ambulance on their way here. Everyone else was stable, but in a comatose state, for reasons that the

doctors couldn’t determine.

Out of eyesight of the nurse, Sheila gave them a lingering look. “But they will be all right,” she

said. Ryan desperately wanted to believe her.

“And Sammy?” Matt had moved over to his bedside. The boy was in visibly worse shape than

anyone else, with his right arm in plaster, and a bandage around his head.

“Broken arm,” Sheila stated. “Possibly concussion, but until he wakes up, they won’t know more.

He’s been in for tests, and there doesn’t appear to be any swelling in his head, so hopefully it wasn’t a

big thump. Looks like his arm and shoulder took the brunt of it, and they will heal.”

Matt shot a look at Ryan, then glanced warily in the direction of Fizz’s bed. Ryan followed his

gaze. No, he couldn’t believe it either. That tiny slip of a boy, who looked like he couldn’t even snap a

twig, had thrown Sammy across with enough force to break bones.

It was incredible.

A doctor appeared at the other side of the ward, perusing a clipboard, flipping pages away in

frustration. The nurse walked off in shuffling footsteps, to speak with the doctor. In her absence, with

just Sheila and Matt in earshot, Ryan said quietly, “But it wasn’t Fizz, was it?”

“No,” Sheila whispered back. “It wasn’t.”

Matt didn’t look convinced. The way he glared at Fizz, then looked at Sammy with a worried frown,

Ryan didn’t think Matt would be forgiving Fizz any time soon.

* * *

They went home with Sheila. Ryan didn’t want to leave the ward, didn’t want to leave Ginger’s

bedside, but it was a decision he was forced to make when Detective Walsh popped up again. Ryan

knew that if he hung around, he’d be asked more questions. Ryan felt forced away from Ginger under

duress.

Rachel’s father had come by to pick her up, and she went home with him sleepily. Ash’s father too,

had arrived, and caused an almighty fuss at the ward. He was probably the reason the police reemerged,

Ryan thought. Mr. Singh demanded action, and yet there was nothing to be done, as the

police tried explaining to him.

It was nearly midnight, and Ryan started to lag. Sheila offered him and Matt a place to crash for the

night. They wouldn’t be able to return to the pub anyway, as it was effectively being treated as a crime

scene. “We can come back here first thing tomorrow,” Sheila promised, leading them out of the ward.

She said goodbye and waved to some of the staff, and Ryan had to trust her judgement.

As long as he knew Ginger and their friends were being cared for, there was little else he could do

except sob at their bedsides.

Exiting the hospital, they walked the short distance in the dark to the taxi rank, and Sheila put them

in the backseat. She got in the passenger seat up front, and directed the driver where to go. Ryan knew

she didn’t live far from the hospital. He hoped that by morning the police would have left, and he

could visit the ward in peace.

Matt was jittery at his side, biting his thumbnail. It made a grinding sound in Ryan’s ears, and not

even the taxi’s radio playing a weekend party anthem could drown it out.

Ryan still clutched Beth’s wooden pendant, when Sheila let them into her bungalow. “Come in,

come in,” she said, flicking on lights. “Steve’s still out. Beth texted to say she found them at The

Druids, so they’ll probably be there for a while.”

“Sorry for ruining your night, Sheila,” Ryan said quietly. “But thanks for...everything.”

She wrapped an arm around him, guiding him into the living room. “Don’t talk like that, Ry. I’m

glad I was there to help.” She gestured to her couch, and Ryan gratefully sat down. Sheila grabbed

Matt’s arm next, patting his large back as she guided him to sit. “Make yourselves at home,” she said.

“I’m going to put the kettle on.”

After the trailed away to the kitchen, Matt said sidelong, “I feel like a need a bottle of whiskey and

a tonne of sleeping pills.”

“I got those, too!” Sheila called, not missing a beat.

Matt blushed. Ryan nudged him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sheila carried in a tray of mugs with steaming tea, setting them down on the coffee table. Then she

produced a small bottle of whiskey, waving it over the mugs. “Who wants it Irish?”

Ryan’s lips turned up in the ghost of a smile. He knew Sheila’s family were Irish, and she often

used that expression.

“Me, please,” Matt said. Ryan nodded his agreement. Sheila gave them generous top ups of

whiskey, then handed them their mugs. They sipped in silence for a few moments, before Sheila

moved toward her TV. She paused, then went to her stereo instead. “I’ll just put something chilled

on.” She rifled amongst her CDs.

“Can we talk about the elephant in the room?” Matt said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“You can ask me things, love,” Sheila said, putting on a CD. “I’ll answer what I can. Beth is the

expert, really.” The stereo buzzed to life, and a gentle piano solo filled the air. Sheila turned the

volume down to a comfortable level.

“Right,” Matt said. “Well...look, I don’t know. I saw some...” He stared into his mug, frowning. “I

saw some fucked up shit, that’s all I can describe it. First, people start collapsing, and Fizz is acting

all weird, and the next thing I know, I’m locked in that pigeon loft. The floor was...moving. Like the

whole place wanted to tip me over, like the fun house ride on the Pier. Then Ryan gets me out –”

Actually, Ryan thought, I didn’t throw that axe, the man in uniform did.

“– and things get weird again,” Matt continued. “I saw Fizz leaning over you, Ryan, and you were

covered in blood and bruises...then Sammy went in and tried to get Fizz off you, but Fizz just threw

him off like, like he was nothing! And now there’s no blood on Ryan, thank fuck, but what does it

mean?”

“It’s okay,” Sheila said quietly. “I believe you. What you saw...some of it was there, some of it

wasn’t. It’s a good thing that what you saw on Ryan didn’t stay on him.”

Ryan’s hand came up to touch his face, where the scratches on his cheek had been. In the rush of

everything else, he’d forgotten about them, but like before, they’d closed up. He could feel very faint

lines there, but nothing more.

“What does that mean?” Matt demanded. “Are you saying I saw things that weren’t real?”

“They are, and they aren’t.” Sheila sighed, putting down her mug. “It’s hard to explain things that

aren’t part of our world. The spirit in that room was very powerful, and powerful spirits can make you

see things, hear things, and even experience things. It doesn’t mean to say it wasn’t real, but mostly,

they’re just visions.”

“Visions.” Matt shook his head. “And yet, Sammy has a broken arm. Possible concussion. How can

a fucking vision do that?”

“Ever heard of a poltergeist?” Sheila asked.

“Poltergeist?”

“It’s German for noisy spirit. Beth told me that, years ago, your pub – which used to be a hotel –

apparently had a poltergeist. There was an account of it in a book she had. I’ll ask her to dig it out.”

Ryan wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Images of classic horror films came to mind, things

he’d only dismissed as daft before, the stuff of over-active imaginations.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Spirits use energy,” Sheila explained. “It makes sense, if Fizz was living in that room, that the

spirit somehow connected with him. They always pick on the vulnerable, the weak. They’re easier to

manipulate that way. It’s not a nice thing at all. I caught a flash of the spirit when I first checked Fizz