Weeks had gone by since the dragon. The mountain of rubble had been cleared at last and the local council, hit by severe cuts to its budget, wrangled over a replacement.

The townsfolk had divided opinions. Some wanted a replica of the church; others wanted a modern edifice to doomed religion.

Detective Inspector Holland was above all this of course. As twenty-two hours came and went, he was looking forward to a warm bath, and his rubber duck.

When Sergeant Andrew entered, the DI knew that his plans would have to wait.

“What’s up now?” he asked wearily.

“It’s the cinema sir. It would appear that one of the patrons has died.”

The DI sighed.

“I suppose that we had better take a look. Let’s hope it’s a heart attack eh? What was on by the way?”

The sergeant smiled.

“’Zombie women of Manhattan’ sir.

“That would certainly do the trick. Let’s not keep the good doctor waiting now. Where’s Peters?”

“At home sir. In that bedsit remember.”

“Phone him up. We might need his undoubted expertise.”

The sergeant smiled and headed for the phone.

Foxley’s picture house was at least forty years old. The black and white painted exterior was in need of a repaint. Unlike today’s picture houses, this had only one screen.

As the officers wandered inside, the doc met them.

“Evening Holland. You are really going to love this.”

They were led into the viewing room where a young gent sat motionless upon the red silk chairs.

“What did he die off?” the sergeant asked.

“My initial examination did not shed any light upon that. About two dozen witnesses saw him choke though.”

The DI looked at the body, noting the lack of food.

“Carry out the autopsy and I’ll read the report.”

The medical man smiled.

“At least you read them.”

The DI smiled and stepped outside. As he did so, Peters arrived in his car.

“Rather late aren’t we?”

“I was asleep when Andrew phoned. What’s up?”

“Seems like natural causes. Sorry we disturbed you.”

“Do you mind if I take a peek?”

“Be my guest.”

The officers followed him inside and watched as he joined the doc.

“Let me have a look.”

Peters knelt and examined his throat closely.

“Hmm...”

“What’s up?” the DI asked.

“His throat has been crushed. Certainly not natural.”

“Within a packed cinema?” the doc asked. “Far too many witnesses for that.”

“It would surprise you doc,” Peters said slowly.

Standing up again he said, “We have a murder on our hands Holland. A rather strange one at that.”

The DI grimaced.

“As if we need another one. All right. Have your report upon my desk by eight doc. It’s way past my bedtime.”
 
Ep 2

As the DI walked into the station that morning, Sergeant Andrew handed over the report.

“I want you two in my office now.”

Once Peters and the officer had joined him, he sat at his desk and read it. Then he glanced up.

“The doc agrees with the crushed throat Peters. He even put a note at the bottom. One word. Baffled.”

“How does one murder someone with so many witnesses?” Andrew asked.

“I can’t explain that either,” the DI admitted.

“He obviously knew that he could not be seen,” Peters said.

“What does that mean?” the DI asked. “That we have a killer ghost upon our hands?”

“That is one explanation sir.”

“So how do we deal with it? Exorcism?”

“If it comes to bell, bible and candle yes. That would work. When I examined the victim I noted no pressure marks.”

“So what is our next move on this crazy chess board?” the sergeant asked.

“We wait for it to strike again,” Peters answered bleakly.

“Strike again?” the DI asked. “Isn’t one death quite enough?”

“It certainly is, but we can’t stop it at present sir. Not until it makes a mistake.”

“Oh great!” the DI said.

A taxi driver had just picked up a passenger from the rail station, and was en-route to the fancy homes on Bridge Lane when he suddenly started coughing violently.

“Are you alright mate?”

As the coughing escalated, the frightened passenger banged upon the glass separation. He helplessly watched as the driver slumped forward.

The taxi veered to the left, smashing into a traffic sign before turning over twice. The petrol tank ignited in a yellow ball of fire, killing the occupants at once.

When the desk sergeant opened the door, the DI was none too happy.

“What the hell do you want?”

“The fire chief called on line one sir. Something to do with a traffic accident sir.”

“We don’t investigate such things. That’s the responsibility of traffic.”

“I already know that. The doc is there already. He insists that you pop along.”

The well-meaning DI nodded.

“Tell him we are on our way.”

As the desk sergeant left the room, he mumbled, “He's in a mood.”

Holland saw the burnt out vehicle that lay within a large pool of water. An ambulance waited as the fire engines stood to one side.
He marched over to the doc and said rather rudely, “We are in the middle of a murder investigation. What’s so ruddy important?”

The doc led him to the two bodies that now lay upon stretchers.

“The passenger was burnt to death Holland, but the driver...”

“What about him?”

The doc shook his head.

