Following a mysterious illness, Neville Moore had been persuaded to convalesce in The Squid and Teapot for a spell. It was only when Philomena Bucket was satisfied that he had fully recovered that she allowed him and his pet raven, Lenore, to return to their home on Ghastly Green. A day or so later Reggie Upton decided that they should call on Neville and check that all was well. Ever since the visit, however, something had been preying on Reggie’s mind.
“You saw her, didn’t you?”
Philomena lay her knitting onto her lap.
“Saw who, Reggie?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Annabel, or whoever it is haunting Neville’s place.”
“I thought I did,” she admitted, “though I might be mistaken.”
“No, something was definitely there,” said Reggie. “Anyway, Neville virtually confirmed it.”
“It’s strange that he’s never mentioned it before,” said Rhys.
“He’s a very private man,” said Philomena. “Being haunted by an old flame isn’t anything he’d want to become public knowledge.”
“The number of ghosts on this island never ceases to amaze me,” said Reggie. “Do either of you have any idea how many there are, exactly?”
“I used to run into them all the time, when I was the Night Soil Man,” said Rhys, “though I can’t say I ever counted them.”
“Me neither,” said Philomena. “Perhaps we should do a head count.”
“That might be tricky with Lady Margaret,” laughed Reggie. “But you have given me an idea…”
For the next few days Reggie was scarcely seen.
“He’s up to something,” said Rhys.
“Nothing new there, then,” agreed Philomena
“He told me he was writing a book,” Tenzin chipped in.
“That explains a lot,” said Rhys, thoughtfully. “I wonder what it’s about.”
“I think it’s ghost stories,” said Tenzin.
“It’s called ‘A Comprehensive History of the Ghosts of Hopeless’ declared Reggie, over breakfast the next morning. “I’m going to find out who they are… or were, I suppose, and how they got here.”
“Good luck with that,” said Rhys. “You’re going to have your work cut out.”
“How so?” asked Reggie.
“The only way you can hope to achieve that,” said Philomena, “is to talk to them.”
“And they won’t all want to be helpful…” said Rhys. “Obadiah Hyde immediately springs to mind.”
“The Mad Parson?” said Reggie.”Oh, I’ve handled worse than him. There was an incident in Jaipur, I remember, when…”
“You’re going to need help,” broke in Philomena, keen to avoid one of Reggie’s lengthy military anecdotes.
“Tenzin is going to help me,” declared Reggie.
The young monk looked up from his porridge in surprise.
“I am?” he said.
“Good man,” said Reggie. “That’s settled then. I knew you’d agree.”
Later that morning, Reggie could be found in the snug of The Squid and Teapot surrounded by notebooks, loose sheets of paper and enough sharpened pencils to suggest he was preparing for a prolonged siege rather than a literary endeavour.
Across the top of the first page he had written, in his neat copperplate hand:
A Comprehensive History of the Ghosts of Hopeless
Beneath it appeared the headings:
Name.
Last known address.
Present whereabouts.
Cause of death.
Disposition.
He frowned.
“One really ought to include ‘state of decomposition,’ I suppose.”
“I really wouldn’t,” said Philomena, firmly.
To be continued…