Free Ghostly Images by Peter Townsend

men scurrying away and my dog swaying at the end of a rope, flung over a lamp post. I loved that animal, but if they thought that would make me tone down my act then they’re mistaken. I gazed at the suspended body of my dog and vowed to make the Giant Man act even more sensational in his honour.”
    “Does Silas ever defend himself?” asked Hood.
    “Never.”
    Hood shook his head. “Remarkable. Even the most timid creatures will defend themselves when under attack.” He chuckled. “Not that I have any experience of this, of course.”
    West also chuckled and reached for Hood’s walking cane. “Can I borrow this?” Hood handed it over.
    West drew the cane back and smashed it firmly against Silas’s chest. Silas whimpered in pain but remained motionless in the chair. Just as West was about to strike the cane again, David grabbed West’s arm and squeezed, making the smaller man drop the cane to the floor.
    Hood retrieved his cane. His red eyelids twitched. “I humbly apologise for David’s poor manners. I will make a deduction in his wages,” he said.
    West shrugged. “That’s not necessary, Hood. I only wanted to prove a point.”
    “Why does Silas not defend himself?” Hood persisted.
    West rubbed his arm and smiled, unperturbed by the incident. “When Silas was younger, he realised his enormous strength and its devastating results when he accidentally crushed his puppy to death between his hands—”
    “Puppy,” interrupted Silas. The giant man’s eyes watered. “My Benny...”
    West stroked Silas’s arm gently. “I’ll buy you some toffee on the way back to make amends for hitting you,” he said. West looked at Hood. “When playing with a childhood friend, he sent out a gentle, half-hearted punch that killed the poor fellow. Silas wasn’t even eleven years old. These two incidents have had a profound impact on him. He made up his mind never to defend himself or display violence. I can talk up Silas’s propensity for violence, while warning that his childlike innocence and aversion was a cunning smokescreen he uses to hide the truth about his many wicked crimes.”
    “That is very astute of you,” added Hood.
    “Can I have toffee now?” asked a still-tearful Silas.
    West smiled reassuringly. “Of course, Silas. You can have as much as you want.”
    “I will walk back with you,” said Hood, and the trio left the studio.
    “You’re in trouble with Hood now,” said John when he went over to the window to check that the men were away.
    David remained impassive. “If he threatens me, I’ll tell him to find another photographer to replace me. West treats Silas like a slave.”
    “Will Hood reduce our wages?”
    David rubbed his hand on his temple to ease the throbbing pain. “Let’s not worry about that.”
    “Are the images I superimposed blurred enough?”
    David again rubbed his temples. It felt as if his head was going to explode. “Yes. You’ve done an excellent job. I doubt whether I could have done any better.”
    John smiled at the compliment. “Have you checked the original plates I did of Loach, Tyndale, and Pringle?”
    “They are generally fine.”
    John registered a puzzled expression. “Is there a problem, David?”
    “On Pringles plate, there is a tiny hair, presumably from your head, that is visible on the final print.”
    John checked the glass plate and the print. With a pair of tweezers, he removed a speck of hair from the plate, lifting it up to take a close look. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s red hair, so it must have come from me.”
    “It doesn’t matter, John. Do you remember when Mr Jenkins gave me a telling-off when the same thing happened to me?”
    “Yes. That’s why he warned us to wear our ‘bloody hats at all times.’ ”
    “We’ve just got to develop the plates of Sandra Clark and Silas today. Would you be able to handle those alone while I go for a swim? ”
    John frowned. “ You treat me like a slave at times. I’d like to go