vice department for too many years.
There are no ‘Peeping Tom’ ghosts. (The closest we got to that was ‘pee peeing Tom - but he had his own set of issues) For as much as you have to be predisposed to see us, mainly in spooky places such as graveyards, old houses or at the end of your bed, we have to be willing to be seen.
Anyway, my ability to be a witness to certain crimes set me in good standing to become, as previously mentioned, a ghost detective. My clientele were those that wanted to move on but did not have the skills to discover who had put them here in the first place. Once their murders or the varying misadventures that led to their demise were solved and I had placed the incriminating evidence in the hands of the mortal police, lawyers or insurance brokers, they were free to re-enter the sub ether, spirit world or energy matrix (call it what you will) with the piece of mind that justice had been served and the naughty people had been punished, paid for or paid out accordingly.
Such investigations included,
The case of the missing sporran.
The Artichoke murders.
And the now famous, (or more rightly - infamous) ‘Pram of Doom’
These, amongst other, lesser known cases were all mine.
I bring these first three to the front as it was during my investigations into these that I discovered the existence of a certain Doctor Edward Arthur Diablo, or D.E.A.D as his acronym quite ironically spells (incidentally, the original name for my new venture into the world of crime solving was, Criminal Law Investigators Taking Overwhelming Risks in Society. I will leave you to work out why I changed it to, CONSCIENCE MALONE - GHOST DETECTIVE).
Dr Diablo was my Moriaty, for his presence was always felt during these dark times as the hand behind some of London’s most baffling cases. Some so subtle in their complexity that it was hard to see that a crime had been committed at all - But committed they had been. The nearer I got to unmasking him, the further he seemed to move away until my involvement with what is now known as
‘The case of Ticking Trousers’.
I am sure that you have read about the gruesome events that led up to the solving of this, most heinous of crimes, so I won’t go into details save I put you off of your lunch, and quite frankly the mention of lunch brings up some very nasty images for me - including my own lunch (Yes, ghosts eat - It’s just not what the living would think of as food). It was by complete chance that the wall that separated myself and the murderer had not been built when I was alive and therefore held no barrier for me, I could simply walk through it and catch the guilty person trying to hide the one piece of evidence that would eventually put him away. (The rusty tin of prunes that you all now associate with ‘Prunegate’) On seeing me waft through the wall, Charles, The Shoe-mender, Smiggins and his gang The Peach street Cobblers had made a run for it, straight into the waiting arms of Her Majesty’s finest - The Queen’s own Manure and Aircon Brigade. On that day, for Smiggins and his load of cobblers, the M.A B’s were there to clean that particular mess up, but not before some of it had tarnished the coat-tails of the elusive Doctor Diablo himself. Suddenly, what he thought of as not stinking like everyone else's now reeked to high heaven and the authorities were onto him. Even the police started to take an interest, which was odd as it was a Thursday and it was program change day at the local cinema. Such was the seriousness of the crime.
Dr. Diablo, having his existence thrust into the public arena, was hunted down for weeks that ran into months and months that extended to years before he eventually, and incredulously - handed himself in. Last week this man who had seemed so elusive just popped up out of nowhere and presented himself to the police. For two days he said nothing and asked for nothing except to speak to the one person who held the key to his incarceration - Me. For it was I that had gathered enough information, by way of eavesdropping and being in the wrong place at the right time to have enough to put the mysterious Doctor Death away for thirty years. The only thing I needed was a positive identification - little did I know that it would be Diablo himself that would provide this.
Arrangements were made and a time set for our meeting.
As cameras and recording devices were unable to capture me, it was requested by Dr. Diablo that there would be none present during our interview. This was agreed to as, for evidence sake, this would just be a recording of him talking to himself - Pointless really.
PART TWO - THE DARK
The police building was an old Victorian affair and so I had to be let in and accompanied by a medium by the name of Madam Large as most of my fellow mortal detectives had been trained to see only what was tangible and would therefore have trouble seeing me with enough clarity to do me the honor of opening the door. Madam Large, who again, quite ironically had the maiden name of Small, had not always been so psychically connected. She had not been a medium when she was a Small but on becoming a Large she found that her medium status had grown in some small way (by way of a lesser known brand of toothpaste and a record of Tommy Steele singing ‘Rock around the caveman - a process that she has never, fully explained) as to now make her useful as a connecting conduit between myself and those in the living world. In complete contradiction to her name, Madam Large was a thin woman who had obviously taken some dodgy advice from either bad friends, or a worse ex husband and had enhanced herself somewhat that now made her extremely top heavy. She attempted to add more height to her small frame by way of stiletto heels and because of this Madam Large always appeared to be falling forwards as she walked, clicking noisily on the stone floor as she did so.
