Free Dead Scared by Curtis Jobling

around the church garden. He turned back to Dougie who was frowning, contemplating the vicar’s words.
    ‘Listen, Dougie, try not to worry. I have a youth group that gets together once a week, where teens can talk about anything that’s bothering them amongst their peers. We deal with a
lot of issues there. Nothing heavy-handed from the grown-ups, yeah? You could come along to that. Share your thoughts. I bet our Stuart would come along too for a bit of moral support. Isn’t
that right, son?’
    Stu grunted as he scrumpled up his chip papers and slam-dunked them into a litter bin. Dougie rose from the bench as the vicar’s son joined him, swiping the can of cola back from his
dad.
    ‘Thanks for your time, Rev. Singer,’ said Dougie. ‘I’ll think about that youth group,’ he lied.
    ‘Tell your dad I run a group for adults too. It’d be lovely to see him down here, if he fancies it.’
    ‘See you later, Dad,’ said Stu, giving his father a quick hug before setting off after Dougie.
    ‘Why should your dad need to go to one of the talks?’ I asked, glancing back at the vicar as he returned to work.
    ‘He suffers,’ replied Dougie quietly, keeping his voice low as Stu caught up.
    He wasn’t wrong. Mr Hancock had been ill with depression since he lost his wife. His driving job certainly didn’t appear to make him happy, and his son was always worried about him.
Not many people knew about it, and it wasn’t something Dougie advertised. It just went to show how on-the-ball Rev. Singer was. Dougie and his dad may not have been to church for years, but
there was little that went on amongst his parishioners that the vicar was unaware of.
    ‘You get what you need then?’ asked Stu, cracking open his can of cola and taking a glug.
    ‘I think we’ve finally ruled out exorcism,’ conceded Dougie, ‘which just leaves us with one thing left to explore.’
    ‘What’s that then?’ said Stu, stifling a hearty belch as we set off back to school.
    ‘The House,’ I whispered, my friend and I shivering as one.
    ‘The House,’ added Dougie as storm clouds gathered overhead, right on cue.
    ‘The House?’ said Stu. ‘Good luck with that! You’re on your own!’
    ‘Don’t worry, mate,’ I said in Dougie’s ear. ‘We both know that’s not true.’

THIRTEEN
Breaking and Entering
    ‘Just suck your gut in and squeeze through!’
    ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ hissed Dougie as he tried to manoeuvre between the chained gates. ‘You’re as free to float through as a fart on the breeze!’
    Pushing the gates to their limit, the length of steel links straining taut, Dougie ducked beneath it, his right leg and shoulder dipping through.
    ‘You could always try and jump the railings,’ I said constructively, staring up at the fierce-looking wrought-iron spears that encircled the grounds’ perimeter.
    ‘No thanks,’ replied my friend, forcing his head between the grilled doors. ‘I’m rather attached to my undercarriage.’
    With a final triumphant grunt his head popped through the gates, quickly followed by the rest of his body as he collapsed on to the gravel driveway beyond. I stepped through after him, the iron
bars providing no obstacle to my insubstantial form. It was past four o’clock, with the late November gloom providing us with cover as we embarked upon our daring mission. Within the House
was the solution to our riddle. If those legends we’d grown up on were even slightly true, then something in there would provide us with answers. Hunting a ghost might have struck us both as
outlandish not that long ago, but times changed. After all, I was one now. Surely I wasn’t alone? We were both agreed that somehow the House would shed some light on the fate that had
befallen us.
    Dougie set off at a jog, hugging the centre of the weed-ridden driveway, steering clear of the tangled undergrowth on either side of the road. Ahead, the red-brick monstrosity loomed large out
of the twilight, a