Tosho is Dead Read online

  There. Something solid tickled my fingertips. I grabbed on, working my muscles. I was out!

  Out! choked the voice, roaring with laughter.

  But instead of staying still, the something solid pushed down. I scrunched my eyes to peer up. It was a small square chunk of wood. A chunk attached to … Oh no! It was the foot of a heavy, very heavy, chest of drawers, and it was being hurled right at my head.

  I bent my arms to try and stay upright, but we landed in a clatter. I crushed shards of a tea set into a plush armchair. A rain of trinkets thumped down onto the vase next to me. I covered my head, dropping down into a crouch. White lilies, jewellery and photos fell to the floor and scattered everywhere.

  Do that again! Oh please! That was great! The voice kept laughing at me.

  I raised myself onto all fours and crawled back to the wall. This was a live dump and I had no intention of letting a grandfather clock crack my head open, finishing the nasty job Andreas had started. Things: tinkling things, rolling things and heavy things tumbled down behind me like a drumstick rain playing a dangerous percussion concert. My head bumped against a cushion.

  No. Not a cushion: a leg!

  I jumped backwards, fell on my rear and found myself lying in front of a girl. How could I have not seen her?

  Her coal black hair came down to her waist. Her locks were soaked and stuck to her white fairy-tale nightie. I scooted further backwards. It was ripped at the sleeves and the calves, the petticoats peeking through. But despite an ungodly amount of layers, her nightdress hung down piteously. It was drenched like her hair, and I was paddling hands and knees in the pool dripping down from her. I wasn’t the only one having a bad day.

  She turned, knocking over a giant fan precariously piled with various unidentified objects. Over it shone her bright face with impossible snow white skin, blood-red lips and amazing peacock blue eyes. She tried to catch some of the things before they crashed down. She was an oversaturated photograph, too extreme to be real. She broke into a smile. She looked about 16.

  “Good morrow, sweet sir,” she said.

  Her smile was utterly contagious and embarrassingly beautiful. I stuttered and jumped up from the floor, ignoring the screaming pain from my bruised body. I dusted imaginary fluff from my chest … or maybe not so imaginary. Fluff kept flying from my suit.

  A suit?

  I was wearing an awful brown woolly jacket that looked outdated enough to have belonged to five generations of scrooges. What the hell was this thing? I’d never seen it in my life. It looked like it was made out of rat hair.

  The power coming out of her ... so shiny! Who is this? The voice broke into my mind, completely in awe.

  But before I said anything to anyone tremors went through the ground. Our feet jumped on the spot, the furniture rattled and the pool beaded up. The girl’s head dropped to the side to examine whatever was behind me. The rest of the tea set fell from the couch and shattered on the ground.

  “Ghost!” a chorus of tenors boomed.

  I whipped round. Galloping full speed towards us was a herd of centaur-like beasts, with human upper bodies and deer bottoms. At least I assumed that’s what they were, as antlers stuck out of them randomly, growing out of their rump, chests and heads indifferently.

  They were destroying everything in their way, leaving behind a cloud of pulverised china and sawdust. Their faces were the definition of terror and I knew without a doubt nothing would stop them from trampling us to most certain death. I leaped at the girl, flinging her out of the way, against the wall, for her only chance of survival.

  No time for me.

  The hooves thundered closer. I tucked my head in and curled into a ball. The lightest touch wrapped round my shoulders. I peered over my arm. Delicately encircling me were the tattered wet sleeves of a period nightgown. And the girl was still in it! She smiled radiantly as I opened wide horrified eyes.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled.

  “Do not fear, I am here for you,” she said.

  Sedan came to my mind, with his stories of fallen heads and glue. I hugged her, protecting her as much as I could. A beast collided with us. We rolled, bounced and crashed into a cabinet. We ricocheted on impact and rolled to the immobile legs of a centaur. The muscles were knotted over the bone, tense and ready to flee. Those were legs that never stayed still for long. The herd surrounded us.

  “Are you deaf or injured?” the leader snarled.

