Author’s note..Sequel to the killing of Shakespeare..

Ep 1

The museum, located on Poplar Street, was the town’s claim to true fame. The exhibits, mainly from the Roman period, were known far and wide. On this day, a new exhibit arrived. A simple set of cups and saucers, recovered from Titanic. Along with those sad trinkets came a quiet personality by the name of John Ismay.

As Charly and Grant looked around the new exhibit, the latter was none too pleased.

“This is grave robbery Charly. How dare they do this!”

“Shh. I agree with you mate but we can’t really stop them you know.”

As they looked into the glass box, a short but well built individual walked over and joined them.

“Enjoying the exhibits?”

Grant just sneered.

“These things belong with the vessel mate.”

“Actually, I agree with you sir. This was not my doing.”

“Who are you anyway?” Charly asked.

The gent swallowed hard.

“John Ismay at your service.”

Charly and Grant gave him a withering look.

“I see that you know my family’s story.”

“Bruce J Ismay climbed into a lifeboat and left over 1500 people still on board mate. As president of White Star, he should have taken his chances with the rest.”

“We have lived under that cloud since the tragedy sir. It really is about time that people gave us a chance.”

“Not until hell freezes over,” Grant hissed.

The gent looked genuinely hurt by this and Charly detected an inner turmoil.

“Something far more serious than just tittle-tattle is going on.”

The gent nodded.

“It would seem that I am being haunted.”

“By Bruce?” Grant asked.

The gent shook his head.

“By a little old lady who seems intent on bumping me off.”

“When did this start?” Charly asked.

“About the same time these trinkets were brought to my attention.”
Charly sighed.

“She’s probably a victim of the sinking. Looking for some payback.”

“You know of such things?” Ismay asked.

“You really would not believe what we know sir,” Charly replied.

“Where are you staying?” Charly asked.

“The Crown Hotel. Why?”

“We’ll visit tonight if we may. I may be able to shed some light on your eh, mystery.”

“That would be splendid sir. Room 1912.”

The gent moved off smiling broadly, as Grant whispered, “Room 1912?”

Charly looked grave.

“A rather unfortunate choice of room that.”

When the museum closed that evening, John Ismay returned to his hotel room. Despite its number, this descendent had not made the vital connection.

As he relaxed inside the warm bubble bath, thoughts of the impending visit filled his rather vacant mind.

“I wonder if this ghost is going to be put to rest after all.”

He lathered the soap and proceeded to wash his chest as the towel slid slowly from its rail. The movement had been noticed, and Ismay watched with renewed interest.

“If that is you, less of it. I did not drown you.”

A loud cackle of evil laughter rent the air and a pair of invisible arms thrust him beneath the soapsuds. As his legs and arms thrashed helplessly, an invisible finger pushed out his blue eyes. The pain was so terrible that he opened his mouth to scream, a fatal act if there ever was one.

Ep 2

When Charly and Grant arrived, they noticed the police cars and were met by Nixon and Percy in the main foyer of the hotel.

“Fancy seeing you here Nixon,” Charly said. “Anything up?”

“That Ismay fellow has apparently been murdered in his own bathtub.
Problem is Charly, his front door was locked. The master key had to be used to find him.”

Grant was less than polite.

“He got what he deserved.”

The DI was shocked.

“How can you say such a thing?”

“You know anything about Titanic?” Charly asked.

“Oh I see what you mean. However, John cannot be held accountable for that.”

“Seems the ghost got him after all,” Grant commented.

“You better fill me in,” Nixon said.

Charly related the earlier conversation and explained why they were there.

“After that Shakespeare stuff you would think we were safe.”

“The question is,” Charly said. “What are we going to do about it?”

“That is your affair,” the DI said curtly. “At present this is still a murder enquiry.”

“Have it your own way Nixon,” Charly said. “We on the other hand will check out another line of research.”

After they left, Grant asked.

“You have a plan?”

“Remember that ghost club place on Market Walk?”

“What about it?”

“Another medium has taken it over. We should speak to him.”

Grant shook his head.

“A waste of time. Look what happened to the other one.”

“Perhaps he is different. Goes by the stage name of Mystic Jim.”

Grant chuckled.

As they reached the small office, they noted that the light was on.
Entering quietly, they saw a tall gent dressed in brightly coloured silks sitting behind the desk.

“Have you come for a reading?”

Charly explained.

“Oh I see. Sorry to disappoint you but ghosts cannot kill.”

“We beg to differ mate,” Grant said.

“We only need you to contact this little old lady and settle her down,” Charly said.

“It sounds as if she is really attached to that crockery you know.”

“Ismay had his eyes pushed out and she drowned him to boot. What if she strikes again?”

The medium shook his head.

“This detective must be an idiot if he swallows that theory.”

“So you won’t help?” Grant hissed.

“Not on this. Personal readings yes. Exorcisms no.”

“We are not asking for a ruddy exorcism,” Charly said. “We just want her moved on.”

The medium stood to his full height.

“No can do. You should speak to a priest. They might be able to help.”

The two friends stormed out and climbed into the old mini.

“Some medium!” Charly snorted.

“He is probably a fake. How come he knows nothing about killer ghosts?”