Dr. Diablo did not need a Small or Large medium as his ability to see what should not be there was obvious and was made so by his opening comments.
“Good morning Detective,” he said in a cheerful tone. ”Please, take a seat”
Even seated Diablo was tall. His standing height had been recorded as six foot seven inches with a weight measured at a little over one hundred and eighty pounds. His long black hair was tied back leaving the front, unsecured strands to fall over his weathered and sun-scorched face. His unshaven chin showed signs of a smattering of gray that gave him the classic salt and pepper look, it also betrayed the fact that he dyed his hair.
His voice, when he spoke, sounded like it had been dragged over gravel before reaching your ears. His smile, although irritating as it suggested that he knew a lot more than you did, was that of a country and western singer. Wide, bright and as false as Madam Larges' breasts. He held out his shackled hands towards a chair that sat opposite him. “Thank you Madam Large” he continued as he turned his attention to the medium “Your services are no longer needed.”
Madam Large looked at me for confirmation and I nodded to her. The wind carried the wraith of my voice. “Thank you” it whispered as I sat down. She nodded to me as she left the room, refusing to make eye contact with Diablo, and when the clicking of her heels had faded away both the doctor and I were alone.
Again, as if dragged from another existence my voice came from afar.
“What do you want?” it asked.
When the last word’s echo dissipated the doctor smiled.
“Straight to the point detective” he smiled. “I like that."
“Then why don’t you do likewise” breathed the air around him.
“Of course,” he said, bowing slightly. He cleared his throat before saying “You are the key to my conviction I hear” he said in a cheery tone. “The only witness to my, let us say, indiscretions.”
“If you mean crimes - Then yes” came the spectral voice once more.
“And of course,” he continued “since the spirit laws of 96, you are regarded as a divine truth and one that cannot be bought, corrupted or bargained with - Is that true?”
The room grew a little darker and the doctor looked around, smiling.
“Have I upset you Detective?”
The darkness brought my reply.
“You're wasting my time Diablo. Why am I here?”
“To witness the end of course - and the beginning of something quite wonderful”
He stood up, but hampered by his chains he did not move from his side of the table.
“And to hear me confess of course”
“You don’t need me for that” my voice said “There are policemen outside that will be happy to listen to your egotistical rantings and maybe - Just maybe they might find them interesting”
A look of concern crossed the doctor’s face.
“Oh no” he said, almost apologetically “You see, without you they have nothing”
“They have me,” I replied. I stood up “Now, if you don’t have anything relevant for me then I will bid you good day” I smiled as my voice echoed “See you in court”
“Not if someone kills you first,” he said. ”That someone being me of course” He waved his hands dismissively “But you got the inference”
I tilted my head in question.
“You want to, or think you can kill a dead person?”
“Oh, absolutely,” smiled the doctor. “Wouldn’t that be just so - precious, and the jewel in any career criminals resume. Think of the headlines ‘Doctor Edward Diablo - Ghost Killer’ Who ya gonna call now?” he added with a smirk.
My voice echoed back into the room, carried by the celestial winds.
“This should be good,” it said.
Diablo smiled and said,
“I am hoping so Detective. I am certainly hoping so”
The energy trace of my former self sat on what was, in that moment, a chair and crossed my legs. The image of my skirt fell away slightly causing my force of habitual memory to pull it back over my exposed leg.
“Tell me” said the Doctor, pretending not to notice my impromptu exposure of the energy residue a leg long since dead. “What do you remember of your last days with us on this mortal coil?”
I arched my eyebrow in resignation and questioning.
“Indulge me,” he added.
I took a long, unnecessary breath and let out a sigh.
“It was the evening of January the 30th 1969” whispered my voice. “The day before my twentieth birthday”
“And how were you feeling?”
It was an odd question but one that I could answer easily without trying to recreate the situation - Or the misery attached to that day.
“Before the pain, higher and happier than I had felt in a long time - For I had witnessed, what I considered to be one of life’s true miracles”
The last words faded into echoes before the Doctor spoke again.