  The girl untangled herself from me. Long antlers grew out of the centaur’s torso, protruding outwards as if he’d been stabbed with them on each side of his body. More came out of his neck and formed a cage over his shoulders. I gasped.

  “Neither, sir,” the girl said.

  She looked completely fine except for bruises round her wrists, but I was pretty sure our crashing through a house load of furniture had nothing to do with them. Fear was palpable in the air. Not from her, but panic shone in the pupils of the centaurs. A spark would ignite a riot. I wanted to grab the girl and drag her out of here faster than a lit firecracker, but she was more than composed.

  “Then run, children, ghosts are here!”

  “Odra the green ghost!” another centaur added, sweat pearling over her fur.

  “And Kybele the red,” one more said, a shiver in his voice.

  That one had an array of tiny horns growing all over his face, his arms and his back. He was like a very sick hedgehog.

  “’Tis impossible. Ghosts cannot get in.” The girl frowned.

  “These ones did,” the leader cried, his hooves kicking up. “They’re tearing up the place looking for a shadow – a boy.”

  “A boy?” she repeated.

  “With a brown pelt,” the leader of the beasts growled, suddenly eying me curiously.

  “And cotton-coloured hair,” sick-hedgehog added.

  He moved forwards, threatening. The stench of fear permeated him. His companion lifted her hand to touch my head.

  “And ice blue eyes.”

  The girl moved in front of me, feline fast. She knocked the lady centaur’s hand away. What was going on? The voice gave a throaty laugh, booming through my mind. Immediately, I tensed tighter than a bound bow. His laughter meant things were going to get dangerous.

  Murmurs ran through the crowd, and the tension rose. The centaurs bucked. I shuffled forwards too, carefully placing my arm in front of the girl, and pushed my chest out. There was always advantages to being a big guy: it took longer for a gang to trample me. I hoped she got the hint and ran when things turned sour.

  “They want the boy! Give them the boy and they’ll go away!” the leader thundered.

  “He is under my protection, sir!”

  I turned to the girl. Get the hint already! Run! But on she babbled.

  “Now I bid you good day, sir!” she said with blazing cheeks.

  “You think all your power will save you, little girl? With it stinking up the room like a bad cologne. You think you’re above us? What if we threw you to the ghost to slow him down? Munching on you might give the smart people time to save their skins!”

  I stepped backwards, hoping to drag us both away, but my arm met thin air. She wasn’t behind me anymore. She really was a tough girl to save. She’d ducked and floated on her portable river. Once again she was in front, outrage positively burning her adorable face.

  She’s going to get herself crushed and waste all her beautiful power in front of our very eyes, the voice complained. What are you standing still for? Stop her!

  The girl opened her mouth and I knew I couldn’t let it go further. I grabbed her hand and ran. She didn’t resist. We dashed down the corridor. There was a surprised silence behind us, and then the centaurs chased us. Their hooves clipped the floor, the noise as loud as any machinery I’d used. It was closing in. How stupid was I: thinking I could outrun a horde of things on four legs?

  Tug.

  I felt two yanks on my sleeve. Suddenly a bare little foot was in my way. I plunged to the
ground, buckling at the knee and swerving towards the wall as the girl pulled me to it. We flattened against the failed painting of a dog, or maybe it was a pony, with a purple underbelly and bat ears …

  “’Twas mighty generous, sir. But ’tis not me who needs saving,” she said. “My name is Elise, and we need to get you to your door, now!”

  Elise, the voice sing-songed. Of course. Well aren't you the lucky one meeting with celebrities!

  The herd clamoured past, barely throwing us another glance. And for good reason: far on the horizon two little dots appeared. One green, one red. The ghosts were soaring after us, literally flying under that misty ceiling.

  “They can’t be after me,” I exclaimed. “I don’t know them!”

  Elise held tight onto my arm and pulled me into a run after the centaurs. “’Tis no matter, they’ll drain us all the same.”

