Free The Ghost Hunters by Neil Spring Page B

world is governed by the totality of your experiences, Sarah. You hold certain principles sacred about what is physically
possible
and physically
impossible
, and it is from these that you construct a world view – a consistent theory of all phenomena observed within nature. A law of nature, if you will.’
    ‘Correct.’
    ‘A paranormal event is one which, by definition, would contravene any or all of these basic principles whether it’s the sighting of a ghost, the imparting of information from a spiritual source, or even the ability to read someone’s mind. Experience tells us such an event is hugely unlikely, totally outside the basic principles of common sense, in the same way as it would be contrary to common sense for this pencil you see here to rise from my desk, float into the air and write on my office wall.’
    ‘So that would mean …’
    He anticipated my thought and nodded. ‘That if one – just one – genuine paranormal event is proven, everything that modern science believes would be wrong! And so it follows that we would need an overwhelming quantity of evidence to show that such events are possible – to show that the sun, in my example, really had not set at twenty-one hundred hours; we would need, Miss Grey, repeatable, successful scientific experiments.’ He leanedforward, his face projecting intent seriousness. ‘And that is why our work here is vital; that is why we must
never
give up. You and I, Sarah, we are the guardians of the modern world view.’
    The harmony and logic of his argument flowed into me. And his passion, his piercing conviction, sent an instant thrill down my spine. But something about the way his eyes flittered from side to side told me there was an inner torment working away at him. A deep longing, perhaps, that it could all be true. I wanted to know.
    ‘You said before that there was a time when you believed in Spiritualism. Tell me why you changed your mind. Why is all this so important to you?’
    He saw in my face enough determination, I think, to be convinced that I was not going to drop the matter. His expression became sullen, clouded with a memory.
    ‘There was a man, a spirit photographer called William Hope. The Society of Psychical Research suspected a hoax, but had no proof.’
    ‘So they sent you to investigate?’
    Price nodded. ‘They wanted someone new, someone fresh on the case. And I went with my mind fully open. More than that, actually. I went
wanting
to believe, for personal reasons.’ He shook his head, dropping his gaze to the photograph on his desk of the man with the dark hair, sideburns and moustache. ‘But William Hope was a fraud. I proved that he had switched the photographic plates. And from that day, I became the enemy of every medium with skeletons in their closets.’
    We hadn’t yet come to the original source of his interest. This man had his secrets, his boundaries, and I already sensed that we breached one too many for his comfort. After a long moment he found his voice again. ‘Do you know how it feels, Miss Grey,to have your wildest hopes, your deepest beliefs shredded?’
    Without waiting for my answer he eased himself out of his chair and came around the desk to stand beside me with seductive authority. Although he wasn’t a conventionally handsome man, his words and mannerisms exuded a magnetic curiosity. His eyes floated down to meet mine.
    ‘The day I exposed Hope, I learned that if you break a man’s beliefs you can break his spirit. I’m still hurting, Miss Grey. My mission is to stop these charlatans, to bring the deceivers to justice. Every case will stand or fall on its own merits. We owe that much to the fallen.’
    He extended his right hand, curling his fingers. ‘Are you with me?’
    Suddenly everything about his curious world had assumed a greater relevance than the fact that this was a good, stable job, and I realised that my decision to return to the Laboratory now went far beyond my personal