Suddenly the lights flickered on and he let the pamphlet fall shut. Turning, he was shocked to see a middle-aged blonde woman standing at the top of the steps, and he averted his gaze immediately as he realised that she was wearing only the skimpiest of nightgowns.

  “Tiggy?” the woman said cautiously, sounding as if she was in no mood for a late-night hunt. “Are you in here?”

  Edward remained completely still, not even daring to look at her.

  “Tiggy?” she continued, making her way down the steps. “You stupid dog, are you ever going to let me get a proper night's sleep?”

  She stopped opposite Edward and looked down at the copy of Vogue. After a moment, reaching over, she moved it back onto the pile and made sure that it was neatly arranged.

  “You're gonna drive my O.C.D. crazy, dog,” she went on. “Don't be jumping up on the table, okay? I heard you messing with my magazines. At least, I thought that was what you were doing.”

  She paused, before turning and walking wearily out of the room, turning the light off in the process.

  “Get a dog, they said,” she complained as she drifted away toward the main staircase. “It'll be fun, they said. It'll lighten up your life. Yeah, right.”

  Once he was sure that the woman was gone, Edward dared to look around again. Having spent years accustomed to his wife Elizabeth wearing thick, heavy working attire, he'd been shocked to see the woman just now wearing clothing that barely covered her modesty. He was also puzzled by the fact that she had seemingly not noticed him at all, although he reasoned that many others in the city failed to spot him whenever he was climbing up from the muddy river. In truth, he had even felt unnoticed a few times while he was still alive.

  “Lord Gormand?” he said cautiously, standing all alone once more in the darkened room. “Your Lordship, are you here? My name is Edward Kent and I beg an audience. I am but a humble fisherman from across the river, but I am quite sure that you will be satisfied if I am just able to plead my case.”

  He looked at each of the empty chairs in turn, but now he felt as if there was nobody else nearby at all. Finally, convinced that he must have been mistaken, he turned to leave the room in the hope that he might continue his search of the house. And then, stopping just as he reached the steps leading up to the doorway, he froze as he heard a rustling sound coming from somewhere over his shoulder.

  “I say,” a slightly high-pitched voice said, “is your gout troubling you again tonight?”

  “It's worse than ever,” came the reply, accompanied by the sound of something rubbing against fabric. “I don't know how I stand it. I can only assume that it must be a test sent by the Lord, so that I might prove myself to Him.”

  Edward remained with his back to the room for a few more seconds, before slowly turning to see that now there were indeed three figures sitting at the table, albeit figures that were shrouded in darkness. He watched as one of them reached over, and to his surprise he began to understand that they were playing what appeared to be a simple game of cards.

  “I must admit,” the second man continued, “that I miss the days when we used to go abroad for these games. Not that I am complaining about the company, you know. It's just that one sometimes longs for some... variation in the strategies adopted by one's opponents. I recall -”

  “Are you going to prattle endlessly,” the man at the far end of the table murmured, having hitherto remained silent, “or are you going to play your next hand?”

  “I am sorry, Your Lordship,” the second man said, quickly setting another card down. “I did not mean to tire you.”

  “Lord Gormand?” Edward asked, stepping forward again. “Lord Gormand, I do not mean to disturb, but I have been looking for you for... well, for quite some time now. I beg only a brief audience, one in which I might press my case for the renewal of a long-standing arrangement that was for so very long to our mutual benefit.”

  He waited, hoping for some kind of acknowledgement, but instead Lord Gormand merely hesitated for a few seconds before reaching out and placing a card on the table.

  “A mighty move,” the third man chuckled. “Your Lordship, you must have some wonderful cards in your hand right now.”

  “Spend less time trying to make me like you,” Lord Gormand replied, “and more time playing the cards you have been dealt. That way, at least, you might provide a challenging game.”

  “A HAH HAH HAH!” the third man howled. “A HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!”

  “Your Lordship, I must insist upon an audience,” Edward continued, feeling a little emboldened now – and ignoring the simmering rage he felt at the sight and sound of the two men who had drowned him many years earlier. “I know it hardly matters anymore, yet for my personal satisfaction I must insist that you listen to me. I was wronged, Your Lordship, many years ago... and I feel now that I cannot rest in peace until the matter has been resolved.”

  “Does anybody else hear that infernal whining sound?” Lord Gormand asked, and now his neck clicked and crunched slightly as he looked up from his cards. His face was still shrouded in shadows, but after a moment his head tilted a little to one side. “I find it most disagreeable.”

  “I think I might have heard it before,” the second man murmured, and he too tilted his head so that he could look in Edward's direction. “I think I remember drowning a man once who had such a wretched tone.”

  “Your Lordship,” Edward continued, ignoring the two other men to the best of his ability, “I beg only that you listen to me and consider my request. My wares, my fish and my eels and my lobsters, are of the finest quality. Why, I am sure that you will find nothing better in the whole of London and...”

  As his voice trailed off, Edward realised that he could hear low, rumbling laughter emerging from the shadows that covered His Lordship's features. The laughter was growing by the second now, filling the air, and a few more of these seconds later – as if determined to copy their master at all costs – the two other men began to laugh as well.

