Rise of the Ghostfather by Barry Hutchison

Author:Barry Hutchison [Barry Hutchison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788000512
Publisher: Nosy Crow
Published: 2019-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Under attack?! We can’t be under attack!” Denzel yelped. “How can we be under attack?!”

As if in answer to his question, the door to the room exploded off its hinges and slammed against the opposite wall. Something bear-sized and slimy stumbled in, a multitude of eyes blazing angrily. Six differently shaped hands balled into fists when the thing saw them.

“What the heck is that thing?” Denzel yelped.

“It’s OK, I’ve got this,” said Smithy, stepping forward. “Question One. Are you a good ghost?”

The thing roared at him. Its whole face opened as if on hinges, revealing hundreds of tiny, gnashing mouths.

Smithy stepped back again. “I’m going to take that as a no,” he said.

Boyle pumped several energy rounds into the thing’s chest. They didn’t seem to do much damage to it, but they did force it back out of the room.

Samara stepped past him, her hands weaving a complex pattern in the air. There was a whumpf as the monster was compacted into a tiny cube. Almost immediately, the walls of the box began to buckle and bulge.

“Can’t hold it,” Samara warned, her hands shaking. “It’s too strong.”

Tabatha slipped past her, swinging her cane like a baseball bat. It hit the cube with a crack, launching it across the corridor. It slipped through the opposite wall like a ghost and, presumably, kept going.

“That should buy us some time,” Tabatha said.

“Brilliant!” said Smithy, grinning goofily at her. “You saved us.”

“I shot it!” Boyle pointed out.

“Joint effort,” Tabatha said.

Denzel poked his head out of the room. From both directions along the corridor he heard what he could only describe as “a racket”. It was a mix of blaster fire, roaring, wailing, magical explosions, and just a suggestion of screaming. Add in the wailing of the alarm, and Denzel reckoned he was going to have a migraine for the rest of his life.

Of course, quite how long that life would be was another matter entirely.

“Scanning for paranormal energy,” Boyle announced, taking a handheld device from his belt. It bleeped a few times, then let out a continuous high-pitched tone.

A moment later, it exploded.

“I’m guessing that’s not good,” Denzel squeaked.

“Considering I hadn’t even turned it on, no,” said Boyle. “Not good.”

“Containment has been breached. The Spectral Storage Vaults have been emptied,” Samara announced. Her eyes were white and glowing faintly, her hair squirming around on her head like snakes. “They’re everywhere.”

“What do we do?” Denzel asked.

“They must be here for you,” Samara realised. “We need to get you out of here.”

Denzel felt like he should probably put up some sort of protest. He was technically a Spectre Collector, after all. He should offer to stay and help.

From along the corridor, a monstrous roar was followed by several frantic cries for help.

“OK, sounds like a plan,” said Denzel. “I mean, if they’re looking for me and I’m not here, they might leave. Right? In a way, I’ll actually be helping.”

“My hero,” said Boyle. He was tucked in against the door frame, his weapon raised, and was itching to join the battle.

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