  She looked almost as scared as the creatures had. But even with all my goodwill the pain rising in my legs with every stride was going to win sooner rather than later. Already my steps were too heavy. I glanced over my shoulder. The ghosts were catching up. We could see the pleats of their capes flapping. Elise pointed ahead to a tiny hospital door with a little metallic rail to hold a name plaque.

  “The administration! ’Tis your only hope.”

  One. Last. Sprint.

  She smashed the door open just in time. A breeze of a touch grazed my ankle. My hair stood on end, but already our backs were pressing against the door. Which turned out to be a mistake.

  I yelled as I toppled backwards: literally going through the door. It was as if I had no substance. Horrified, I saw the two caped ghosts, green and red, hovering metres away. Their heads turned to me in unison, their hoods too low for me to see the faces inside. They leaped, but not fast enough. Elise yanked me back into the administration room. The door shook under the knocks of their fists.

  I walked away from the wall towards a stone bench. I dropped down, but the bench didn’t catch me, and the wall didn’t hold me. I toppled into the smooth silk weave of a tapestry and right through the hard stone wall behind it. Right through basalt boulders held with simple sand cement. Right through solid planks and the vials filled with fizzing liquids that were resting on them.

  My head hit something soft and bouncy. My eyes were still in the wood of the shelf. I contoured the soft object with my hands, trying to find a handle to help me regain my footing, and pulled back, disgusted. The surprise jolted me enough to catapult me back with Elise. I stood straight, completely out of the wall now. I’d landed on someone’s fat stomach! I couldn’t believe it. The voice laughed in my head.

  “I’m the ghost!” I cried. “I’m the damned ghost the centaurs were scared of!”

  “You’re not.” Elise laughed too.

  I can’t believe it, the voice was stunned. She likes you! I should have guessed. She collects lost causes like puppies.

  I ignored it, again. Maybe it would stop if I ignored it enough. After all, I’d lived 16 years without it.

  “I can go through things!” I yelled out.

  I walked in a small circle, cringing as all the aches and pains came to life with each movement. We were in a tiny room with four walls, two doors, one tapestry and one mechanical board, like the ones in train stations with letters flickering constantly across it.

  “No. You are a shadow. ’Tis impossible for you to go through people,” she said, as if she knew exactly what I’d been doing on the other side of the wall.

  She grabbed my hand to make her point. And sure enough, while the electronic panel flashing on the wall offered no more resistance to my skin than a bowl of tepid cabbage soup, Elise’s hand firmly held mine. It was cold and clammy, almost viscous, and I was surprisingly relieved when she let go.

  “Ghosts travel through people. They eat human souls,” she whispered. “They are the most dangerous power thieves in existence. And until now I thought they could not walk the shadow corridor. No power thieves ever should.”

  “Uh?”

  Sound smart! Come on! You’ve got a brain, use it! At least use words.

  “’Tis this place, the shadow corridor, where all the dead should wake,” she said.

  “Uh?” I repeated.

  You know, WORDS, bits of language used to communicate, the voice insisted.

  Elise suddenly scurried a little closer, her wide dark blue eyes staring at me. Her voice dropped even lower. “Except ’tis said power thieves are what they are because they are broken humans. Somehow, when they died, they did not appear in the shadow corridor. I do not know how those two ghosts got in, but we are safe here, behind a door. The glow of the spirits are keeping them at bay.”

  “Did you say the dead wake here?” I finally managed.

  She nodded.

  “I am sorry.” Her red lips gave a sad smile.

  “I’m not dead!” I exclaimed. “I got beat up and my head got bashed in or something, maybe I’m in a coma. I’ve got to say no to the light!” I jumped back up. “My aunt Maud said that when the bomb exploded, and she lost her leg, the doctors thought she was dead because she stopped breathing ... Well, she said she saw a corridor with some light, but she turned round and decided to come back for her two boys. That’s what I have to do. Say no to the light, which is ... I’ve got to get back to the corridor!” I realised with a start.

  “Oh, Sir Tosho, I’m most sorry. ’Tis too late. You are very much deceased.”

  “I can’t be! You have to help me. My family needs me. Martin, my cousin, he wants to be a doctor, but on their own they can’t pay for his studies. I’ve got to go back!”

