Free An English Ghost Story by Kim Newman Page B

rectangular card. Holding it to her eyes, she saw Weezie dancing with the stones in sharp, unmoving 3D relief. There was a set of cards, showing other scenes from the books. Another item struck her; a circular picture under glass, an illustration of the After-Lights Out Gang, four girls in askew boaters. When she picked it up, the faces fell away, leaving blanks.
    It was one of those hand-held games, not like Tim’s beep-beep-beep Game Boy (not heard from so much these days) but an old-fashioned puzzle. The girls’ features – eyes and smiles – were on loose pellets which had to be rolled
just so
to plop into their proper places, dimples in the blanks. Getting features on faces was easy, but usually with mismatched eyes or a smile in an eye socket. The four friends – Gillian, Angela, Catty and Sarah-Suzanne – had differing eye colours and smiles, naturally.
    Having rearranged the faces in comic strangeness, Jordan shook the game and tried again. This time, almost without trying, she set everything right. She put the game down, quitting while she was ahead.
    She went outside. The brown man was gone. For someone obsessed with Louise Teazle, he hadn’t lingered. It was a shame he hadn’t seen the toy and tie-in collection. Perhaps he intended to come back for a closer look, to stay longer.
    Mum was preoccupied with something else, a new project.
    ‘Help me carry the table across the lawn, Jordan. I think it’ll be happier over by the kitchen door.’
    Jordan knew she was right.
    The garden table wasn’t heavy, but awkward. Jordan walked backwards and Mum edged forwards. They got a rhythm going and the job was done in no time. When set down, the table found grooves in the grass, like the features had found the dimples in the girls’ faces. It might almost have taken root.
    There were four chairs to shift too. Jordan and Mum walked over to the crazy paving, where the table had been, and picked up a chair apiece. When they were back at the table’s proper place, the other two chairs were waiting for them.
    They looked at each other, and all around, smiling.
    * * *
    A fter several LRPs, Tim had determined the IP were friendlies. Each time he trailed back to Green Base, fresh tribute was laid out, a token of gratitude for his vigilance in protecting this little patch. Five apples piled like a pyramid of cannonballs, a circle of wild flowers threaded stem to bud like a necklace, a chipped stone arrowhead. This morning, it was a bird’s nest with three pale blue pebbles he took at first for eggs.
    He whistled with admiration.
    The IP were good, better than he could hope to be. Part of the scenery, they never showed themselves outright. They could stand against a tree or the side of the garage, or even lie flat on the green grass, and seem to be entirely natural, a stain on the wood or a low hillock. He was winning their hearts and minds but wasn’t sure they’d ever step into the open. They had long memories. Not everyone who had occupied this position had been as careful as Tim, as well-disposed towards the locals. Battles had been fought. He found old shrew-skulls and flattened cartridge cases, even burn-marks on the trees. The IP were wary of any new forces on the big board.
    He squirmed around inside the main dug-out, which was shaped like an overturned canoe. Its opening was netted over with strands of ivy he was careful to shift aside but never break. Inside Green Base was more room than anyone would suspect. He looked up inside the hollow trunk and saw green-filtered daylight pouring through holes among the branches.
    Making his way upwards, he climbed twice his height before he could go no further. He would have to carve hand- and footholds if he wanted to scale the inside of the tree all the way to the high plateau. He planned to make his command post there. Being small meant he could go where few others could, but a certain amount of hacking with an entrenching tool was needed to make the narrow chimney