It was a good dream full of normal everyday things, lacking the goblins and witches that had made up the last few months of my life. Since becoming a magician my life had definitely changed; færies and monsters filling my days and nights, driving out my previous mundane, 21th century life as a bookseller.

    And now something was disturbing it. Something was tickling my nose. I untangled a hand from under the blankets and swatted it away. Within my still fuzzy mind I was sure I heard an old English curse, followed by a thud. What was real and what was dream mixed together as I struggled to awake. 

    “Wake up you dozy lump,” screamed a high pitched voice, followed by something sinking its teeth into my ear lobe.

    My eyes snapped awake, arm flapping around my ear to remove the teeth, as I tried to sit up. The blanket proved to be my undoing, jerking me back onto the mattress, to bounce once, off the bed and onto the floor. I hit the floor and rolled. Recently I had survived goblin swords and witches spells and had no intention of dying in bed.

    “Scielden,” I said, casting a shield spell over myself as I pressed into the wall next to the bedside cabinet. The hours of practice paying off, as I found the spells form, powered it up and released the magic – all while rolling about. I controlled my breathing and let my heart rate slow, awaiting an attack. Seconds stretched by and still nothing happened, so I eased up into a sitting position.

    “Mister Marsh, sorry to wake you but you have to see this. Something weird is going on next door,” said the squeaky voice from somewhere above.

    Definitely something weird? Only creatures from the Fæ, the færie side of my life, called me Mister Marsh. Everyone else called me Pete. I lowered the shield spell and replaced it with a light spell, floating a bright yellow ball up to illuminate the room. A small grey face with large eyes and long pointy ears looked down at me. It was the gremlin I had moved into Boots the Chemist when my home had been attacked by half goblins last year.

    “You’re banned,” I said. “You can cause all the chaos you want to next door in Boots, but the deal was you stayed there.” This particular gremlin used to live in my house, his specialty rewiring electrics and chewing wires. Anything mechanical he touched never worked properly again, hence his banishment to next door.

    The little gremlin held up both hands. “Me not breaking anything, but you gotta come. Weird strange things is happening next door. Need a magician strange things!”

    Annoyingly the gremlin clammed up on details, beckoning me on by fluttering over to the door. I floated the light spell nearer the clock. Ten minutes past three – far too early to be out of bed. A black suit and cloak hanging to one side, illuminated by the spell’s glow, reminding me of Nigel’s adoption party latter. I guessed it was probably a good idea to let him sleep this one out. He had enough on his plate meeting his future adoptive ælven family later in the day.

    I reach under the bed and pulled out yesterday’s jeans and t-shirt from where I had thrown them. Slipped on a pair of old trainers and grabbed Mircebane from the corner. The magic staff came to life as my fingers closed around it. It squirmed and tingled in my grip, magic power flowing up my arm. A shot of pure power better than any energy drink for giving you a wake up buzz.

    “What’s he doing here?” screeched another high pitched voice, this time from atop of the wardrobe.

 

    “He’s banned.”

    Owning a magic staff is probably one of the coolest things you can possess, unless it comes with a bound pixie called Pyewacket, a random spell casting imp, whose main purpose in life was to make mine difficult.

    “He’s just about to leave Pyewacket, but we’re going with him. Boot’s has something odd happening next door. We need to take a look. A quick one to get rid of the gremlin, and then I can get back to bed. OK?” I said.

    Pyewacket gave the gremlin a real evil stare, and got one back for his trouble.

    Crossing through the gateway between the worlds, I dropped down through the bookshop, winding between shelves overloaded with dusty books to emerge on the Market Square. I scanned the misty town centre for any late night company, but as you would expect at three in the morning the place was empty. This being just as well, as Pyewacket and the Gremlin landed in a heap, after fighting each other to get through the door.

    “Shut up,” I hissed, as they continued to squabble. “Oh for god sake will you two button it, you’re causing a scene.”

    I paused for a moment, and considered the situation. Normal people cannot see creatures from the Fæ. So if anyone was about, then all they would see is me talking to myself; looking a complete idiot. I shut up and went to peer through the chemist’s front door.

    My breath misted the glass, which I cleared with my sleeve. From the outside nothing weird was obvious. I tapped the lock with Mircebane, uttering the opening spell, and pushed. The inside of the store was dark, the million and one posters filling the shop windows blocking out any street light. There was a strong odour of mixed scents, the sort you get just inside a chemist’s, but still nothing to be out of bed for.

    Turning back to the door I cast the Leomá light spell to see what the gruesome twosome was up to. They were standing side by side, looking all meek and quiet. “Ok Gremlin what am I looking for?” I asked.

    Both imps pointed beyond my back and said, “That!”