“His throat was crushed. Just like the other one.”

The shocked DI turned to Peters.

“You had better take a look.”

The small individual knelt and examined the charred corpse. After a moment he said, “I concur with that sir.”

“You concur,” the DI said. “So was it this ghost?”

As the doc stared, Peters shook his head.

“The burning has erased evidence of pressure marks, I will say this though. The passenger did not get to him. The crushing came from the front.”

“It definitely did,” the doc acknowledged. “Though for the life of me I cannot work out how.”

This was not what the officer wanted of course.

“Did he do this himself?”

Both men shook their heads.

The DI inhaled sharply.

“What a ruddy mess!”

As Peters walked away, he took the DI aside.

“Try calming down sir eh? I really don’t know what we are dealing
with but at present, the ghost theory fits.”

The DI just stared.

“Two deaths Peters. Any further ideas?”

“We should return to the station sir. Then perhaps I’ll open up.”

The DI smiled.

“That’s what I like about you mate. Always cagey. Hey doc, send in your report.”

Back at the station, Peters strode the office floor as the officers sat and watched.

“Remember that I said we had to wait until he made a mistake?”

“Of course,” the DI replied. “Has he made one then?”

“He certainly has. He attacked a moving object.”

“How does that help us?” Andrew asked.

“It proves that the attacker was conscious when it came in.”

Ep 3

“You better explain yourself,” the DI said.

The pacing stopped and Peters hunched over the desk.

“Ever heard of astral projection?”

The two officers glanced at each other.

“Obviously not. When we sleep, we leave our bodies to recharge upon the astral plane. What we encounter there is sometimes remembered as dreams.”

“So?” Andrews asked.

“Certain individuals can trigger this at will Holland. Our killer lays back, closes his eyes and projects by sheer force of will. That explains how he hit a taxi in motion. Ghosts cannot do that. They need a stationary object.”

“So those ghost reports on buses are crap?” Andrew asked.

Peters shook his head.

“They climbed on at one of the bus stops.”

“Accepting that you are correct for argument sake,” the DI said. “How do we stop him?”

Peters shook his head again.

“Believe it or not Holland. Women project easier than we do.”

“A woman is doing this?” Andrew asked.

“She certainly is.”

“So how do we stop her?” the DI asked.

“We need another practitioner Holland. I can’t do it. Even though I tried.”

“That’s a really great help,” the DI said sarcastically. “Where do we find one?”

Peters smiled.

“On the internet of course.”

As night fell, an American projectionist lay within his bedroom and concentrated. Within his head, he repeated the following mantra.

“I will locate the Foxley killer.”

As time passed, the monotony put him to sleep.

He quickly found himself standing inside a small bedsit. Glancing around, he saw the killer seemingly fast asleep.

“This is rather strange,” he muttered.

As he said this, the woman suddenly woke up. The projectionist promptly vanished.

When the phone rang, the DI snatched it up.

“What did you find out?”

From across the Atlantic, the caller told him.

“She is certainly not aware of the crimes sir. I saw nothing malevolent. She was sleeping like a baby.”

“Are you saying that the killings are involuntary?”

“They must be. She probably remembers them as hellish nightmares.”

“I don’t suppose you recorded her address?” the DI asked hopefully.

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t be much of one if I missed that.”

When the DI wrote it down, he smiled.

“We have the culprit but according to your contact Peters, she
dreams it.”

“I see. An innocent then.”

“Exactly. Murder by dream would not stand up in court.”

“Then we are buggered,” Sergeant Andrew muttered.

“Perhaps not,” Peters said. “We should see her now.”

When they banged upon her door, the poor lady was petrified.

“Who is it?”

“Police.”

She opened it at once and the officers entered.

When she sat down, Peters asked, “Have you had any weird dreams
lately?”

The woman nodded.

Pretty strange. In one I was talking to a guy in a cinema and in the
second I was arguing with a taxi driver about the fare.”

The officers glanced at each other.

“Those two individuals died,” Holland said carefully.

“What?”

“Whatever these two think,” Peters said gently. “You are not responsible. My friends at military intelligence have a device that emits a blocking signal. The only thing that you have to do is wear it every time you go to bed.”

“What kind of device?” the woman asked.

“It’s a headband that emits beta waves. I’ll have it sent at once if
I may use your phone?”

The poor woman nodded.

“Is that it?” Andrew asked when he returned from the hall.

“We need to stay here until it arrives,” Peters said. “Just to keep her awake. Triad is sending it by motorcycle courier.”

Peters smiled sweetly at the innocent.

“What music do you like?”

Author: If you have been following these stories so far, the eagle eyed will have spotted the biographic references!

I know about astral projection because I practice it...