“Did you know that you and I are the same age?” He said, going off at some unexpected tangent. He sat back in his chair and shrugged, “Or would be if, well - You know”
“Sixty three. Yes” my voice said “I know everything I want, or need to know about you”
He leaned forward.
“I wonder if you do,” he said with a smile. “I wonder if you do”
“As I said,” my voice repeated. “Everything I want or need to know”
“My first crime?”
I smiled.
“Lady Hampshire’s murder - The case of the talking knickers. The killer, you” my voice added as I pointed a spectral finger towards him “in his, or your hurry to hide the evidence dressed her in underwear that did not match. Lady Hampshire would have died before committing such an act of mismanaged couture - Indeed she did.
Who dressed her by the way?”
“Not I” said the doctor in his precocious ‘I will never refer to myself as ‘me’ as it is far too common’ manner. ”I had one of the Sisters of Doom take care of that particular stuff up”
The Sisters of Doom were, and still are an order of the black church dating back to the 1600’s that were, still are in the employ of varying nefarious organizations that require their hired hands to not ask questions and not give evidence later if those unasked questions start being asked by nosey people such as, for example - the police.
“I see” wafted my voice. “Out of curiosity, who did you use?”
“For my sins” shrugged the doctor, “Sister Harbinger”
He lamented for a few seconds before snapping himself back to the room. “My turn,” he smiled. “What did you do before joining Spook Airlines?”
A look of confusion must have crossed my face as my voice involuntarily asked
“What the hell is Spook Airlines?” I instantly regretted this when the doctor burst out laughing.
“The Celestial Plane?” he said - “Get it?”
“Dad jokes,” my voice said flatly. With your impending trial and, let’s face it, inevitable incarceration, you choose to make jokes.” I got up to leave “I have better places to be”
“My first, actual crime was also one of murder, well manslaughter actually - Woman slaughter if we are relying on technicalities.” he said, using these words to anchor me back to this absurd situation. “For it was yours - true story,” he added.
This time there was no mirth in his tone or hint of a lie on his face.
The room grew darker, highlighting the outline of a door that had appeared in the far wall and in anticipation of the doctor's words being true. It opened slightly and a figure poked its head around the opening, cursing under its breath when the hood of its cowl snagged on the scythe that, in all sensibility, should have been left behind.
I looked towards the opening and shook my head slowly.
“Not yet” whispered my voice.
The figure shrugged and said,
“Just checking”
I focused my attention back to Diablo.
“I’m listening” said my voice inaccurately
Doctor Diablo smiled.
“Is the door open? Can you see the light detective?
“Yes” echoed my voice.
“Good” he laughed, clapping his hands together as best he could. “Then I shall begin.
I had decided to travel to London, Saville Row to be precise in order to have a suit made for me.” For a moment he lost himself in the years as the mists of time clouded his eyes. “It was my first tailor made suit that I had been saving up for. Four years of working for that horrible Mrs. Arkdale so that I could complete my studies, and this suit was part of my plan to secure an interview with Goringtons and Son”
“The lawyers?” came my question.
“The very same” answered Diablo. “There was nothing I did not know about criminal law. The cases, the trials and all the loopholes that would allow me to bring all the naughty people to justice”
There was a pause while the spirits of irony and explanation had an exchange of glances whilst both crossed ‘well, that explains that then’ off of their respective lists.
“There was a young girl behind the counter of the particularly fine tailor I had chosen to visit,” he continued. “Do you remember, detective?” His question was met by silence and so, with a shrug of his large shoulders Diablo continued. “Anyway, she was not part of the tailoring team of course, I mean, it was the sixties and that sort of thing was not done, no - She was merely there as a runner, taking various items of clothing from one store to another in order to have them altered.”
“Is this going anywhere?” said my voice impatiently.
“Oh, indeed detective, indeed, for you see that young girl had been asked to run my pants down the street to have the necessary alterations exacted, and far from carrying out her duties she chose to stop in the street and listen to some hack musical combo blare out their nonsensical tripe from the adjacent rooftop.”
I smiled. “Not your miracle maybe” whispered my voice.
“Because of her tardiness” he continued angrily, choosing to ignore my last words, or those of my spiritual voice, “I was running late for my interview - The biggest and most important interview of my life”
The doctor was red in the face. He took some time to slow his breathing down before carrying on with his account of that day.
“I lost my patience with the girl, especially as I could see her in the street, staring up with a gormless look on her face and my pants in her hands. I stormed out of the shop in order to retrieve the said article of clothing and to give her a piece of my mind”
My voice echoed back into the room.
