Rescuing the Dead

by Purupuss

When things go bump in the night - Or in the day - Who you gonna call... International Rescue?

Gidday everyone

Sadly, I cannot lay claim to any of the characters, machines, or locations from the TV series Thunderbirds nor Thunderbirds are Go. All other characters, situations, and errors are mine. Unless Gordon's Ghouls have got in there and changed things without my knowledge.

As usual, thanks to quiller for her proofing time.

Please ask for my permission before listing "Rescuing the Dead" on a C2, or any other site other than Fan Fiction dot net.

Thank you.

Enjoy

F-A-B

:-) Purupuss

---

Rescuing the Dead

"I do not snore."

"You snore," Alan told his brother, waving a piece of toast for emphasis. "It sounds like Thunderbird Two's got faulty VTOLs."

"There's nothing wrong with Thunderbird Two's VTOLs."

Gordon ignored Virgil's interjection. "I. Do. Not. Snore!"

Scott grinned. "Want to hear the opinion of an impartial third party?"

"Yes."

"You snore."

"You're not impartial."

"There's a simple way of solving this," Alan told his indignant brother. "Let us put a recorder in your room tonight."

"Nope. Uh, uh. No way." Gordon sat back, folding his arms in a petulant way that was more of an echo of his younger brother than his normal, easy-going self. "You're not putting a recorder in my room."

Always ready to accept a challenge, whether on the racetrack or at the rescue zone, Alan squared up to him. "Why not?"

"Because you'll rig it somehow to make is sound like I'm snoring. Probably record Thunderbird Two's faulty VTOLs, or something."

"Thunderbird Two does not have faulty VTOLs!"

Once again, Virgil was ignored.

"You're just scared that you'll be proved wrong," Alan challenged.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Boys. Enough!" Finally fed up with the discussion, Jeff laid his cutlery down. "If you're not prepared to come to a resolution empirically, then don't have the discussion at all."

"We don't need to come to a resolution, do we, Dad," Gordon begged. "Because you know that I don't snore."

"You do snore, Gordon, and that is why we don't need to have this discussion."

-F-A-B-

Seriously miffed by what he saw as a concerted attack on his person, the first thing Gordon did after the meal was get in contact with his absent brother. "I need something from you, John."

On screen, John Tracy raised a querying eyebrow. "You need something from me?"

"Yeah. One of your recording gizmos."

"And why do you need," John echoed the emphasis again, "one of my recorders? Haven't you got your own?"

"Because you've got the best quality stuff and you're an impartial sixth party."

"Impartial to what?"

"Alan made this crazy claim that I snore."

"And?"

"And? Why 'and'?"

"You snore, Gordon. We all know you snore. It must be all the chlorine you inhaled over the years or something."

For a moment Gordon was deflated by the pronouncement, then he decided to stick to his guns. "I want to prove to all of you that I don't snore."

"You're only wasting your time, but if it'll make you happier you can borrow a recorder."

Gordon beamed at his satellite-bound brother. "Great! Thanks! I promise I won't drool over it or anything."

"You'd better not." Then John's eyebrow shot skywards again (at least it would have if the clouds hadn't been below him.) "This isn't a trick, is it?"

For once Gordon's innocent expression looked genuine. "Trick? No. Why?"

"Because I know what day tomorrow is, Gordon... October 31st... Hallowe'en..."

-F-A-B-

With his brother's reluctant permission in hand, and once John had released the lock to his private quarters, Gordon let himself into the living space.

He'd been in here often enough over the years, sometimes without John's knowledge, but he still stopped to admire the almost OCD tidiness of the room. Everything was placed just so, in part, Gordon figured, so that John would know if a brother had made an unauthorised entry.

But Gordon Tracy was authorised this time. He raised his watch arm and spoke. "Okay, Johnny. Where in this mess do I look?"

"Mess!?"

"Just joking. This room's cleaner than my Olympic medal."

"The way you've just about polished all the gold off, I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one. Point me in the right direction."

"Okay, you'll have to go through to the next room."

"I take it you don't mean the bathroom."

"You take my meaning correctly."

Gordon wandered through to the room that John indicated, bypassing the bedroom and ensuite. "Right. Now where?"

