Chapter 9

The club's door was barred, with heavy planks of timber across the entrance, nailed into place with metal spikes. Large padlocks and chains held the doors together behind the planks and, no doubt, the large deadbolts on the inside were drawn, locking the world out of the Poltergeist. Naboo and Joey set about reciting an old spell that unblocked barred paths (something to do with 'opensesme' whatever that meant.)

Vince and Bollo stood a little way off, the rain dampening their respective hair and fur. Vince was soaked to the skin, water running in rivulets down his pale skin. Bollo could see the young man shaking slightly as he stared up at the dark cavernous windows of the ex-nightclubBollo was worried about Vince. The sunshine boy had lost his beam and was in danger of never getting it back.

"Are you ok, Vince?" asked Bollo, in his gruff but somehow gentle voice.

Vince looked over to his old friend. He tried, and failed, to smile.

"I – it's this place. I hate coming back here… the memories… the vibes…" he trailed off staring at the building.

"What happened here?" Bollo asked.

But his friend was lost to the ghosts of the past…

20 years previously

"Vince?" Verity was at the stage door, smacking the wood with herhands, her voice desperate. "VINCE?"

Vince wanted to call back but he'd had duct tape slapped across his mouth. He was trying to wet it with his tongue, hoping that his saliva would loosen some of the tapes stickiness. Unfortunately, Vince's lips were bound shut by the adhesive. The only wetness on his face was the bitter stream of indignant tears.

The assailant had been busy during the show. He'd managed to seal off the curtain, using an old blocking spell that even Joey couldn't break and he'd locked and barricaded the door. Vince watched him, tears streaming silently from his eyes.

He couldn't understand the man. Vince, being eight years old, knew about stranger danger, but he'd never been prepared for this in one of the videos they showed at primary school. In the videos at school, children would be playing in the park and a strange man would amble over and offer sweets. Vince was being held against his will by a psychotic mess of a human. There was nothing an eight year old could do.

The man was now setting out a strange array of magical memorabilia. A few candles (three red, four white) a small white cloth, some herbs, incense and a little white book that looked incredibly old, its leather cover cracked, its pages yellowing and as thin and crackly as autumn leaves.

Then the stranger pulled a few items out of the bag that alarmed Vince even more. A cameo broach that his mother had misplaced in their own home a few months ago, and his father's favourite Mount Blanc pen which he used for musical annotation, which he thought he had left on the train.

Then the stranger poured the herbs into the cloth and tied it up. He lit the candles and the incense and opened the small book. Then he looked up and smiled broadly, his wild eyes starry and blissful, at the terrified child.

"Welcome to the party Vince…"

Outside, Verity and Vince, along with an extremely worried Bryan Ferry (who had raised the alarm) . Verity was practically clawing at the door. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes were red. Usually, at this time, she and Vinny would be in the middle of their set. But the gig had been abandoned, the fate of their son deemed far more important than any Jazz Night. Vinny too, was worried, but held on to his wife steadying her. He called out in the most authoritive voice that he could muster, but he couldn't quite keep the tremor of fear out of it. "Please, just give us our son back and we won't press charges."

No reply. Every second seemed to be moving slower and slower, time had become nonexistent every moment their son was trapped.

Then slowly, whoever was inside with Vince began to inch the creaking door open…..


"We're in!" called Naboo as Joey's spell worked its magic and the padlocks and wood barring the way melted before their eyes.

Bollo looked at Vince. Vince breathed in shakily, trying to steady his racing mind. Then, with more confidence than he felt, he steeped forward and up the steps and through the entrance, flanked by his friends.

The smell of the dank club hit them first, as long as the lingering stench of smoke from the insurance fire more than anything else, though if you stood in the once grand entrance way for long enough you might catch the faint scent of a long ago smoke cigar, it's fire, like the owner's life, extinguished.

Vince gazed upward at the vaulted ceiling's fresco of angels darting across an effervescent sky. But now the angels were covered in smuts, their gilt wings tarnished. The once deep red staircase had turned a strange blood coloured brown, and the once cream coloured walls had faded to a dirty grey.

They didn't linger long in the depressing entranceway and Vince, overcome with a strange sense of nostalgia and disgust, barreled ahead down various corridors which twisted every which way. The club was like a rabbit's warren, but Vince moved down the corridors like he had a sixth sense for the place.

He actually did. He'd returned there so many times in his dreams. But in his dreams the corridors seemed larger, longer. He'd run along them, hearing agonized screams echoing along the halls but he could never reach them in time. And all the while hysterical, gleeful, terrible laughter permeated Vince's memory, the dream becoming a swirling nightmarish headachy mess which left him awake and shuddering in an empty room, some twenty years later. He was haunted, but he hid it behind a persistently bright persona.