“I remember you now”
“What a comfort that is to me” he replied sarcastically.
“May I interrupt your pity party for a minute and ask you a question?”
The last words echoed around the room and eventually into silence.
“If you must - But I would think that the door would be open quite wide by now,” said the doctor with a smirk. “Can you hear them calling you my dear? Can you feel the urge to step into the light?” He chuckled to himself.
“My question is this. Did you really think it would be that easy?” said my voice. “Confess to my murder and then have me disappear, having been confronted with the details of my death - You are a lot more pathetic and ill informed that my intel suggested. It’s quite disappointing really. I expected more from you”
The door closed quietly, but the outline remained. The only sound was the wind that would carry my voice, the doctor’s breathing and something heavy being dropped on the other side of the door.
“You did not kill me doctor. Well, not directly anyway - No, the girl you slaughtered was my sister. My twin sister” My voice added. “Although it’s true that I died on my birthday - our birthday, I was not murdered. I did not kill myself nor was I taken from the living world by an accident. On that day and at the sight of my sister's broken body - I simply stopped living”
The spectral voice that echoed around the room was tinged with sadness in its wraith-like way but it continued on with this tale of woe and heartbreak as if exorcizing the pain felt by its once living soul.
“I was in the unfortunate position of identifying her body on the day before we both stopped being teenagers. The body that you pushed in front of a tube train. It was reported that it was a young businessman in too much of a hurry to realize what he had done, but it wasn’t until this, very helpful confession today that I realized that both my sister’s killer and this near mythical ‘Doctor Death’ were one and the same person - You can imagine how much satisfaction this gives me knowing that my death’s work has all been focused on bringing you both to justice - And here we are. All my eggs in one, very nasty basket.”
A look of confusion flashed across the doctor’s face.
“Let me tell YOU a story” came the whispers. “My sister worked in a men’s clothing store in Saville Row, not me. I was on duty that day as part of my training to become a police officer - a training day that was halted by the, aforementioned miracle”
“I was there that day - remember” scoffed the doctor. ”I remember no miracle”
“Because, as I said before, it was not your miracle to experience” hissed my voice.
The room darkened once more and the outline of the door faded into nothing. “As I was saying” my voice continued, “My training day was halted due to the fact that the officer in charge of me had been called to stop the very miracle that had encapsulated the people around me - And later, the rest of the world it seems”
I closed my eyes as the memories flooded back - And yes, ghosts can cry.
“My sister joined me in the street to witness what was happening. No words were said as the music seemed to fill the air and any gaps in the conversation. I laughed when I saw that Harmony, that was her name if you are interested”
“Not really” Diablo sneered, clearly upset that his arrow had missed its mark in such a devastating way.
“Well.” continued my voice “Harmony still had a pair of pants in her hands that belonged to a young man that had come in to to be measured for a suit - The same young man that was now the source of ridicule as he had taken it upon himself to march out in to the street, dressed only in his shirt, underwear and sock suspenders, snatching the aforementioned pants from her hands before returning to the store”
My spectral brow furrowed.
“Is that why she died?”
“She was still laughing about it to her friends when I went to go home” snarled Diablo. I lost my dignity and the chance of a job interview because of that brazen gutter whore.
The room darkened once again but Diablo ignored the anger in the air.
“I was standing behind her in the tube station, listening to her ridicule me and so when the train came along I took care of that particular problem.”
He held eye contact with me until forced to blink against a specter that has no eyelids.
“It was because of your sister that I took the path that I did.” He said meekly, but not even he believed the convictions of his words. “All the crimes, all the deaths and all the pain caused by me is blood that will forever stain her hands every bit as much as it drips from mine”
There was a pause as both of us reflected on the events of that day.
Both sides of the same coin that had spun in the air for nearly fifty years.
“I was called to the scene as the other officers were busy with crowd control” my voice continued eventually, ignoring the pain of that time and his obvious attempts to get me angry. “A young girl had fallen under the train - It was always believed to be an accident and so her soul moved on without any need to find a truth that was never known about. But here’s the thing” whispered the air, “Do you know what these souls become when this truth contradicts the terms and conditions of said ‘moving on’?”
“Do tell” yawned the doctor in apparent boredom, an act that froze when he looked back at me - for standing by my side was Harmony.
