Haunt Dead Wrong Read Online Free

the
winner.’
    Dougie grumbled as I chuckled. ‘Whatever. You’re the loser as you’ve never seen
The Godfather.
’
    ‘And probably never will,’ sighed the Major. ‘The drawback of haunting a hospital and not a movie theatre.’
    We had first encountered the phantom American last autumn, when our friend Stu Singer had ended up in hospital after a fall from the Upper School building. I say ‘fall’: he was
pushed, by our headmaster, who it transpired was a sadistic, murdering nutcase. That was all in the past now, Stu well on the road to recovery, and Mr Goodman dead and gone. The girl who he’d
killed had been haunting an old school house, and it was she who had first taught me how to control my powers. Phyllis had been her name, and she’d opened my eyes to the possibilities
haunting offered up. She vanished when Goodman died, leaving Dougie and me to seek out the Major for further guidance. It transpired the Major was a pesky soul, Dougie often the target of his
mischief.
    ‘I’m just kidding with ya, Sparky,’ said the airman, punching Dougie’s shoulder with a ghostly fist. He’d taught me the same trick, much to my friend’s
annoyance.
    ‘Quit it,’ snapped Dougie. ‘That is so not cool.’
    ‘So what do you guys have planned? You got the whole summer ahead of you. What do kids do round here? You got a beach house to head to? Catch some surf and rays?’
    ‘Beach house?’ I laughed. ‘Nearest beach is the Mersey. And catching rays? You’d more likely catch blood poisoning.’
    ‘I keep forgetting your British summers are different to real ones,’ said the Major.
    The Major was coy, never telling us his real name, but he’d been haunting the General Hospital since the 1940s. Like me, he was stuck in the clothes he’d died in, and he hadn’t
got around to explaining the circumstances of his death either. Across the left breast of his uniform a string of multicoloured pips revealed his rank. He was actually a captain, but Dougie and I
had never let details stand in the way of a good nickname. ‘Major’ had stuck. When not hidden by his US Air Force dress cap, his jet-black quiff was slicked back over his head, topping
off his movie-star good looks. As officers went, he was fresh-faced to have been made a captain, but wars, deaths and field promotions will do that.
    ‘So tell me,’ said the Major. ‘What brought my favourite double-act here today? I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend.’
    Dougie kindly visited the hospital each Saturday, allowing me the opportunity to spend time with the Major. Dougie would watch on while the American talked me through what he knew, passing on
tips and sharing his thoughts. We discussed everything, from how I’d ended up a ghost, the other spirits we’d seen or encountered, and what might have stopped me from moving on. The
Major’s ideas were just that: ideas. Neither of us had received an instruction book when we had become ghosts, although with Dougie’s help we were doing a fine job of writing one. My
friend would take notes on what we discovered, compiling a
Rules of Ghosting
handbook in the process.
    Dougie reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled sheet of newspaper. He unfolded it, straightening it out, before laying it out on the grass before us.
    ‘Ah,’ said the Major, the spring taken out of his step. ‘Way to ruin a guy’s day, Sparky.’
    We all looked at the headline:
AIRBASE TO BE DEMOLISHED
. This was where the Major had been stationed during the Second World War, one of many Yanks who had briefly made my sleepy little
town in the north-west of England their home.
    ‘What does this mean for you?’ I asked.
    ‘I’ve no idea,’ said the Major. ‘We’ve spent so long talking about what’s keeping
you
here, in the land of the living, that we’ve given little
thought to my own predicament.’
    ‘Maybe that’s it,’ said Dougie. ‘Perhaps when the old base finally gets bulldozed