sheldrake

Something is making a faint dinging noise, what the hell is it? Good god, the windows need cleaning. I need to catch up on Celebrity Masterchef. Yes, welcome to the noise in my head.

My brain is telling me I shouldn't post snippets of original stuff here as a subsititution for trying to write more of it, but what the hell does it know? Now look, I'd like to pretend I knocked this out before breakfast, but actually it's been on my hard drive so long it may be going off. Do feel free to ignore.




***


It was high summer. The shop was stifling – Kirsty and Andy had lost the air-conditioning battle, even though it was two against one.

"You're a monster," Kirsty told Christopher, bitterly. "A mean, cruel, American one. I thought you all had air-conditioning where you came from?" She leant against Military History, fanning herself with Jane's Vintage Aircraft Recognition Guide.

Christopher peered at her bemusedly through his glasses. "We don't have enough money. And I bought you that lovely electric fan. I thought you'd like it." He looked at her, thought Andy, the way a bushbaby or a lemur might look at you, if you rejected its gift of an lovely electric fan. But then, he always looked like that.

"Wait a sec," said Kirsty. "How did you know we didn't have enough money? You don't know stuff like that. The only accounts you know about belong to 14th Century wool merchants, or whatever."

He shrugged. "You told me."

"What? I never!"

"Yes you did. When I suggested we [PRETEND THERE IS SOMETHING IN HERE]"

Kirsty turned to Andy. "When did he get to be such a sneaky bugger? Did you teach him that?"

"Don't look at me!" Andy protested. "I'm bloody roasting over here! I may faint."

"Hmph."

"Also?" Christopher put in. "I am an adult human being capable of independent thought. And I'm going back to work now." He turned back to go back to his study.

"This is work, you idiot!" shouted Kirsty after him. "Get back here and shelve!"

Andy leaned lazily on the counter and smiled.

"Honestly, said Kirsty. "Sometimes I wish we had a proper boss. I actually do! And where is that fan anyway?"

"Um. Don't go off on one or owt, but... I think it's in his den. I mean, his office."

Kirsty growled ominously. Her face had turned an interesting shade of red, that went all the way up into the roots of her pale hair.

"I'll go," said Andy. He glanced at the clock. "I'd knock off if I were you. It's nearly six anyway. I'd feel terrible if you exploded through sheer dedication to the job."

"Funny," said Kirsty, already reaching for her bag.

***

"Knock knock." Andy pushed the door open unceremoniously. "Kirsty wants her fan back. What you doing?"

Christopher was crouched down next to his desk, one ear to the wall. "I heard something..."

"What kind of thing, mate?"

Christopher scrambled up and dusted himself down. His pale brow was furrowed, dark hair flopping untidily over his glasses. Andy, as always, resisted the urge to reach out and brush it away.

"I don't know. Sounded like – voices. Or a voice"

Andy walked over to the desk and laid his hand on the chimney breast. "From here? What, behind? Inside?" He tapped it gently, and then felt silly. It sounded like wall. Then it sounded like something else. He put his ear to the plaster. And then he said he couldn't stop it because it was yellow, said the wall. But she never listened to me, did she? Nobody ever listens to me. I told him, I told him the week before. But he wouldn't listen. He said he couldn't stop it.

Andy straighened up. "Hm," he said. He put his other ear to the wall, a little higher up. I can't find the spoons, said the wall plaintively. We've got to stop it, or otherwise Tuesday.

"Fuck's sake," said Andy.

"Maybe... I don't know... I probably just-- I'm sure it's nothing."

Andy laughed without much humour. "Oh right, yeah. Because weird stuff never happens here, does it? It's not like I've got a, a direct freak-connection to the dead or anything. It's not like weird shit just follows me about like a bad smell, or anything!"

"You're shouting," mentioned Christopher. "And being sarcastic."

"Okay, sorry." Andy lowered his voice. "I'm tired. It's hot. Can't be doing with ghosts."

"Well, it's not exactly my idea of a fun evening either, you know." Christopher ran a sleeve across his face, which was filmed with sweat. "I have Elizabethan church records to go through."

Andy looked wearily at him. "Yeah, I'd take ghosts. Look, never mind. Is it really that much of a problem? It seems fairly happy in there. Can't you just... ignore it?

Christopher looked at him reproachfully. "I don't think it's happy."

"Ok. Well... why don't you go home?"

"I live here."

"Oh yeah. I knew that."

Christopher narrowed his eyes. "Are you ok? That was an unusually dumb thing you just said, even for you."

"Thanks, Christopher." Andy yawned. "Yeah, I'm fine. I think. Just tired."

"You should see the doctor. It might be a... you know... thing."

"A what thing?"

"You know. Your thing." Christopher was almost twisting with embarrassment.

Andy felt a grin beginning to creep onto his face. "You mean – that thing where I died and came back alive again and have to drink blood and might live forever? That thing? That vampire thing?"

"Yes, yes, whatever!" Christopher shook his arms about ineffectually, as if to get rid of his distress. "And you don't get to live forever, nobody does that."

Andy tipped his head towards the fireplace. "Someone should tell that one."

"Not the same," said Christopher, biting his lip. "Anyway, see the doctor if it goes on."

"All right, mother." Andy folded his arms and regarded him. They stood in silence. "S'pose you want to come home with me, then?"

"Oh God, yes please!"

"All right. But don't leave paper everywhere, and don't try and tell me about Elizabethans. Because I am not. Interested."

"I promise. Thank you, Andy. You get to be Employee of the Month."

Christopher didn't smile all that much. But when he did, thought Andy, you could light fires with it.

***