"Planet Earth."

To most listeners, this would have been an odd thing for John to say, but to Gordon, standing in a room with various desks, electronic devices, and storage cubicles, it made sense to make a beeline towards the third cupboard in the row. The one embossed with a picture of their home planet.

Tugging at the door he realised that it was locked. "Let me in, John."

"Not so fast, Gordon. Firstly, you've got to promise that you're not going to 'borrow' anything else. You can borrow my recorder and that's it."

"I don't want anything else. As it is, you're bound to have one that's that complicated that I'll be lucky if I can turn it on, let alone use it."

"True. Secondly: You're to forget everything else that you see in there."

"Really?" Gordon smirked. "Just what are you hiding in here, Johnny? Are you making a robotic woman to share your lonely hours with when you're on duty on Thunderbird Five, or something?"

"Just tools of the trade. As you said, you won't have the brainpower to understand any of it."

Finally managing to pull the door open, Gordon had to admit that what John had said was probably true. He wasn't a dunce, none of the Tracys were, but each had their own field of interest and high-tech radio electronics definitely wasn't his. "What's all this stuff for?"

John's silence was telling.

Gordon took the hint. "Okay, tell me what I'm borrowing, and I'll get out of here."

"Turn your watch around so I can see what you're seeing."

With a slight contortion to ensure that the image remained more or less upright, Gordon did as he was told.

"Third shelf from the bottom. On the right against the wall."

"Third shelf from the bottom... On the right... Against the wall." Gordon's hand traced the air as he followed the instructions. "There's only a rack of pens there."

"The pens are recorders."

"Really!? Is that how you knew that Scott had lined up that date with the supermodel?"

"No, I knew because he trusted me not to sabotage the date. Now take a recorder... Only one, Gordon!" John warned, when the prankster's fingers closed about two pens.

"Aw. How'd you know?"

Once again, John's silence was telling.

Figuring that there was probably some type of anti-theft device built into the woodwork, Gordon extracted a solitary recorder and shut the cupboard door.

He heard the lock snip. "Thanks , Johnny."

"Good luck for tonight, but I'm warning you, Gordon. If you do do this, and you don't cheat..."

"I don't cheat!"

"You're in for an unpleasant surprise."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The following morning dawned as crisp and clear as a spring morning on a tropical island in the South Pacific was wont to do.

Most of the family were in high spirits. They clustered around the breakfast table, enjoying the festive decorations and equally festive food. In pride of place sat a large dish of hash browns topped with poached eggs which had been drizzled with enough tomato sauce for a bloodshot eyeball effect. Jack-o'-lantern style oranges, stuffed with fresh fruit salad ensured that everyone would at least get something resembling a healthy start to the day. Several freshly baked loaves of pumpkin bread, one cut open to reveal a grinning cheesecake smile, filled the air with their mouth-watering aroma. Next to them, apple "donuts" - slices of apple with the centres hollowed out, coated with coloured cream cheese or chocolate, and topped with sprinkles, made for a sweet treat. To complete the ghoulish feast, green smoothies sat at each table setting.

His mouth watering, Jeff gazed over the laden table. Each year he would remind his mother and Kyrano that they were all big boys now and didn't need such frivolities. Each year his mother and Kyrano would ignore the directive and come up with a bigger and better feast. And each year each member of the family would repeat that as much as they appreciated it, this was definitely the last year that the pair should go to so much trouble. And each year, to everyone's delight, they were ignored. "Where's Gordon?"

"Those are not the words I want to hear at Halloween," Virgil groaned. "If he's not here, he's somewhere else, planning a trick on one or more of us."

Scott was eyeing up the apple pie French toast that he'd brought in from the kitchen under Grandma's watchful gaze to ensure that he didn't pilfer any. "If he does anything to ruin this meal, I say we lock him in the bunker until this time tomorrow. Alan can do any water-based rescues."

"You'll jinx us," Virgil warned. "That's if Gordon hasn't already done so..."

Gordon hadn't. In fact, he looked like he was the one who'd been jinxed when he dragged himself to the breakfast table and dropped into his seat. "Mornin'."