  And then, before Edward had any further chance to react, a boat passing along the river momentarily cast its lights in such a way that the beam filled the room. In that moment, he was finally able to see Lord Gormand's face – and he instinctively took a step back, horrified by the ravaged skull and the two empty eye-sockets that glared back at him while the rotten jaw continued to laugh.

  “Fish?” Lord Gormand snarled, and already the light from the passing boat had begun to fade, plunging the room once more into darkness. “Eels? You speak to me of food? Do you think I have any need of your wares now? Mr. Carlson, Mr. Shaw, I beg of you... rid me of this wretched fool. I wish only to concentrate on my game, and to think of nothing else for all eternity.”

  “With pleasure,” the third man said, as he and his companion got to their feet. “It would seem that Mr. Kent needs to learn his lesson for a second time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Opening her eyes, Beth found herself staring into darkness. She blinked, but all she could make out was the upper deck's front window, which had been mostly shattered. The furious sound of the bus crashing into the bridge had filled her ears for what had felt like an eternity and the floor had shuddered violently beneath her body, but now finally she realised that the whole world had come to a standstill.

  Sitting up until she was on her knees, she looked around and saw rows of seats on either side. The seats themselves had been too low to suffer any damage, but a moment later she tilted her head back and looked up, and she saw the rough brick ceiling of the tunnel directly above her. The tunnel had evidently sliced the top of the bus clean away, and when she looked over her shoulder she could only assume that the uppermost part of the wreckage must now be somewhere on the road behind the vehicle.

  And then, turning to look at one of the nearby seats, she let out a gasp as she spotted Mrs. Posh in her customary position – but with her head having been entirely ripped away from her body. Now the bloodied stump at the top of the woman's neck was pressed against the bridge's roof, and a thick red stain marked the path the stump had taken as it had dragged against the bricks while the bus was grinding to a halt.

  Immediately getting to her feet, Beth let out a gasp of pain as the top of her head bumped against the bridge's bricks. She pulled down and rubbed the sore spot.

  Turning in the other direction, she saw that the young couple had also – literally – lost their heads. Turning again, she saw that the mother was in a similar state, and she realised after a moment that the child had finally stopped crying.

  “Whoa!” Greg said, sitting up nearby and running a hand through his hair, brushing out a few pieces of broken glass. “That was...”

  He paused for a few seconds, as if he couldn't quite find the right words.

  “I don't actually know how I thought that would go,” he continued, “but I suppose it wasn't too bad. Not in the circumstances. Not for us, at least. Are you okay?”

  “What the hell just happened?” Beth stammered.

  “I guess it was a recreation of what happened that night,” Greg suggested, crawling toward her, wincing as he caught the palm of one hand on a stray piece of glass. “That's part of the legend surrounding this bus. It's supposed to relive its final journey until the crash, and then after that it transports the dead to the next life. Those who want to go, at least. It's said that the souls of the ones who died onboard are doomed to repeat the journey every year, but that any other dead souls that choose to get onto the bus after this point are taken to... I don't know, to whatever comes next.”

  As much as she wanted to ask about a million more questions, Beth felt in that moment as if she couldn't take more bizarre theories about whatever was happening. Instead she tried to combat a sense of panic that was crawling through her chest, and finally she began to stand up, only to once again find that she couldn't do so fully since the tunnel's roof was far too low.

  “We can't get off,” Greg told her.

  She turned to him.

  “Not until our stop,” he continued. “He knows it, somehow.”

  “Who does?”

  “The driver,” he explained. “You and I are both heading to Delham Park, right? So we have to stay on until then. And when the bus gets to Delham Park, we have our one and only chance to get the hell off this thing. Which I fully intend to do, by the way. Until next year, when I'll come back and try to figure out some more of whatever's going on.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and held it up, quickly starting to take photos of the bus's wrecked top deck.

  “I should have been filming when it happened,” he muttered. “I've got some before and after shorts, but next year I definitely need to film the exact moment of impact. I need footage that'll really get people to sit up and take notice.”

  “I think I'm losing my mind,” Beth whispered. “I only came out to do Yaz a favour. I could be at home and tucked up in bed right now, and I wouldn't even know that any of this was happening.”

  “Yeah, I bet you wish you'd done that right about now,” he said as he began to film a video, quickly swinging the phone around in an attempt to capture as much as possible. “Don't worry, though. Delham Park's not from here, right? You've just got to hold your nerve for a little longer.”

  “Hold my nerve?” she hissed, turning to him. “Are you out of your mind? I'm getting off this bus!”

  “You can't, not until -”

  “I'm getting off right now,” she said as she turned and began to crawl toward the top of the staircase. “I don't care what anyone says, I -”

  Suddenly the entire bus lurched, and Beth let out a shocked gasp as she froze in place. She could hear the engine surging now, and a moment later the entire vehicle shuddered so hard that she felt vibrations running up from the floor and directly through her body. A moment after that, the bus began to slowly grind forward, and she heard an ear-piercing crunching sound as she looked up and saw that the remaining metal supports were scraping against the brickwork as the bus slowly began to drive out from beneath the bridge.

