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A figure walks slowly from the fog. It’s a man dressed all in black. His hair is long and straggly, and he wears a cloth mask. He smiles and reveals a row of jagged teeth. “Blue Billings,” he says in a croaky voice that sounds like he hasn’t used it in centuries. “Now here’s a likely lad.”

“Fuck,” I breathe as the mist swirls again and again, and another ghostly man appears. And then another and another, until twelve stand in front of me, tall and dark against the mist’s eerie glow. They’re mostly skeleton and the remnants of ragged clothes. The rank scent of the ocean rises around me, making me cough and gag.

“Blue?” Levi’s voice sounds like he’s a hundred miles away.

“Keep digging,” I say firmly. “Nothing to worry about.”

The men laugh and I cock my head. There’s something familiar about them. And then it clicks.

“You’re the wreckers.”

The first man grins. “Aye, that be us. In death as we were in life, eh, boys?”

The other men chuckle. Their forms seem to warp and twist, and I recoil with a repulsed grunt when a worm wriggles through one of the men’s eye sockets. He catches it, pushes it into his mouth, and crunches down. The hand is mainly bone gleaming in the strange light, the skin slipping and hanging in sheets.

I slide my hand into my pocket, feeling the vial of salt warm against my skin. “What do you want?”

The lead man shrugs. It’s a horrible jerky movement lacking any of the grace of a human action. “We don’t want anything other than what we were promised. The master told us we could have some fun.”

He’s carrying something. It looks like a long, thin piece of wood, the end of which is curved and gleams in the strange light.

I flick the lid off the salt, keeping my motions small and undetected. “Did he now? Who’s your master?”

He stares at me and his sly humour drifts away, exposing the real spirit beneath—hard and cruel. “If you expect me to answer that I’ll reckon you’re laughing at us, Mr Billings, and I don’t rightly like being laughed at.”

“Life is very cruel sometimes,” I say amiably. “In the words of Mick Jagger, you can’t always get what you want.”

He cocks his head. “And sometimes you can.”

He makes a motion with the stick he’s carrying, and I realise what’s on the end of it—a hook—just as I feel burning pain run down my torso.

“Shit!” I shout, looking down. My jumper has a gaping hole down the centre, exposing my skin. Even as I watch, a long line of scarlet appears and the pain arrives. I gasp and clutch at my stomach, feeling the blood slippery and hot on my cold fingers.

Their laughter carries on the wind. It’s faint for how close they are, but I can feel the malicious enjoyment of the situation.

“Reckon that hurt, Mr Billings,” the lead wrecker says.

I drop my hand. “Nah. Levi has plasters bigger than that in his med kit. I’m just glad we’ll finally be able to use them after schlepping them all over York for years.”

“We’ll have to do better, then,” he says. “As the boss always says, ‘Keep going, lads, and never give in.’”

His arm rises, the hook flashes, and this time, I can’t stop my cry of pain. It’s bright and so vivid that everything else vanishes. I clap my hand to my arm and fall to the ground. My fingers are covered in blood, the coppery smell cutting through the dank air.

“Blue!” Branok’s voice is enraged.

The wreckers look towards the voice and as one, they laugh. The lead wrecker waves mockingly. “Why it be Branok, men. Say hello to our old mate.”

“I’m no friend of yours, Bill Thompson,” Branok calls.

“Course not.” Bill’s face twists. “You always did think you were better than all of us, but look at you now. Can’t walk where you please, and I stand at the right hand of the Master.”

I struggle to my feet. With all their attention on Branok, I’m able to grab the salt, and the moment the vial is open, I fling its contents toward them. For a moment, nothing happens. Then a scream rends the air as one of the ghosts clutches his skull. The loose skin on his face is bubbling, and smoke rises from the top of his head. He claws at his face, wailing a horrible sound full of agony from beyond the grave, and his form twists and warps and becomes transparent. I can see the gravestones beyond him.

The men close in on me, stalking like a pack of hyenas. I throw more salt and their screams echo in unison. Then they vanish, their forms borne up and whisked away by the return of the wind. All except the head wrecker. He leans against a gravestone, watching me solemnly.

“I’ve got the coffin, Blue,” Levi suddenly shouts. “Nearly there.”

“You could really do with some lessons in timing,” I mutter as the wrecker looks beyond me, suddenly paying attention to Levi and what he’s doing.