"Gordon?" Alan, closest to the new arrival, was the first to notice his brother's less than upbeat manner. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Gordon blanched even further. "Don't."

His pale features had his grandma from fussing over him. "Aren't you feeling well, Darling? Come and sit down."

"I'm all right, Grandma." Gordon pushed Brains away when the team's medical man leant in for a closer look. "I... I had a bad night's sleep, that's all."

His father frowned. "It looks like more than a bad night's sleep. You look like death warmed up. What kept you awake?"

There was a pause. Then, with a: "This," Gordon produced John's recorder and threw it onto the table.

"A pen?" Virgil stared at it. "What did you do? Sleep on it?"

Alan snorted. "Did you get ink over your sheets?" He tried to peek under his brother's robe. "Is your skin blue under here?"

"Don't laugh." Gordon glared at him. "This is your fault."

"My fault! How's it my fault? I was asleep in my room all night," Alan asserted, before adding with some finality: "Alone!"

Since everyone was more concerned about the red-head, no one noticed Tin-Tin's red face.

"All right, Alan," Jeff admonished. "Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning, Gordon. What's the story with the pen?"

"It's not a pen, it's a recorder. I borrowed it from John because I knew it would be more sensitive and have a clearer output than anything I had."

Scott frowned. "What were you recording?"

"Me."

"You?"

"Yeah. Remember yesterday's conversation where you all claimed that I snored?" Gordon didn't need to see the sea of nodding heads to know that they all did. "I borrowed John's recorder to record myself when I was asleep to prove that you were all wrong."

"And you discovered that we were right?" Virgil checked.

"No! I mean... Yes... I mean... I discovered more than that."

"Do you talk in your sleep as well?"

"No... It wasn't me who was talking..."

By now everyone was thoroughly confused.

Gordon picked up the pen/recorder and fiddled with it. "I woke up about one. Except... it wasn't that I woke. It was more like something woke me."

"Like what?"

"Like... Like I'd heard a voice."

Jeff's eyes roved around the table, trying to ascertain which member of his family wasn't as surprised by this news as the rest. From what he could tell, they were all somewhat shocked. "Who's voice?"

"Dunno. A female voice."

All eyes moved to Tin-Tin.

"It wasn't me!" she protested. "I haven't been near Gordon's room in months!"

"And it wasn't me," Grandma added. "I don't go wandering around the house at night."

"No..." Gordon said quietly. "It wasn't them... I would have recognised them and I... I didn't recognise this one."

"Are you sure it was human?" Alan was shocked to see his brother pale further. "I mean, it wasn't a bird or something that sounded like a voice when you were half asleep?"

"Nope... It was human... Kind of..." Seeming to pluck up the courage, Gordon picked up the recorder and pressed play.

The first sounds were not dissimilar to Thunderbird Two with faulty VTOLs, and even Virgil had to suppress a grin, but then...

"Gor-don..."

That's all it was: two syllables followed by a brief interruption in the roar, which after a second, settled back into its steady rhythm.

Scott was about to state that it could have been a sound from an external source; that it was somewhat muffled by the snoring; and that he'd need to hear it again to crystalise what he heard, when he heard it again...

"Gor-don..."

Followed by:

"I can see you, Gor-don."

The snoring stopped.

"You are a-wake, Gor-don."

'Gordon' didn't confirm this. But there was an abrupt rustle of some cloth, followed by the click of a light switch.

"Hello, Gor-don."

"W-W-Who's there? Where are you?!"

"I am a fry-end of your fam-i-ly."

"A-A-A friend?" The last word came out as a high-pitched squeak. "Where are you hiding?"

"I am not hid-ing, Gor-don. I am stand-ding be-fore you."

"Where? I can't see you. What do you want?"

"This Hal-lo-ween, I want you to be kind to your fam-i-ly."

"Be kind...?"

"Do not fri-ten your fam-i-ly."

"What?!"

"I shall be wach-ing you, Gor-don. I can see ev-ry-thing."

"You...?"

"Re-mem-ber what I said, Gor-don. No tricks this Hal-lo-ween. Good-bye, Gor-don."

Gordon reached over to the recorder, his hand shaking so much that his thumb almost missed the off switch. "That was the last I heard from... her," he admitted. "I couldn't sleep after that."