  “The stories were right!” Greg exclaimed, sounding almost excited now. “Now that the original accident has been repeated, the bus is setting off to complete its journey from that night!”

  “You've got to be kidding me,” Beth said as the grinding sound continued.

  “Smile for the camera,” he continued, aiming his phone at her. “Damn, I hope this footage turns out okay. Even then, I'm gonna have a hard time convincing people that any of this is real!”

  “I just want to get off!” she sobbed, clinging to the side of a nearby seat. “I just -”

  Before she could finish, Mrs. Posh's headless body tilted to one side and fell down, bumping against her. Beth let out a startled cry and pulled back, and now she found herself staring directly at the bloodied stump at the top of the dead woman's neck, and at a glistening piece of white bone poking out from the meat.

  “This isn't happening,” she whispered to herself. “None of this is real. It's just -”

  In that moment the bus finally began to emerge from beneath the bridge and a tremendous roaring sound filled the air. At first Beth wasn't entirely sure what might be causing the sound, until the rest of the bus moved out into the open air and crashing rain began to pour down onto the open top deck. Having already been soaked, Beth now felt the rain almost trying to drown her, and a few seconds later she turned and saw that Greg was in the process of protecting his phone.

  “Whoops!” he yelled, struggling to raise his voice above the sound of so much rain. “I forgot about the bad weather!”

  “I just want to get off!” she shouted, slowly getting to her feet as the bus began to pick up speed, and as more and more rain pelted the exposed seats all around her. “I just want to go home!”

  “You can, I swear,” he replied, standing up and stepping over to her, reaching out to steady himself as the bus jolted over a rough patch on the road. “You've just got to follow the rules, that's all. You and I can both get off at Delham Park, no sooner and no later. Until then, we've just got to be patient.”

  “I don't think I can be,” she said, and now tears were running from her eyes, mixing with the rain.

  “It'll be fine,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of her left hand, squeezing it tight. “That's the one good thing about situations like this. The rules are pretty clear and you can always rely on them. As far as I know, at least. We just have to wait ten or so minutes until the bus gets to Delham Park, and then we can get off.”

  “Please,” she sobbed, “I want to get off right now...”

  “Ten minutes,” he said firmly, and now he grabbed her other hand as well. “I know you have a lot of questions. Believe me, I do too. Once we're off the bus, we can figure everything out, but until then you have to wait it out. You trust me, don't you?”

  “I...”

  She hesitated for a moment, genuinely not quite sure how to answer, before nodding.

  “Then let's go downstairs,” he continued, still holding her hands as rainwater ran down both their faces, “and wait for our stop. And then this whole nightmare will be over.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As he stood in the house's dark kitchen, Edward Kent tried to stay perfectly still and quiet. Rain was battering the skylight above and could be heard splattering down onto the flagstones beyond the patio door. Having panicked as he'd hurried through the house, Edward had finally found somewhere to hide, but he knew that eventually his pursuers would locate him.

  After a moment, hearing a creaking sound above the cacophony, he felt sure that Messrs. Carlson and Shaw had finally tracked him down.

  “Please no,” he whispered, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor next to the fridge. “Not again.”

  In truth, he wasn't even sure what Lord Gormand's men could do to him this time. After all, he was already dead and he was also very well acquainted with the bottom of the river. Still, there was something horrifically menacing about the two men, and he had no doubt that they would be able to come up with some fresh kind of torture. A few seconds later he heard the creaking sound again, followed now by the rustle of tiny footprints, and he looked up past the fridge as he waited for the pair of them to make their appearance.

  “I'll leave,” he gasped. “I swear, I'll go away and never darken your door again. I only -”

  Before he could finish, he heard footsteps scurrying closer, and he looked down just in time to see a small, outrageously fluffy dog hurrying into the kitchen. The creature stopped almost immediately and stared at Edward, and already its lips were starting to curl as if it was barely holding in a snarl.

  Unsure as to how he should proceed, Edward stared back at the dog and saw its dark, beady eyes.

  A fraction of a second later, another creaking sound attracted their attention. Man and dog turned their heads, looking out at the corridor, and now the animal's repressed snarl began to escape as a low, rumbling growl. Sure enough, a dark shadow was starting to move across a wall on the corridor's far side, and gradually the figure of Mr. Carlson began to shuffle into view.

  “I know I am a wretch,” Edward said under his breath, “but Lord, will you not grant me one smidgen of mercy? I beg you, deliver me from this -”

  “Where are you?” Mr. Carlson hissed in the corridor. “Do you hide here still, like some kind of deranged cur?”

  Taking that moment as its cue to attack, the small dog let out a series of furious, high-pitched barks and advanced toward the doorway, unleashing every ounce of its fury as Mr. Shaw too came into view. Together, the two ghostly figures stopped and looked down at the fearsome beast, as if neither of them quite had any idea how to handle the threat – until finally one of the men broke into his now customary peals of laughter.