Free Gallows at Twilight by William Hussey Page B

from its hanger. Jake watched in amazement as the suit began to fill out.
    ‘Tight fit. I must speak to my tailor.’
    It was clearly no ordinary garment: threads began to spool out from the cuffs and collar. They wound their way down and formed the impression of feet and hands. From the collar the threads spiralled round and round, weaving together a neck, a chin, mouth, nose, ears and brow. A few strands were left over to give the woven man a wisp or two of fine, grey hair.
    ‘Mr Murdles is one of the dear departed,’ Pandora explained. ‘A phantom. A spectre.’
    ‘A ghost,’ Jake said. ‘And the suit must be made of ectoplasm.’
    ‘Ecto-what?’ Rachel asked, eyes wide.
    ‘Plasm. According to psychics and mediums, ectoplasm is the stuff that ghosts are made out of. It takes the form of a thin, grey material, like—well, like that suit.’
    A smile creased the manager’s clumsy cloth mouth. Murdles part-walked, part-floated back to his seat.
    ‘The boy knows much. Razor told me that he was aware of the Cynocephali. That’s old knowledge.’
    ‘I picked it up from books,’ Jake said.
    ‘Just books? I wonder … ’ Ectoplasmic fingers tapped against the arms of Murdles’s chair. ‘But you are right, this is an ecto-suit. I have worn such garments ever since the day I died—January 8th 1607. A Monday, I remember. Always hated Mondays.’
    Jake frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why haven’t you passed on through the Veil?’
    ‘Only spirits without bodies are sucked through the Veil, young man. The ecto-suit gives me substance, keeps me in the land of the living. But they come at a price. Ah, in the early days, when I first established the Grimoire Club, I could buy dozens of suits at a time, but business has been bad these last hundred years or so. There are other clubs on the borderlands now. And, as you can imagine, the ecto-tailors can charge whatever they want for their wares.’
    ‘You weren’t wearing a suit when we came in,’ Jake observed.
    ‘They wear out gradually. I may have appeared invisible to you, but there was a little substance left in the old suit. Just enough to open the wardrobe and take out a fresh garment.’
    ‘But you’ve had a long life, Mr Murdles,’ Rachel said. ‘Or maybe I should say a long “death”. Aren’t you ready to— well—move on?’
    ‘Sometimes I think about it, my dear. To pull up the anchor that moors me to this world and set sail for horizons new. But who knows what waits beyond the Veil? And I have done some terrible things in my time.’ The cloth eyes crumpled into a haunted expression. ‘Terrible … But to business.’ The ectoplasm rustled as Murdles turned to Pandora. ‘A little birdie has told me that you have come to my club seeking sanctuary. I’m afraid that will be impossible.’
    ‘Come on, Thaddeus,’ Pandora cajoled. ‘How long have we known each other? You owe me.’
    Murdles hesitated. ‘It’s true, you’ve sent a lot of business my way over the years. The dark creatures respect you … But no. From what I hear, you and your friends here have been toying with some very dark powers. If you bring trouble to my door I run the risk of losing my business, and you know what that would mean.’ The manager lifted his chin and swept a wispy finger across his throat. ‘No more ectosuits for poor Mr Murdles.’
    ‘But no one need ever know we’re here,’ Pandora assured him. ‘Look, I don’t ask for myself, Murdles, it was Adam Harker who thought you would help us.’
    ‘Dr Harker has saved many of my clients, but I owe him nothing.’
    Pandora tried another tack. ‘I have friends on the Ecto-Tailors’ Guild, you know. A word from me and your supply of suits might suddenly dry up.’
    ‘Only money talks with those people,’ Murdles snapped. ‘As long as I pay they’ll continue to do business with me.’
    Defeated, Pandora dropped back into her chair. While she had been arguing with the manager, Jake had been examining