Alan took a drink of his green smoothy, pretending not to notice that his hand was shaking too. "It has to be John. Only he could come up with a scheme like that. He probably used a radio or something. Maybe this broadcasts as well as records?" he picked up the pen to examine it.

"It wasn't John." Retrieving the recorder, Gordon pressed play again. There was a short period of silence before they heard the sounds of bedclothes being tossed back and hurrying feet. The footsteps returned a short time later at a slower pace.

Then there was a small clatter. "Gordon calling John... Come in, John... Please."

The next voice they heard, whilst sounding groggy, was at least reassuringly familiar. "Gordon? Do you realise it's..."

"I know what the time is! I just need to know what you're playing at!"

"What I'm playing at? What are you talking about?"

"You know."

"I don't know..." Suddenly John sounded awake and alert. "Is there an emergency somewhere that I haven't heard about? Did Thunderbird Five miss something!?"

"Thunderbird Five hasn't missed anything. I mean the trick you've just played on me."

"What trick? How could I play a trick on you from up here?"

"You could. If anyone could, you could."

"If I knew what you were talking about, I might take that as a compliment. What are you talking about?"

"The recording you've just played in my room."

"What recording? You were the one making a recording, using my recorder. Have you damaged it?"

"Your recorder...?" Gordon sounded disbelieving, as if he'd only just remembered the device and couldn't believe that he'd forgotten about it. "Is that how you did it?"

"Did what?" John sounded confused.

"Did you make it make say those things?"

"Make it say what things?"

"'Hello, Gordon'."

"Why would I make a recorder say 'Hello, Gordon'? What's going on?"

"I..." Now those listening, including Gordon, heard a hesitant Gordon. "I... heard a voice... It woke me up."

"And you woke me to tell me that, for the first time in your life, someone in the family managed to play a Hallowe'en joke on you before you got the chance to play one on them?"

"Yes. No! I don't know... I thought it was you."

"I can promise you, hand on heart, that I haven't transmitted nor played either a synthesised or pre-recorded voice in your room. And the only device of mine in your room, unless there's something you haven't told me, is my recorder. And all it can do is record and play back when someone physically pushes the buttons." The next time the listeners heard John, he sounded curious. "What did the voice say?"

"It said: 'Hello, Gordon'."

"Anything else?"

"It... It told me not to play any tricks on you guys this Hallowe'en."

"Well... At least you're being haunted by a family friendly ghost."

"I'm not being haunted, John! There's no such things as ghosts!"

"If you believe that, what do you think it was then?"

"Erm..."

"Did the recorder record anything?"

"I don't know."

"Have you played it back yet?"

"No..." Gordon sounded chastened. "I'd forgotten about it until you mentioned it."

"Well, leave it until tomorrow. We both know what must have happened. You were asleep, you had an ultra-realistic dream in which you thought this voice woke you up, and the dream gave you such a fright that you woke up for real, confused by what was reality and what was the dream. So, my advice to you is to put your light out, pull your bedclothes over your head, and go back to sleep. I guarantee that you won't hear another thing and there will be no ghosts haunting you in the morning."

"Do you think so?" The recorded Gordon was almost begging for reassurance.

"Of course, I do. Once you've got some sleep and you're feeling refreshed, you'll wonder what you were worried about... I'd stick to that no trick or treating promise though."

"Maybe I will..." And none of those listening to the recording were sure if Gordon meant that he was going to catch up on his sleep or forgo his Hallowe'en pranks. "Night, John."

"Night, Gordon. Pleasant dreams. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"You mean later today."

"Yep. Catch you in about nine hours."

Gordon turned off the recording.

"What do you think, Gordon," Jeff growled. "Was he genuine? Do you want me to talk to him?"

"You don't need to, Dad. I genuinely think he had nothing to do with it."

"How about the rest of you?" Once again, Jeff allowed his eyes to rove around the table. "Was anyone here party to this joke on Gordon?"

Not one person looked guilty. Not one person nodded. Everyone shook their head. Everyone looked shocked.

