Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Everybody Loves Raymond and Flyboys doesn't belong to me either. No money is made from this story. Any unrecognized characters and ghosts belong to my imagination, which hopefully belongs to me.
AN: OK, another attempt at a one-shot. This is a stand-alone and has absolutely no relation to any other story I've written. Hope you enjoy.
Not Everything Can Be Explained By Science
"John," Virgil moaned from the doorway of John's apartment. "Come on! Hurry up! We have to be at the Quarantine Station at seven. We're going to be late otherwise. The tour will start without us."
"Alright, alright! Keep your hair on!" Just turned twenty year old John replied sounding annoyed, as he pulled on a thick black woollen coat and wrapped a scarf round his lithe neck. "Where are the others?"
"Alan and Gordon are too young to come on the tour, and Scott said he'd meet us there." Virgil bounced excitedly in the doorway, irresistibly reminding John of an eighteen year old who was going on three.
With a sigh of exasperation, John stepped out of the safety of his apartment, and locked the door. "Remind me, why did I agree to this?"
"Because it's Scott's last week here before he goes back to Oxford on uni exchange and he wants to spend some time with us. Plus," Virgil added, smirking slightly, "It's Halloween."
John moaned softly. Of all the days for the tour, it had to be Halloween.
Virgil snickered. "Why, Johnny, surely you're not scared of a ghost tour?"
John scoffed; affronted his masculinity had been challenged. "No! Who in their right mind would be scared? Everything can be explained by science."
Twenty one year old Scott Tracy leant casually against the signpost of the Quarantine Station, letting a cool breeze ruffle and mess his already mussed up chocolate brown locks.
With a sigh, he glanced down at his watch and activated his glow-stick, before pulling out his emergency supply of snacks. 'They are officially late.'
He chewed gratefully on the jelly snake, only pausing to look up when he heard two familiar names call out his name.
"Scott! Scott, we're here!"
"About time too! Where the hell have you been?" Scott pulled the lolly out of his mouth, and brandished the now headless floppy snake at the late comers.
John moved in for a hug with his eldest brother. "Well, it's nice to see you too, Scott. How're things with you?"
"Good. Heard Yale's been kicking your ice-hockey teams' butt, Harvard boy."
John mock glared before breaking out into a grin again. "Well, everyone knows Harvard is better for academics. We've got brains, you've got brawn." John smirked and he dropped his voice to a whisper. "And when you greet Virg, please say something cuttingly witty to him."
"Now why would I do that?"
"Because," John replied with the air of long suffering, "He challenged my masculinity."
"I've got just the thing. But don't tell Gordon, OK?"
Scott shunted John out the way, and looked to his other brother. "Hey Virg, is that a glow-stick in your jeans pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
Virgil's jaw dropped, while John howled with laughter, clutching at his sides for support.
"How've you been?" Scott asked, as he pulled an indignant Virgil in for a hug.
"I'm OK."
"Denver Tech going good?"
"Interesting. I'm learning new things all the time which I can apply to Dad's business."
"Excellent. You hungry?" Scott waved the open packet of jelly snakes under Virgil's nose. "I saved a green one just for you."
Virgil's hand dipped into the bag, and he pulled out green snake in question. "So, when does this ultra-spooky ghost tour start?"
"As soon as the sun sets," Scott replied while observing the fire-glazed sky.
As they were some of the taller members of group who were going on the ghost tour, Scott, John and Virgil stood to the back of the group, glow-sticks held in their tightly fisted hand.
"Hello," the tour guide said. "I'm Kelly, and I'm going to be your guide for this tour. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask them."
There were twenty four nods in affirmation.
"Right, before we begin, I'll tell you something about this tour. There are many ways to 'experience' a ghost. It may be through sight, or it may not. You can also smell, touch, hear and taste a ghost's presence. Many of our lost spirits are here, because they simply haven't been able to move on. You may not even experience a ghost tonight, as some of our souls are quite shy. On the other hand, some simply love… interacting with the tours."
Virgil raised his hand in the air. "Why can't they move on? What's holding them back?"
"No one actually knows, not even the lost souls. They've been here for so long, over two centuries, they've forgotten what they want or need. We suspect that the spirits want someone to read them their Last Rites.
As this was a quarantine station, few people were allowed freely in and out of here, as there was a risk of spreading disease. Bishops and priests weren't allowed in here, and many people never received a Last Rites reading. Any more questions?"
Everyone shook their heads.
"Oh, one more thing," Kelly added. "Stay together. Sometimes the souls love to swoop down on unsuspecting prey."
Kelly marched into the first room they were touring, while the party of twenty four trailed uncertainly behind her. "Can the last person in please close the door behind them?"
John subconsciously winced as he heard that. "Kelly, where exactly are we?"
"This room? This is the steerage class dining hall and kitchen. This is where steerage class would come and cook their meals. There would be a roster system, so some people would cook, while the others would set the table and clean up." She paused, clearly waiting for effect. "There is a lost soul here. People have seen him as a ten year old boy who wears blue shorts, a white shirt and a red sweater vest."