    A procession of scent bottles randomly floating in the air blocked the aisles.  They bobbed and weaved, occasionally colliding with a faint chink. I cast the Unhelian- the reveal spell to understand what my eyes are seeing, but my brain is failing to comprehend. Glimmers or traces of something ethereal weave through the air, like an essence or fingerprint of a ghost or magic past; its ghostly trail twisting back into the darkened store.

    I pushed through the floating scent bottles getting sprayed for my troubles. The more I swatted at the perfumes the more I was doused in a fine scented mist. It made my eyes sting, catching the back of the nose to produce a series of almighty sneezes.

    “Well at least you will be easy to find,” said Pyewacket, holding his nose.

    “I think the shop has become haunted,” said the Gremlin. “I’m supposed to be the trouble maker here. Can you get rid of it Mister Marsh. Please.”

    “More likely a poltergeist. One with a scents of humour,” smirked Pyewacket.

    The three of us carefully stepped deeper into the shop to find a portable television randomly changing channels, the voices and sound track not matching the images on the screen. Beside it lay a flask dripping cold tea onto the floor. Remains of a packed lunch were scattered about, with a cheese sandwich even stuck to an overhead light fitting.

    “There should be a security guard here,” said the Gremlin, “he run away.”

    “Let’s split up and find him. The Gremlins right, this is all a bit weird. Pyewacket go that way,” I said indicating the food and electrical sections. “Gremlin, you’re with me. We will do baby stuff and make up. Meet up near the stairs at the back.”

    The gremlin looked please not to be on his own, Pyewacket less so, fluttering off into the darkness muttering, “at least I won’t have to put up with your girly pong.” 

    I pushed more magic power from the staff into the light spell to stop it fading away to nothing; firstly to dispel the nagging sense of dread gnawing away at my sole, and secondly to stop me tripping over the drifts of stock cluttering the aisles. Shelves of makeup had be cleared and scattered on the floor, each step crunching on plastic pots and tubes, breaking them to ooze out in a sticky mess. 

    Smiley faces had been drawn in red lipstick on every clear surface. Well attempts at smiley faces! The circles with the U shaped mouth were the same, but eyes, they had a malevolent air about them; narrow and slanting, giving the face a mocking, evil expression. The air temperature was dropping, causing my breath to mist and drift up to the ceiling. My eyes followed it up to see ME… DON’T IGNORE ME written in a shaky hand in large red letters across the white ceiling tiles.

    Pyewacket was waiting for us at the back of the shop, near a set of steps going up marked staff only. He pointed to a broken torch and dark blue peaked hat a few stairs up. “He is not down here Mister Marsh. Methinks we have to go up?” said Pyewacket

    The stairs emitted a cold rotting odour; a cross between stagnant water and old, meat.  A rancid smell that glues itself to your taste buds for you to enjoy for hours to come. Again I could sense the vestiges of something ghostly. Not the friendly spirits like the previous dead owners of the bookshop who appear to offer advice or criticisms at random intervals, but something much more angry and malevolent.

    Pyewacket and the gremlin were both holding back, waiting for me to lead the way. Pyewacket even opened his palm to indicate you first. I looked up into the dark stairway briefly considering a shield spell, but decided to save power; well some power as I did turn the light spell up a few notches to drive away the shadows.

    At the top of the stairs, in the same shaky hand was written HA HA HA. STOP IGNORING ME….. The cold smell of rot and decay was now over powering, almost having a personality of its own.

    “Go away, leave me alone… Please leave me alone?” said a faint voice echoing down the corridor. 

    “It came from that door,” I said stepping forward. 

    Pyewacket took his usual place hovering above my right shoulder, drawing in power in preparation for whatever spells he needed. I did the same while checking the gremlin was ready. He had decided getting ready was squeezing behind a fire extinguisher and pretending he was not here. Pyewacket noticed and held his hands over his eyes and pretended to quiver in fright. I can’t say I was surprised beating up a washing machine was his usual level of courage.

    The door opened onto a dingy staff room complete with saggy sofas and stained coffee table. The sort of sad place you avoid unless your boss is looking for you. Pinned against the back wall with his arms raised in the “I surrender” pose was the security guard. He was covered from head to toe in yellow post it notes. Layer upon layer of post it notes that spread from his quivering body to cover the wall like an overgrown buttercup.

    Floating at eye level a couple of metres from the guard was a block of post it notes. Every second or so one would detach itself from the block and fly at the yellow noted guard. Some of the notes hit and some missed, but the stream continued until the pack ran out. The backing card floated down to be replaced by another packet that unwrapped itself before my eyes. 

    “Unhelian,” I said casting the reveal spell.

    The slivery white outline of the ghost appeared, floating yellow squares on silver tendrils at the security guard. The ghost stopped bombarding the poor guard as he turned towards me. “I told him not to ignore me, but he did. He said ghosts aren’t real. I bet he doesn’t think that now,” the ghost sneered. 