"Okay. Well, there's no point worrying about this now, and we don't want to let all of Grandma and Kyrano's hard work go to waste, so let's eat. Maybe a little sustenance will allow our brains to make sense of it all..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Come on, Gordon, own up. That little gag was some Hallowe'en trickery. Right?"

"No, Alan." Gordon losing some of the colour that he'd regained during breakfast had Alan revaluating his doubts. "It happened! I swear it happened!"

"All right, I believe you! You heard a voice. A stranger's voice?"

"Yes."

"What did it sound like? Male or female?"

"You heard it. Female."

"And you didn't recognise it?"

"No. I thought it had some kind of accent. Didn't you?"

"Yes, but I couldn't quite get a handle on it. You heard it first-hand, so what do you think it was?" Alan considered the most probable options. "Malaysian? English? Northern United States? Southern United States? New England? New Hampshire? New Jersey?"

"Nothing like that. I thought it sounded..." Gordon bit his lip. "Polynesian? Melanesian? Micronesian?"

"You think it was local?"

"Yes."

Alan grinned. "Maybe it's the resident ghost of Tracy Island." He lost his grin when he saw his brother lose his colour again.

"Don't be silly."

"This... phantom or whatever it was, really scared you, didn't it?" Alan felt a chill run down his spine when Gordon looked him in the eye.

"Yes, Alan. It really did."

-F-A-B-

After the morning's revelations, Virgil felt the need for a workout to get rid of the tension that had locked his body. Even the excellent breakfast, everyone's jokes and banter, and the sight of Gordon slowly regaining his colour and jovial demeanour, hadn't removed that edge.

But he was feeling better now. There was nothing like a full-on gym session to loosen the muscles, clear the mind, and get the blood and endorphins flowing. He was surprised that none of his brothers had joined him and figured that they'd done a better job than he had of convincing themselves that this morning's tale was Gordon's yearly Hallowe'en joke.

With visions of a refreshing shower to wash away the perspiration build-up, Virgil grabbed his white bear-decorated towel.

"Virgil..."

His blood running cold, Virgil froze. "Who's there?"

"Virgil."

"This isn't funny, Gordon. Where are you?"

Something cold and clammy touched him. With a yell, and sending his towel flying as he leapt backwards, Virgil flung his arm out of the assailant's reach and spun around.

There was no one there.

Looking down, Virgil could see pale lines of sharp relief where the colour had been drained from his exercised-flushed skin, clearly marking where the fingers of the mystery hand had touched him.

A hand had touched him!

But there was no one in the gym with him.

Wasn't there?

Then whose hand was it?

A ghost's?

"Virgil…"

His towel lying forgotten on the floor; Virgil fled the room.

-F-A-B-

Alan was still thinking about Gordon's story and his brother's reaction to it when he returned to his bedroom. He'd been joking when he'd said that Gordon had seen a ghost, yet he couldn't think of a rational alternative.

He was still considering the problem when he picked his hairbrush off the floor and put it onto his dressing table. "I would have thought he'd dreamed it, if it hadn't been for that recording," he mused as he turned towards his bathroom.

There was a soft thud from behind him.

Turning back, he saw that the hairbrush was on the floor again. Thinking nothing of it, he picked it up and replaced it.

He retraced his steps towards the bathroom.

There was a scrape and a soft thud from behind him. The hairbrush had fallen for a third time.

"Strange... Maybe the dresser's slipped." Having placed the brush further away from the edge, Alan gave the table an experimental wobble. It seemed firm enough.

With a shrug of indifference, he made a third attempt to go to the bathroom.

The scraping sound made him stop.

"Alan..."

The hairs rising on the back of his neck, he turned back.

He blinked.

He wasn't seeing a ghostly figure, was he? A wispy humanoid outline?

His hairbrush wasn't moving, was it!?

The wispy figure disappeared.

"Alan…" The hairbrush flew off the table and landed at his feet.

Alan fled the room.

-F-A-B-

Scott, who'd had the same tension-reducing gym-action idea as his brother, but had made a fact-finding, unenlightening, call to John first, was nearly knocked off his feet when someone barrelled into him. "Virgil! Whoa!" He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders to prevent his flight. "What's wrong? You look white as a..."

"Don't say ghost!"

