Free Tomorrow's Ghosts by Charles Christian Page B

upstairs room and saw the ghost lying across the bed in a distinctly indelicate but inviting pose. This, incidentally, is also the reason why I now always sleep in the smaller side bedroom.
    “So along with intelligent and residual hauntings, what else are there?”
    “Type Threes,” I reply, “are poltergeists although evidence suggests, because poltergeist hauntings so often occur in close proximity to pubescent youths, these activities are actually psychic in nature rather than spectral.”
    “I’d heard that.” she says. “When I was a curate at St Mark’s up in Leeds, we had a poltergeist involving a thirteen-year-old girl. Whenever she was at home at night, there was pandemonium. Whenever she went to stay with friends, peace returned. The family wanted an exorcism but after consultations with the local GP and social services, a little counselling and psychotherapy solved the problem.”
    “Smart move,” I say. “Most of the referrals I get from the Venerable Mitchell Jaffa stem from dabbling clerics who inadvertently unleash far bigger problems than the ones they were trying to solve. They ought to make the movie
The Exorcist
compulsory viewing in seminaries for all trainee priests.”
    “You know Archdeacon Jaffa, the Bishop’s private secretary?” she asks, ignoring my jibe. “The Bishop’s personal hatchet-man, an individual who clearly has influence way beyond the boundaries of this diocese? I am starting to be seriously impressed.”
    I say nothing but give her a knowing smile.
    “And finally we have Type Four hauntings: doppelgangers, the ghosts of living people. Very rare but they do crop up in the historical record. Probably the most famous sighting relates to the poet Percy Shelley, who met his own doppelganger three weeks before he drowned off the Italian coast. The story has more credibility than most as an independent witness, described by Shelley’s own wife as ‘a woman of sensibility and not much imagination,’ also saw the ghost. Perhaps that’s why they’re so rare? They are harbingers of death, so if you see your own doppelganger you may not live long enough to tell anyone!”
    The Reverend Ursula doesn’t say anything but she has a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something.
    “You mentioned,” I say, “you were a curate at St Marks in Leeds. Was that the church in Woodhouse?”
    “Yes,” she replies, “a few years ago before it was declared redundant and closed, though I gather it is now being restored by an evangelistic Christian sect. Why do you ask?”
    “Because the churchyard is supposed to be haunted by its own unique form of doppelganger!”
    Her eyes widen in disbelief.
    “According to the legend, it’s called the St Mark’s Vigil, if you spend the night of St Mark’s Eve...”
    “That’s the 24th of April,” says my visitor, interrupting me.
    “...in the churchyard, as midnight chimes you will see, making their way into the church for a final blessing, a procession of the ghosts, or doppelgangers, of everyone in the parish who is doomed to die and be buried in the churchyard over the coming twelve months.”
    If her jaw could have dropped any further, it would have hit the kitchen tabletop. “You are kidding me,” she says.
    I shake my head.
    “Oh, My God. Oops, sorry. Mustn’t take the Lord’s name in vain but is that true?”
    I shrug my shoulders. “That’s what the superstition says and years ago I did spend St Mark’s Eve, and into the early hours of the following morning, camped out in that churchyard with one of my ghost-hunting friends. But, we didn’t see a thing or even detect the slightest indication of any supernatural activity. Of course, it could have been a freak year when none of the parishioners were scheduled to die over the next twelve months.”
    The Reverend Ursula takes another long slurp of wine and then laughs. “We never held services on St Mark’s Eve in that parish. Well, obviously we would have