Naboo and Bollo found it hard to take in. They had always accepted Vince as a happy go lucky, eternally bright and cheerful friend. He'd always been around to cheer them up to make them feel good about themselves. They had never thought that Vince could be suffering from so much inner turmoil, so much pain that he kept walled up inside. In a way the both felt a little hurt that he had never truly let himself be known to them, that there was this side to their friend that had been hidden from them. But with that, they also felt respect that Vince hadn't let the secret take over his life. That he had been able to rebuild his life.

After the murders.

Joey too, watched Vince with admiration. He knew what Vince, as an eight year old, must've seen that night. He knew that it would scare the living daylights out of a adult fully in control of their wits, but to a small child who had already been held hostage, it would've been an absolutely terrifying, harrowing experience. Yet the Vince he saw stalking down the corridors was not a scared man. He seemed strong and determined. Joey was happy to see the most admirable traits of Verity and Vince alive and well in their son.

Vince, for his part, felt that his carefully built life was coming apart at the seams. He'd been careful to keep the two parts of his life separate, the reason why he had never told Howard or the others about life before living with Brian, the reason why he had only now contacted Joey. It hurt him too much, and with the hurt came the fear. That it would happen again. And now, his worst fear was coming true. His closest friend was in danger and Vince couldn't shake the nagging the feeling that it was all his fault.

The silent party traveled down the damp corridors, taking in the dirt and soot stained walls and the dank earthy smell. Eventually they reached the door to the room that haunted both Vince and Joey. The Poltergeist club Jazz Lounge.

"Hey…" said Naboo, pointing at the thin ray of buttery light from inside the room "Someone's in there."

"Yeah…" said Joey. He stole a glance at Vince.

"How come the light is on?" asked Bollo. He'd assumed that the club's electric supply had been cut off.

"The Poltergeist has emergency power cables built in." explained Joey. "This place was used during WW2 as a relaxing place in London where the off duty troops could come and soak up some Jazz" explained Joey, chuckling. "You see this part of the building is underground and thanks to all the Victorian architecture and reinforcements, pretty much bomb proof. So thanks to these emergency cables the club still got electricity during the Blitz. The only problem is that these cables are quite dangerous… especially after the fire. Because that middle cable there" he said, gesturing to thickest wire in the bundle of insulated cables, "… is permanently live. If you touched it with your bare hands, it'd kill you instantly."

Joey realized that he was rambling. But it had bought Vince some time. He had noticed that the young man had lost some of his resolve. He could feel his insides quaking but he refused to give up. He had to do this for his parents, for Howard.

Howard.

Vince shoved down hard on the doors and was surprised that they moved apart with ease. His eyes quickly scanned the room and he located his friend and no one else. He rushed over to Howard. His poor friend had been tied to a chair. Vince saw deep red marks in his friend's wrists where he had tried to free himself from his bonds. Howard appeared to be dozing as Vince approached. He knelt down next to his friend.

"Howard?" he asked gently.

Howard, to Vince's relief opened one eye. His other eye was shut, and as Vince grew accustomed to the light cast by the bar, he could see that it was because his friend had a large bruise forming on the side of his head. Vince felt anger welling inside him, but he set about loosening his friend from his captive state, pulling at the rope with his fingers, loosening the tight knots.

By this point Joey, Bollo and Naboo were also in the room, all of them surveying the bar for any sign of the Spirit of Jazz.

Howard smiled slightly, but the smile quickly faded.

"We're going to get out of here Howard, he hasn't done anything to you has he? Oh god, I'm so sorry about this, I'll make it up to you…" Vince babbled.

"He, he doesn't want me…" Howard began to say. He was finding it hard to get his words out properly.

"What, don't try to speak if it hurts you." said Vince still working away.

"He... needs… you… I'm just….bait" Howard rasped.

"What?" asked Vince, suddenly alert.

"He gave… gave me… some… drugs… to make… me sleep. So, you… you couldn't… get away.."

"Drugs?" Vince said his face contorting with incredulity and worry.

"Vince… it's a …trap"

Vince felt his blood run cold as he watched his friend drift out of consciousness.

"Howard?!" Vince grabbed his friend by the lapels. "HOWARD!!" he repeated shaking the lifeless form of his friend.

"Oh he's not going to wake up now. But I'm glad y'all stopped by…" said a voice from behind the bar.

Vince stood up and turned slowly, his stomach swirling with hatred and dread.

"Especially you… Welcome to the party, Vince." The Spirit of Jazz.


Ok so I'm sorry it's been a while. But I had stuff on, exams work, mental breakdowns… but yeah should be updating more now. So review please! I promise I'll stick around. Love to everyone who has given me support!