  Suddenly the electronic panel didn’t just flicker. Numbers and letters shuffled in a clicking background rhythm. A bell dinged for our attention. At the top of the board, highlighted in flashing neon, was my name.

  Elise pushed me with a cold, wet shove. My feet were moving before I knew what was going on.

  “Good luck, Sir Tosho,” she said, and immediately knocked her knuckles on the wooden frame of the tapestry. “I’ll sleep to call in reinforcements.”

  “Thanks,” I said, not sure what was going on.

  But the mystery door, the one on the opposite wall from the corridor, flew open so hard it bounced on the wall and closed back up. We stared. The door opened again, forcefully, but not enough to knock the plaster off of the wall this time. I gasped at the huge woman in a toga that stepped out. She glared at us from the doorway.

  “Where is that little pervert? Theodore Baumhauer, you disgusting maggot! You better come here right away! I’ll let you know I’m a respected person and I won’t stand for people fondling me! Get in here: I don’t have all day!” she yelled.

  I was beet red as I jumped forth, so embarrassed I didn’t dare look back.

  Chapter 2

  How Not to Get Answers

  You are such a fool! You had Elise in your palm! She was going to invite you to her precious little world, complained the voice on and on. Turn back! Back! BACK!

  We walked into a circular medieval dungeon. The shelf of gooey potions I’d seen from the other side had many brothers and sisters. The boards hunched under the weight of them and threatened to topple in an avalanche of mysterious liquids. In the middle of all that was the inappropriately pink ogress’s lair. Her plastic desk was adorned with a fuchsia telephone, a cotton-candy stapler gun, a hot-pink swivelling chair and various bubblegum gadgets. I didn’t have time to see more. She grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shoved me through another door behind her plastic eyesore.

  I staggered into a doctor’s office. The walls were powder blue with a single shelf that carried a few books with titles like: Language today, Alchemy of the mind and The 19th century explained to the long deceased. Either someone was a century late or a book was missing. The only furniture items were a light ash desk paired with a comfortable armchair. The old man crammed into it stared shamelessly at me. He looked at least 100, had cobweb hair and was muttering unintelligibly unde
r his breath. He was probably senile, which would explain why he wore a long brown robe even uglier than my suit.

  Oh great, another incompetent idiot, the voice in my head said.

  “Hello?” I whispered, afraid of scaring the grandpa.

  The wrinkles on his cheeks deepened and his mouth broke into a smile. His crooked teeth ranged from tobacco brown to blue cheese mould colour. But I wasn’t here to judge: who needs dental hygiene when you’re dead? He held out a hand in front of him and I got closer. I held out my hand to shake his, but I had misunderstood the gesture. A second armchair appeared at his fingertips and landed on my foot.

  I cringed, expecting the pain.

  Anytime now …

  I looked down. The leg of the chair was planted in my shoe, but it went through. Right, I was a shadow – not a ghost. Perhaps he was clumsy, or maybe he thought it didn’t matter because it couldn’t hurt me. I dropped my hand and circled away from the offered seat.

  “This is all new to me, please don’t do that again,” I said, much more wary of the old guy’s next move.

  “Well crikey-gosh, don’t I know it, Theodore Baumhauer. This is exactly why you are here.” His voice shook.

  “People call me Tosho. Please don’t use my full name.”

  “And why is that, Theodore Baumhauer?”

  “It was also my father’s.”

  “Well gosh, that can be a little confusing, I will grant, especially when we all end up here. But it makes for nice legible genealogy trees. Those can never be underestimated. No, sport, there is nothing wrong with having your father’s name, that is all very proper.”

  “Please don’t use it.”

  “Righty-O, sport. Is he here with us or is he of the breathing type?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Ah, you’ll be wanting to get together again! Such a lovely thing. We’ll get right on that. Of course, not everyone turns up: there are some people who wander off into strange out of range places, crank-O-mighty, or get whisked into some private realms ... but it’s worth a shot, hey. Wouldn’t it be grand, hey, old bean?”