Free Walking With Ghosts (A short story) by David Leadbeater

PART 1

     
    Josie Leigh didn’t know it, but she was about to start the longest shift of her life.
    Before she left the house she cracked the curtains a bit and gulped down the rest of her coffee. Outside the sky was awash with silver, and the house roofs glimmered and glittered underneath a full moon. The extra light would help her tonight.
    A car pulled up, brake-lights flashing red briefly.
    Joe Morris. She smiled. Her aging partner was a good old salt, determined to see out his last few months on the job by helping Josie become the best kind of police officer she could be. In six months he’d taught her more than she’d learned in two years of training.
    She placed the empty mug carefully on a coaster and sent a last loving glance all the way upstairs and around the corner of the upstairs hallway, right into her daughter’s cosy bed. It had taken a lot for Josie to leave Emily with her partner of two years, Simon, but he had proven his love for Josie’s daughter time and again, and the love was starting to be reciprocated.
    Outside, the brisk wind hit her like a blade. She hurried to the car. “Cold as hell,” she said as she tugged at the seat-belt.
    Joe Morris took a moment to stare at her. “You stay up all night thinking up these silly statements, Josie?”
    She shrugged and grinned, knowing he was teasing. “All work and no play makes Jack. . . you know.” Joe hated horror movies, so Josie considered it her duty to constantly remind him of them.
    “Whatever,” he nodded towards the computer mounted on the police car’s dash. “Clock in, Constable Leigh. Time to walk the beat.”
     
    ****
     
    The centre of the city of York was quiet. Josie walked beside Joe Morris and stopped to watch the mist billowing along the Shambles, York’s best known medieval street. They were used to seeing tourists thronging this area; it was a camera interaction magnet, but to see the entirety of the roughly cobbled street and hear the faint squeaking of the swaying shop-signs sent a slight chill through Josie. They heard a dog barking, far-away, almost as if it resided in another dimension, and even a street away some late-night revellers laughed and joked loudly, but a cloak of shadowy silence hung here, and the slow eddy of time drifted past them like the plodding march of a long-dead army.
    “Spooky.” Even seen-it-all police officer Morris shivered.
    Josie listened to the groaning stillness. “Nothing going on here, Inspector,” she said. “Umm, shall we move on?”
    The formality jolted Morris out of his fugue. “Of course.”
    A quick left and a brisk walk brought them out near the Minster, one of the largest churches of its kind in Northern Europe, and boasting a famous Rose Window. Thousands of visitors every year were attracted to York’s Gothic cathedral, but 4 a.m. caught the fancy of nothing but the gloom and the darkness.
    “1 – 2 – Freddie’s coming for you. . .” Josie shivered despite her own attempt at a joke. Nightmare on Elm Street was not the movie to be quoting right now.
    “This is one of those nights,” Joe Morris said. “when nothing happens.” He looked around, taking in the ethereal calm like the seasoned pro he was. “Been here before, Josie. It’s gonna be one long, boring bitch of a shift.”
    Josie took a moment to adjust her gear, her belt, her too-tight trousers, anything to deliberately avoid her mentor’s eyes. “You ever seen anything. . .umm. . .odd? Truthfully? York is the most haunted city in the world, you know. They say if you take a tape recorder to a place that’s supposed to be haunted and press record, and then take it home and play it back on full volume, you will hear voices that aren’t supposed to be there.”
    Joe Morris scratched an eyebrow. “I know all that,” he paused. “And you say you want the truth, Josie, from a friend? Well, I’ll say this: at night around here I’ve learned all bets are off. But if you want it in real talk, Constable,