Page 6

‘Ah, Ms. Tunwick, there you are,’ he said. ‘How was your room?’

Kelly shrugged. ‘Very nice.’

‘No alarms?’ Martin said, giving her a sideways glance, one eyebrow lifting.

Kelly held his gaze. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she said.

The man with the handlebar moustache chuckled. ‘Didn’t play that ghost-in-the-mirror trick on her, did you?’

To which Martin just rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘So, do you think I could ask you a few questions about this place?’ Kelly said.

‘Sure,’ Martin answered. ‘I’m happy to tell you anything you’d like to know. As are my two friends here. Have you met Lars and Ambrose?’

The two men shifted on their stools.

‘Lars Blackship,’ the man with the handlebar moustache said. ‘I’m local. I run a small gardening business. You would never know, would you, that I descend from the Vikings that first claimed this land?’

He did have a look of Viking-ness about him, Kelly had to admit, although she did wonder whether he was just another part of the village’s extensive act.

After all, Blackship didn’t sound like a particularly common family name.

‘My mother and her mother before her were all village criers,’ he continued. ‘Operatic lungs going back to the eighth century, when the womenfolk of my family would stand on the cliffs of Norway and bellow for their men to come home.’

‘Is that right?’ Kelly said, reaching into her pocket for a small notepad she always carried around. ‘Would it be okay if I wrote some of this down?’

‘Sure,’ Lars said. ‘And I’m quite happy to pose for some photos. You won’t see my full Viking garb until the parade next weekend, mind, but I do have some historical relics if you want to stop round sometime.’

‘That would be lovely,’ Kelly said.

‘And this,’ Martin said waving to the other man, ‘is Ambrose Hawkwood, our local ghost hunter and expert on the paranormal.’

‘Are you really?’ Kelly said to the man with the eye patch.

He gave a sage nod.

‘I am indeed,’ he said. ‘And I would be happy to give you a tour around Briar Speckles and point out a few of the most haunted spots.’

Kelly couldn’t believe her luck. This was absolute gold for her newspaper feature. She would have articles and content for every day of the week, and her manager would surely put her to the back of the chopping block queue.

‘That would be excellent,’ she said.

Ambrose stood up, pushing in his stool. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘how about I meet you outside the church at twilight tonight, which is when the ghosts are most likely to be abroad?’

Kelly wasn’t sure exactly what time twilight was, but she guessed they were only an hour from sunset, so it probably meant fairly soon.

‘In about half an hour?’ she said.

‘I can see that you’re familiar with the machinations of the paranormal world,’ Ambrose said, so dramatically that Kelly struggled to keep a straight face. ‘I will see you there.

‘But before that, how about you settle down at the bar and let dear Martin here tell you the tale of our village’s most famous ghost? Howling Gail of the Inn.’

4

The Howling of Gail Blakely

‘Would you mind coming with me out to the beer garden at the rear?’ Martin said. ‘Please feel free to bring your drink. I might even partake in a goblet of blood to accompany you.’