Chapter Text
With the scones depleted and the boys’ welcome thoroughly outstayed, Lockwood sits dejectedly on the ground by Mrs Lintott’s front gate, lit cigarette in one hand as he strokes Larkin with the other. A little further up the path, Crowther and Rudge are engaged in some sort of game - they’ve placed a stone on top of one of the fence posts and now seem to be trying to dislodge it by throwing other, smaller stones at it. Timms and Akthar, having decided to leave them to it, take a seat on the ground either side of Lockwood.
“Who do you reckon’s going to win?” Timms asks. “My money’s on Pete.”
“Nah,” Akthar disagrees. “Chris has better aim. You've played him at darts - none of us can hold a candle to him.”
“But it’s not just about aim, it’s about brute strength. And Pete’s got the stronger throwing arm. Right, Jimmy?”
Lockwood, who hasn’t been paying attention to the proceedings, shrugs and takes a drag on his cigarette.
Timms slings an arm round him. “Hey, don’t look so down. You never know, the others might have found something.”
“I’m convinced it all fits together somehow. The development, the timing of it all… there's no way it's a coincidence. I just can’t figure out how it’s all connected.”
“Unless it’s not,” Akthar suggests. “Let’s face it, Felix being a prick is hardly out of the ordinary. And… maybe Mrs Lintott was right and we just… gave ourselves a fright the other night.”
“Either way, she’s my new hero,” Timms says reverently. “I’d love to have seen Felix’s face when she told him she wouldn’t sell this place. For once, he can’t solve a problem by throwing money at it.”
“You’re right…” Lockwood says slowly. “He can’t. But what if…? Oi, Chris! Pete! Over here! I think I’ve figured it out.”
But before he can share his grand revelation with the rest of the boys, he’s interrupted by Posner, Scripps, Dakin and Irwin tearing up the pathway, a lumbering hooded figure in hot pursuit.
“Shit!” cries Timms. “You still think we’re imagining things, Adil?”
“Fine, I'm convinced,” Akthar relents. “Hey - Jimmy, what are you doing?”
But Lockwood doesn’t answer. He’s taken off down the hill towards the ghostly figure - baffling the others, who are, gasping for breath, exhausted after the run from the ruins back to the cottage. He reaches the fence post, where Crowther and Rudge’s game is well and truly abandoned, and picks up the stone. It’s roundish and large - about the size of his fist - and it makes a satisfying sound as he rolls it down the hill, aiming squarely at the thing’s feet.
Chris may be the better darts player, but when it comes to bowling Jimmy’s got them all beat. The stone trips up the monk and sends him tumbling to the ground, giving Jimmy the opportunity to tackle him, pinning him face down on the pathway. The others gather round to get a closer look at the thing - and even Mrs Lintott emerges from her cottage to see what all the commotion’s about.
"What on earth's going on?" she asks, bewildered.
"Why don't we ask the Headless Monk?" Lockwood asks, pulling back its hood to reveal where its head ought to be - and in the light of day it's now clear that the thing's bloody, severed neck is nothing but a clever papier-mache prosthesis. From underneath the costume, they can hear its indignant grunts as it struggles to break free from Lockwood's grip. "Or should I say… Felix ?"
"Jimmy, what the fuck are you on about?" Dakin says impatiently.
"Couldn't get Mrs Lintott to sell, so you thought you'd try and scare her into giving up the cottage instead?"
"Let me go, you clowns!" A muffled voice cries from under the costume - and the boys don't recognise it, but it certainly isn't Felix's. A slightly sheepish Lockwood pulls off the costume to reveal a young woman - not much older than the boys themselves.
Mrs Lintott's jaw drops. "Fiona?" she says incredulously.
"Fiona? As in… your granddaughter?" asks Lockwood.
"I can explain!" Fiona says quickly.
"Yes, I think you'd better," Mrs Lintott replies.
*
"...So you see, I didn't mean any harm! At least - not to you lot. I just thought if word got around about this place being haunted, Felix might stop badgering Gran to sell him the land. That's my inheritance he's trying to bulldoze to build his stupid golf course."
"Oh, Fiona…"
Fiona turns to her grandmother. "And all those stories you used to tell me when I was a kid - about the monasteries - that's what gave me the idea. I thought I could scare him off."
"So why'd you keep chasing us?" Lockwood asks. "We thought you were, like… a vengeful spirit, or something."
"Not all of us!" Dakin crows. "I didn't buy it for a minute."
The others don't dignify Dakin's comment with a response - a withering look from Irwin suffices to knock him off his high horse.
Fiona sighs. "I wasn't chasing you, you idiots. My head was stuck in the stupid costume and I needed a hand getting out of it. Plus, I can't do this all by myself - I needed someone to take pictures. No way Felix would have believed the place was haunted without solid proof."
"Well…" Posner muses. "Maybe we can still help you. Irwin - I mean, Tom?"
"Yeah?"
"You brought your camera, right?"
*
"Former Mayor Scraps Plans To Expand New Golf Resort," Scripps reads aloud from the morning's edition of the local paper. "Prominent local businessman Felix Armstrong announced that the exclusive members-only clubhouse and spa, set to be the crown jewel in his chain of luxury resorts, was no longer part of his plans for the new development. Armstrong cited 'new information' that had come to light regarding the land's history, and stated that construction will not be going ahead 'as a matter of respect'."
"We scared him shitless, more like!" Timms exclaims triumphantly, shovelling another forkful of baked beans into his mouth.
"Keep it down!" Rudge hisses, casting furtive glances around them at the cafe's other patrons, none of whom have looked up from their breakfasts.
"You have to admit, though, Pete," Crowther whispers so that only the boys assembled at their usual table can hear, "it was pretty fucking brilliant."
"I just wish we could have seen a real ghost," Lockwood grumbles, absent-mindedly pushing a half-eaten hash brown around his plate with his fork.
"Cheer up," says Timms. "Tonight's Halloween, remember? You never know - you might get lucky."
"Or if it's ghosts you're after, you could just watch them on telly," Akthar suggests. "My parents are taking my sisters out trick-or-treating tonight, so I'll have the place to myself. You should come round - all of you. We could sneak a few beers, watch some scary movies - it'll be fun."
"Can't tonight," Dakin says with a smug little smile. "Got a date."
Pos and Scripps both roll their eyes in unison. Even if Dakin had talked about anything else all week, there was no way any of them could forget that tonight's the night of his date with Irwin. He's wearing even more eyeliner than usual, and his gaze keeps drifting towards the bookshop across the street, just visible through the window behind them.
"Yeah, yeah - we know," Posner sighs, leaning his head against Scripps' shoulder. "Have fun, don't do anything we wouldn't, et cetera."
"I'm not making any promises…"