John glanced around uneasily. "Does he do anything?"
"He's looking for his parents," Kelly explained patiently. "He may come up to you and try and grab your hand, or brush against the base of your spine."
The group banded closer together. The saying 'strength in numbers' came to mind. Especially having 'strength in numbers' when facing the paranormal in reality.
Scott sniffed the air slowly. "Can anyone else smell meat and potatoes cooking? Or am I going mad?"
"Ah," Kelly grinned. "You've discovered the kitchen. Looks like I've got my first volunteer."
"What?!"
"Lead the group into the kitchen." Kelly tipped her head to the side. "Go on."
Steeling his shaky nerves, Scott took tentative steps through the door, down the stairs, and into the cellar that served as the kitchen. Scott shivered, and drew his coat round him. The temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees. "I think I liked it better upstairs. At least there was some light there."
"Yeah, that's what they all say. Can you still smell meat and potatoes cooking?"
Scott shook his head.
"Yep, they all say that too. It comes and goes." Kelly shone her torch into the small larder in the kitchen. "Our resident ghost for the larder is very, very strict. A young woman, around thirty years old, wears a white shirt, green skirt and an apron. She's also armed with a rolling pin, and can be quite savage in using it if she sees you. Who wants to take a look inside?"
Everyone remained still.
"No-one?" Kelly sighed. "OK, I guess we'll head back up, then."
Ever so eagerly, the party scrambled towards the stairs, each person determined to be the first one out of the creepy kitchen. Until, Virgil, who was leading the pack, stopped. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" John almost bumped into Virgil.
"That. There are chairs scraping against the floor. And there's cutlery being used."
John scoffed. "Relax, Virg. Another group must have come in after us. They're the ones making all the noise."
"I'm afraid not. We were the only group in here," Kelly whispered. "I placed the lock on the door. As soon as it closed, we were locked in. Without me, nothing solid should be able to get in, or get out."
They stepped out into a plain looking lawn, the chilled breeze wrapping and winding its way around John, Scott and Virgil.
"Well, this looks OK," Virgil laughed nervously.
"Nuh-uh," Scott disagreed. "I'm getting a very creepy vibe about this place. I think I have goose bumps on my arms."
"Relax, Scott. It's just a garden outside the dining hall," John reassured, patting his ever-so freaked out older brother on the shoulder.
"Appearances are deceiving," Kelly interrupted in a whisper. "This 'garden' used to be the cemetery of the Quarantine Station. Keep your voices down. You wouldn't want to wake the dead."
"I told you I had a creepy vibe about this place," Scott muttered venomously to John. "And you didn't believe me! You sceptic!"
"I'm not a sceptic! I just happen to believe that everything can be explained by science," John retorted quietly. "Even girls."
Scott jumped suddenly, clinging onto Virgil for support. "Did you just tap me on the back?"
"Yeah, sorry." Virgil smiled sheepishly, and he could feel his brother loosen his grip.
"Oh, thank God!"
"What did you say?" Virgil asked.
"Nothing."
"Kelly, if this is the cemetery, where are the headstones?" John asked, curious at the bare scene.
"They were destroyed. No-one in living history knows how, and no-one knows why. We had a medium here a few months ago, and he thought it might have been the little girl. She's only nine years old, and she wanders round here. Again, she's looking for her parents. Occasionally, she'll get upset, which turns into a fit of rage, as she can see us, but we can't see her. All she wants is someone who can guide her to her mom or dad." A shadow of a smile played of Kelly's lips. "It's quite sad, really. She's a little girl, and all she wants is some attention."
She lit up the pathway with her torch, and began to lead the group away, bar one person.
Scott squirmed, and swallowed quickly. "Virg, you need some gloves. Your hands are really cold. Could you please let go of my hand? I can't feel my fingertips."
"Scott," Virgil had turned on his heel, and stood twenty feet away from his brown haired, blue eyed older brother. "I'm not holding your hand."
Kelly unlocked the next door, and beckoned the group inside. "You might have guessed from the slab in the centre of the room, but this is the mortuary and pathology lab."
Virgil looked uneasily at John and Scott. "Mortuary?"
John nodded, gulped, and pushed his back up against the wall.
"Let me tell you a tale about this place. In the nineteen hundreds, a man washed up on the shores of Boston Harbour. He had no money, no identification and no memory of who he was or where he came from.
Naturally, the police rushed him up to the Quarantine Station, and placed him in the only available room and locked up."
"Three guesses where, and the first two don't count," John murmured.
"When the man woke up, he realised he was in the morgue. He panicked, and struggled valiantly to escape.
The next day, when the mortician unlocked the door, he found the body curled up in a pool of blood, right in that corner." Kelly shone the torch in the corner Virgil was standing in. Virgil uttered a squeak of terror, and scurried away.
