Ghosttown

GHOSTTOWN!  BY JUSTIN BARWICK

‘Hello my name is Daniel Anderson.  I was cruelly smothered by my murderous Uncle Martin way back in January of 1875 when I was just eight years of age.  He is currently languishing in a place known to most mortals as limbo.  He will remain frozen in a state of weightless entropy for at least a thousand years.  By which time he should be eligible for a return to earth as a new born soul.  Hopefully destined to lead a better life.  Obviously I have my doubts, once a murdering scumbag always a murdering scumbag.  Anyway in the 27th century the sprawling metropolis of old London town has been concreted over and designated a subterranean paranormal colony.  It is quite literally a ghost town!  Vast hordes of violent poltergeists have taken over what used to be known as sink estates, taking over from the vast hordes of violent hoodies who used to run riot in those particularly rundown places.  Every street is inhabited by a wide variety of spectral beings.  Here are the stories of just a few of the ghostly families living in my street in Wembley.

At No 52 there resides the ghost of a wealthy millionaire who perished on the Titanic.  He is very full of himself!  Numbers 64 -82 are occupied by several families who tragically perished in the blitz that devastated London way back in World War Two.  They all still imagine that they are  living on ration coupons.  I often see Mrs Jackson handing over her ghostly meat ration coupons at the local corner shop.  They all lived and died on the same street when they were alive, so have decided to stay together in the afterlife.  No 83 is occupied by a group of junkies who all died from drug overdoses back in the 1980’s.  They have formed a kind of ghostly support group.  Bit late now!  Numbers 84 and 85 are occupied by several unfortunate mountaineers who all perished in their various attempts to conquer Everest.  They pass their days swapping stories of frostbite injuries and sheer drops.  I live at number 86 with my seven year old sister Julie, she was also smothered by my wicked Uncle Martin back in 1875.  He did it to claim our life insurance.  We are cared for by the ghost of an Edwardian nanny who committed suicide by drowning herself in the Serpentine when she was spurned by her secret lover, who had been her erstwhile employer in 1911. 

The afterlife appears to be rather idyllic on the surface, but there is a hungry monster preying on ghosts spectral energies, its hapless victims are remorselessly drained of all energy, until, they disappear completely.  They will have been forced down to a lower astral plane where there are no familiar buildings or streets, just a soul deadening emptiness.  I hate this vampiric parasite that torments its hapless prey so casually.  It is my avowed intent to track it down to its lair and destroy it.  I have been going door to door along my street in Wembley trying to muster support.  The response has been depressingly apathetic.  Nobody cares, just so long as it is not them being drained of spectral energy.  So that leaves me and my sister Julie, it is up to us to confront the beast in its lair.




We ask around and the rumours of the vampiric parasite’s path of destruction lead us to a rundown tower block in Tower Hamlets.  We decide to rope in a poltergeist to help us in our quest.  The noisy ghost pauses in its current rather messy hobby, which involves causing tin cans of soup to explode, spattering their contents across a grotty kitchen on the fifth floor of the tower block.  Despite its bad reputation this particular poltergeist despises the vampiric parasite for its habit of preying on other vulnerable ghosts.  Poltergeists cause a lot of mayhem, but they don’t harm any one or anything else.  So the three of us proceed to search each flat in turn.  I can sense that a great many spirits have already been drained of all psychic energy and forced down to a lower astral plane.  I despair of ever catching up with the hungry darkness. 

But eventually on the 11th floor we stumble across the vampiric parasite in the act of draining a ghost of all energy.  We enter a gloomy flat and glimpse a jet black shadowy mass swirling around the ghost of a young teenage girl.  The poltergeist focuses all of its incredible power on the smoky black shadow.  The dark cloud is suddenly lit up with flashes of jagged lightning.  There are several chilling cracking noises and then the parasitic creature simply explodes in a blinding flash of vivid crimson light accompanied by the foul stench of rotten eggs.  The poltergeist is feeling very pleased with itself.  Julie and I hurriedly put our transparent arms around the severely weakened teenage girl ghost. Focusing all of our psychic energy on her fading form we soon engender a remarkable recovery.  ‘You saved me!  H-how can I ever thank you?’ she asked haltingly. 
‘No need.’ I reply modestly.  ‘This very brave poltergeist did all the-’ but our noisy ghost had departed the scene.  No doubt eager to get back to more gloriously destructive activity. 

After all the excitement we just got on with our humdrum afterlife in Ghosttown.  Hoping that a new threat would not materialise in the near future.  But there was no telling what shape a future enemy might take and when...