Charly shrugged his shoulders.

“Beats me mate. Come on, take me home eh?”

The mini lurched off as Mystic Jim smiled to himself.

“They must think I was born yesterday. Probably a pair of pranksters.”

He glanced at his watch.

“Gone nine I see. Better lock up and head home.”

As he did so, an evil cackle drifted across his face and he stopped for a moment.

“Is someone there?”

When no response came, he stepped outside. From high above, a loud crack took his immediate attention. As his eyes swung skyward, a huge piece of masonry hurtled towards him.
 
Ep 3

The following morning, as Charly tucked into cornflakes, the DI rapped upon his front door.

“Come in detective. I take it this is not a social call?”

“Anything but,” Percy said.

After resuming his breakfast, the DI opened up.

“That medium you saw last night is now in the local morgue.”

“We were spotted?”

“You certainly were,” Percy commented.

“A chunk of masonry smashed his skull. What did you talk about?”

“We tried to enlist his help in moving this ghost on but he refused to listen.”

“Oh I see.”

“How is the investigation going by the way?”

The DI’s face fell.

“Everyone has an iron tight alibi.”

“What about the tower?”

“The insurance company is certainly in debt, but I can’t make a connection between them and that fake bomb.”

“So you want my help?”

“After that theatre I have to accept this ghost story. Problem is of course, how do we stop it?”

Charly finished chewing and mulled it over in his mind.

“That medium reckoned she was attached to that crockery in the museum. That sounds like a good place to start.”

“It won’t be open yet,” Percy informed him.

“Use your powers man,” Charly said. “What are you both? Men or mice?”

“What about Christine?” Nixon asked.

Charly smiled.

“She’s lying upon Grant at the moment. She’ll be okay.”

Once they got the museum opened, the three men found themselves staring at the stolen crockery.

“I hope you don’t intend to remove it,” the curator said.

Charly ignored him.

“Okay, what do you want? Two deaths are more than enough madam.”

The baffled curator stared at him.

“Is he right in the head?”

“Unfortunately yes sir,” Percy aid.

“Come on now. We know all about you now.”

From their rear, an evil voice shouted, “You know nothing about me!”

As they turned, the clear image of a kindly old lady stood before them.

“Who the hell are you?” the curator demanded.

In response, the lady raised her hand and flicked a finger. The curator was suddenly hurled across the paved floor.

“That was not required,” Charly protested.

“He needed a lesson in manners.”

As the dazed curator stood slowly, the lady snarled, “Get out of my sight!”

The poor man ran for the exit as the officers stared in blank amazement.

“Who are you?” Nixon asked at last.

“Nelly my friend. Third class and proud of it.”

“You went down with the ship?” Percy asked.

“Sure did. We were shut below decks like cattle. Yes, some escaped that trap. Not me though.”

“Killing the descendent was an evil thing to do,” Charly said flatly.

“If that damn man had drowned, that brat would never have been born!”

“What about the medium?” Nixon asked. “What was his crime?”

“Fakery my friend. He also refused to help. Remember?”

Charly wished he couldn’t.

“You have to move on now,” he insisted. “You can’t hang around here anymore.”

“For your information sonny, I’m trapped.”

“What do you mean by that?” the DI asked.

“She can’t move on,” Charly replied.

“You got it in one.”

“That is just great,” Percy commented.

Charly glanced at the old crockery.

“Were these from your cabin?”

The lady smiled.

“Those were the most beautiful things in my grim world sonny. I had even slipped them into my sack. Then we hit that ruddy berg and the rest is history.”

“Now I understand,” Charly muttered.

“I know you do sonny,” the lady replied.

Charly glanced around and saw the fire extinguisher. He carried it over and used the heavy end to smash the glass. He carefully removed the precious items and handed them over.

“These belong to you,” he whispered.

The old lady took them and beamed. As they watched in silent awe, her features transformed into a gorgeous thirty year old as a brilliant, but non-dazzling light appeared behind her.

She turned and gawped.

“Is that for me?”

Nearly in tears now, Charly whispered, “It certainly is. You have gained redemption.”

The woman walked into that light and faded from view. The light remained however.

“What just happened?” Nixon asked.

“She crossed over mate,” Charly explained. “I don’t quite know why the light remains though.”

An image started to appear in that loving light and two figures stepped into clear view. Charly’s heart nearly stopped.

“Mum, dad.”

“We thought we would complain about those daffodils son,” his late father said.

He stood, proud and tall. His dark hair and bright clothing shining as his wife stood beside him. Slightly shorter in stature, but wearing the same gleaming clothes.

“I don’t need my glasses now,” she whispered.

“Next time you visit that stone, try tulips eh?” his father suggested.

“Of course...I mean eh...”

“No need to explain son,” his mother replied. “We love you always.”

They smiled as the light drew them inside and faded from view.

Nixon heard the crash and the uncontrolled sobs as Charly sank onto his knees.

“I really don’t know what to say,” Nixon whispered.

Percy took his arm and drew him away.

“Did we see what I think we saw sir?”

The DI gazed at the sobbing man and nodded slowly.

“We just saw heaven sergeant. We just saw heaven.”