"Theorists believe that when the man woke up and panicked, he dived through that window," the torch light illuminated the window between the autopsy room and the pathology lab, "trying to escape. When he succumbed to blood loss, he simply curled up in that corner, and he hasn't left since. If you're very quiet, you might hear him."
There was enveloping silence, until… a loud clattering noise penetrated through the air.
"Sorry, sorry," Kelly chortled holding a rusted pail, while trying to calm her hysterical and screaming tour group. "That was me. I just… kicked the bucket."
As predicted, the group groaned at the really lame joke, and Scott rubbed the back of his head, as it had hit the light switch when he jumped after hearing the bucket. He hissed in pain when he felt the small lump, and muttered a curse under his breath.
"Did you smash your head on the light switch?"
Scott nodded.
"Well, it's a good thing we're going to the hospital then. Maybe the Matron will fix you up."
The overwhelming scent of oil heaters, polished wood floor and disinfectant lingered in John's nose as soon as he stepped into the hospital ward. His hands clenched into fists, and he could practically feel his hair stand up on the back of his neck. There was something… unsettling, for want of a better word, about the hospital ward.
"Take a look around," Kelly invited, shining her torch through the darkened corridor. "I promise the Matron won't bite…"
There were sighs of relief.
"Just yet."
And then there were gulps of immeasurable fear and sheer terror.
Holding onto Scott and John's hands for security, Virgil took baby steps down the corridor, glow-stick secured firmly between his teeth, lighting up the way.
John instantly tugged on Virgil's hand, and stood ramrod straight. "Did you hear a child laugh just then?"
Scott shook his head warily, somehow aware of a set of unseen eyes watching them.
"Let's go back. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can get out of here." Virgil led them back to the tour guide.
"OK group, pick a bed and sit on it."
The creeped and freaked out tour group blinked repeatedly at their tour guide, as though she were mad.
"Pick a bed. Three to a bed. We can't leave here until you do."
Twenty four legs scurried in separate directions, each person trying to avoid the bed shrouded in darkness in the corner of the room.
"No," Virgil moaned, as he was dragged onto the last remaining bed; the one in the corner. "Anywhere but this bed. Any bed but this one."
"It's just a bed, Virg," John reassured, making sure he sat close to the door.
"It's not just a bed," Virgil squirmed. "Something happened here. I can feel it."
"You're right," Kelly agreed. "It's not just a bed. It's the Matron's favourite haunting spot."
Scott whimpered, causing his brothers to shoot him incredulous looks. Scott Tracy does not whimper. He had never whimpered, not when he had to face his father's wrath, not even when he was involved in a brutal bashing at school. But, just then, for the first time in a long time, a whimper escaped Scott Tracy's lips.
"Why this bed?" Virgil asked, his voice hitched and strangled.
"Because, that was the only bed where the Matron couldn't save her patient."
Scott and Virgil shared an uneasy look, before gulping back their fear.
"It was the only bed that housed the body of the one person that committed suicide. Mediums have described the person as a middle aged man with a noose around his neck and a massive grin plastered on his face, and he's always ready to select a next victim."
"Scott," Virgil whispered, his hand vice-like on Scott's arm. "I think I need a new pair of tighty-whiteys."
Scott nodded, his eyes trained on John, who was paralysed. "John, you OK?"
Something compelled John to nod, even though he really wasn't. "They're here."
"You're kidding."
"He's tying up a noose and eyeing my neck! She has a syringe in her hand! Do I look like I'm kidding?!" John sprang up off the bed, wrenched the door open and ran outside, his heart beating ferociously against his rib cage.
With a hurried beckon from their guide, the rest of the group took it as their cue to leave the hospital and head back to the café.
The ghost hunt was well and truly over.
With trepidation, John prowled through the dark hallway of his apartment. He felt his way to the doorframe, and wound his hand round the frame, turning the light on in his living-cum-dining room.
Scott and Virgil sat on the sofa, legs tucked under a blanket, intently watching the TV screen. As soon as the lights turned on, their eyes flicked up, casting an unreadable look at John before averting their attention back to the screen.
"So, couldn't sleep?"
"No. So we're watching TV instead."
John nodded, and sat next to Scott. "What are we watching?"
"'Everybody Loves Raymond'," Scott mock glared at Virgil. "I still don't see why we couldn't watch 'Flyboys' instead."
"Because," Virgil explained with an air of patience, "'Everybody Loves Raymond' is light-hearted comedy fluff and 'Flyboys' isn't."
"I second that," John agreed, as he snuck under the blanket.
There was a pause, and Scott asked the inevitable question.
"So, John, after that experience, do you still think everything can be explained by science?"
AN: OK, I have no idea why I wrote that. I know how it was inspired, but I don't know why I wrote it.
It must be the curse of the fluffy white plot bunny with those hypnotic pink eyes. It bit me on the butt, and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this. Stupid bunny distracting me from learning my choir song…
Anyway, please review.