“Demons” rasped her voice. “Tormentors, to be precise” it added.
The fire of unavenged fury poured from her and the beauty she once held now was savage in its intensity. Her quest for revenge against this monster was barely held at bay, restricted only by the veneer thin separation of one realm from another. But time is an enemy only of flesh and blood, it holds no contract of a ticking clock to those of us who swim within the energy streams of what once was, is now or will soon become.
All Harmony had to do was wait.
All Diablo had left was fear.
A small puddle of something unspeakable formed under Diablo’s chair and his face turned gray with fear. He looked pleadingly at me.
“You serve justice” he whimpered “mortal justice. You can’t just hand me over to this - this” he repeated when his articulate and self pleasing attitude failed him.
Both Harmony and myself tilted our heads to one side.
“This very much sounds like a plea for mercy Edward” came my voice from all sides of him.
Diablo pushed his chair back in an attempt to get away from Harmony’s stare, only to be hampered by the shackles that bound him to the table.
"Please help me” he whimpered. Fear took him and the doctor’s body started to shake uncontrollably. Tears rolled down his face as Edward Diablo was forced to face the punishment of his crimes, for where one of his victims stood, now stood others as one by one the dead raised their army against him..
All calling for justice.
All seeking revenge.
To call them Legion - For they were many.
“Go to Hell” said my voice.
“I’ll show you the way” said Harmony’s
EPILOGUE - TWILIGHT
There may, or may not be something on the other side of the door.
Some would have you believe that paradise awaits you.
Some would argue that things are about to get very hot if you have been naughty.
Either way, death is inevitable and should not be feared because, if it is the end of something then it is up to you to make that something beautiful and worthwhile while you are here. If, however, there is a better existence waiting for you, be aware that we, the ‘yet to move on’ do not reward bad behavior.
Diablo drove himself mad at the prospect of what was waiting for him when he died, but in a way, don’t we all do that? He dedicated the rest of his incarcerated life finding cures that would end any potential condition that would bring the reaper to his door and himself to the mercy of my sister thus, inadvertently saving millions of lives in the process. The irony is lost on no one.
My death is still unknown to me.
Can you truly die of a broken heart?
Maybe.
So for the moment, here I stay to solve the mysteries of others until I face the one that moves me on. I do, however, have one question for you before I go.
A little mystery for you to solve maybe.
One for all of you that still breathe the air and taste the wine.
Who smell the flowers and grow with the children.
Who run and jump, dance and sing and fall in love with those who would bring out the real person that lives on long after you cease to be.
That energy that forms this better version of you and one that never truly dies.
My question is this.
If the fear of what awaits you, when the fleshy bit of you stops being of any use to anyone, is your only motivation for helping others, doing good or being kind - Who gave the driver of the car, that steers you inevitably towards the end of your time on earth, the license to do so? Seize control of the wheel now and take your own journey.
It might take a little longer to get here - But the scenery on the way is much prettier.
Just a thought - See you soon.
THE END
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Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Lillian Kazmierczak
06/20/2022That was an amazing read! Lots of food for thought as well. I love a good plot twist and you have a doozey! Congratulations on short story star of the week!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Kevin Hughes
05/29/2022Iain,
I knew this would win an award Dash how could it not? Congratulations and have a great day. Smiles Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Gail Moore
05/20/2022A great story Iain, It's good to see your writing mojo is back and in full swing. An awesome piece of writing :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
T.R. Hart
05/20/2022Clothes do not have souls ... but shoes do, of course. This is quintessential Ian! I love the way you demonstrate the absolutes in metaphysics, but bend the rules a little to make your stories so interesting. It is so nice to be a reader once in a while as the reality of writing is such hard work for me. I pick and choose only good story writers ...and Ian's stories are always on my list.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Iain Cambridge
05/20/2022I do tend to bend the rules a little..lol
Thank you for reading my work my friend and for you kind words. To aspire to be in your class as a writer so it warms me that you read and enjoy mine.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Kevin Hughes
05/19/2022My Gosh Ian,
I can only aspire to writing someting as grand as this story. You can read it fairly quickly, but then you have to ponder it for hours. As some pundit once said: "It is thick with meaning." Very thick. Loved it.
Smiles, Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Iain Cambridge
05/19/2022Thank you Kevin,
You are streets ahead if me when it comes to telling a story my friend. Your kind words are always appreciated. I hope you are keeping well in the strange new world we all live in now. Take care.
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