    The security guard took the opportunity to escape the back wall by falling forwards and landing flat on his face, leaving his outline with hands raised in yellow squares. The ghost laughed; a wicked piercing laugh that rose through the octaves to end at a teeth jarring wail. He then attacked. In an instant the ghost launched himself across the room, hands outstretched, aiming for my face.

    “Scielden,” I snapped out throwing up a hasty shield spell. It was lopsided and not as big as I would like but blocked the ghosts charge. An icy blast wrapped around the edges and rocked me back on my heels. Drawing more power from Mircebane I enlarged the shield to stop the spectral hands reaching around to grab me. Even with my limited experience of undead, getting grabbed by one didn’t seem to be a good idea. This close up the origin of the rotting pong was also really obvious.

    “Útradrifan gást,” said Pyewacket, casting a spell I didn’t know.

    The ghost froze to ripple and convulse as the spell worked through his spiritual body. The spell seemed to be trying to compress or shred him in an alternating fashion.

    “That’s odd. That spell should banish ghosts no problem!” said Pyewacket.

    “You cannot do that anymore,” said the ghost resuming his form. “Those spell won’t work. I have nowhere to go. You are stuck with me, and I shall haunt here forever.” The ghost resumed his wail, circling twice around the room before darting over our heads and out of the door. Crashes and bangs could be heard from the shop floor, quickly followed by the smell of smoke, and the pulsating electronic screech of the fire alarm.

    Ghost or no ghost it was time to leave. I helped the dazed guard, whose name badge announced he was called Norman, to his feet and down the stairs. The shop floor was a maelstrom of flying objects, swirling around interlaced tornadoes. Using two shield spells we managed to deflect most of the objects harmlessly away except for a nappy that plopped humorously on my head, where it stayed until we pushed through the front doors out into the market square.

    The gremlin scuttled out seconds later holding a plastic lunch box over his head. I did a quick head count; three went in and four came out, so why was I counting five. I looked around the huddle on the pavement. One security guard with added post it notes, a gremlin with plastic cup, Pyewacket looking pleased with himself, me and the short dumpy individual wearing a black coat and top hat.

    “Good evening Mister Marsh,” said the Grim. “Mayhaps I can be of assistance. I have had some dealings with the undead previously?”

    The Grim was another of those characters who had inhabited my world, since becoming the magician responsible for controlling what stayed on the færie side, and what was allowed to cross into the human existence. He seemed to be responsible for the gateway between the two worlds that linked through the church he inhabited. My official title was Guardian of the Gateways, so technically I was the Grim’s boss, but he like all the other færie folk in my life, he tolerated me as a minor inconvenience. Unless something needed sorting when the Pete can do it mentality burst to the fore.

    “Er… yes, feel free. Boots seems to have acquired a ghost,” I said.

    The Grim, clutching his usual spade and lantern, pushed open the front door and shuffled out of sight into the darkness. The odd little group huddled together on the pavement didn’t have to wait long for something to happen. Flashes and rumbles, a bit like thunder, rolled out from deep within the chemist. The security guard whimpered and the Gremlin tried to hide inside his plastic box. Pyewacket shrugged his shoulders in his usual laid back way, his mind starting to drift as his short attention span reaching its limit. The ghost in his mind was now the Grim’s problem.

    A dull thud burst out of the shop, swinging open the front doors and rattling the windows; followed by a hiss of dust, shreds of paper, and other light weight litter. As a group we either shielded our eyes or turned our backs to save or eyes and lungs.

    A short dumpy and now dusty figure emerged onto the market square. The Grim held up his lantern that rattled and sparked from a spiralling smoky ball held within. As you stared hard, the spirit ball took on occasional features you could recognise – a clawed hand or screaming face. The Grim had somehow trapped the ghost inside his lantern.

    “I will deal with this one,” said the Grim, shaking the lantern vigorously to quieten the ghost. “But you will have to sort out the others.”

    “Others?” I said in surprise.

    “This week a wedding at St Josephs was disrupted by icy chills and mournful wailing. Not everyone noticed, but it did cause the bride to faint. And last week some of the graves stones had been over turned and their graves tampered with. I have heard rumours that other are claiming to have seen ghosts about the town,” said the Grim. “I suggest you ask the Bensons. If anyone knows what’s going on they will. Goodnight Mister Marsh.” With that he touched the brim of his top hat and ambled off towards the church.

    “Cheers,” squeaked the gremlin pulling at my trouser leg; to disappear back into the now wrecked shop. I suppose the gremlin wouldn’t care. He would find something to mess with. Probably the fire brigade, as the sound of a siren pierced through the night.

    Pyewacket did the fæ thing and faded out of sight as fire engine and police car swung into Middlewich’s market square. As soon as I had handed the security guard safely over I planned to join him. I wasn’t sure how to explain this lot, so decided not to, casting the Ungesewen - unseeing spell when the fire officers back was turned.