"I was going to say sheet." Concerned, Scott stared at his brother, seeing an emotion that he'd seen many times… Just not on this face...

"I-I-It touched me," Virgil babbled, and rubbed frantically at his arm to erase the fading streaks.

"What touched you?" Scott asked, catching the arm so he could see the marks clearer.

"C-Cold."

"Cold?" In a hot gym? After an exhaustive workout? On a tropical island? This didn't make sense. "What did this?!"

Virgil cast a wide-eyed look over his shoulder towards the gym. "Can't stay here." Tearing himself free of his brother's grasp, he sprinted to the nearest exit, stopping when the sun's rays hit him.

Scott found him pressed up against a balcony rail, frantically trying to erase the marks again.

Catching his brother's arm for a second time, Scott looked at it more closely. Not that he could see much now. "What did this?"

Virgil took a stabilising breath. This was ridiculous. This was crazy. This had to have been his imagination...

Didn't it?

He took another breath. "I'd just about finished my workout... I thought it would clear my head after Gordon's revelations..."

Scott nodded his understanding. "That's why I was headed down there."

"I heard a voice say my name."

It was Scott's turn to feel a chill, but he kept his voice calm and in control. Easy after years of manning Mobile Control. "Who said it?"

"I don't know. No one else was there..." Virgil looked at his brother; the one who'd been such a reassuringly stable rock throughout his life. "It was the same voice as that recording..."

"What did it say?"

"My name. Twice. Then it touched me on the arm." Virgil held the limb out, but the marks had faded. "They're gone." He sounded almost disappointed that the physical evidence of his encounter had vanished.

"I believe you. I saw them," Scott stated, determined to reassure him that it wasn't his imagination. "What did it feel like?"

"Cold. Freezing cold." Without thinking, Virgil rubbed the arm again.

"Anything else happen?"

"It said my name again and I got out of there."

"And this was in the gym?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Scott squared his shoulders. "I'll go and check it out. You can wait here."

"Okay."

Virgil's reluctance to accompany him back to the gym was telling, Scott figured. His brother had always been willing to walk into the most frightening rescue situation, usually without complaint nor comment.

But no frightening rescue situation had upset him like this encounter...

-F-A-B-

"I'm telling you, Dad. It happened. Honest!"

"And I'm not saying that I don't believe you, Gordon, I'm just trying to find a rational answer."

"You're trying to find out if I'm going crazy."

"I know you're not crazy. We heard the voice too, so if you're going crazy, we're all going crazy..."

"You're trying to find out if I'm playing a joke on you all. I'm not! I wouldn't! ..."

"All right, Gordon..."

"... Not like this..."

"Calm down..."

"I promised! I promised that voice!"

"I know you did. We all heard you... And we all heard it."

Gordon took a deep breath and managed to get his emotions under control. "I'm sorry... It was just... unsettling... You know?"

"I know." Feeling nearly as unsettled at his son's disquiet, Jeff managed an understanding smile. "What do you think it was?"

"John said it was probably an ultra-realistic dream."

"That's a logical conclusion."

"Except that he's wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"I was awake, Dad! The voice woke me up! I was awake when I spoke to it!"

Jeff could see that his son was getting wound up again. "I'll admit that that's what the recording tells us. We heard you talking after your snoring stopped."

"I don't snore!"

"Gordon…"

Frustrated by the lack of answers, and most likely over-tired after a sleepless night, Gordon fled the room.

-F-A-B-

Warily, Scott opened the door to the gym. Aside from a towel lying untidily on the floor, all seemed normal. "Hello?"

There was no response; ghostly or otherwise.

He took a step inside...

And then another...

He walked across to the towel and picked it up...

Something cold passed right through him, leaving him with a chill that seemed to penetrate his bones. Telling himself that he wouldn't learn anything if he were to flee, he held his ground.

He rubbed his eyes. Was that wall... moving? No, not moving... Shimmering?

A ghostly humanoid figure appeared to materialise before him. A ghostly head nodded. Two ghostly arms waved... Beckoned to him... A ghostly mouth opened...

But no sound came out.

Scott fled the room.

He found himself standing next to Virgil with no real recollection of how he got there.

"What happened?" Now it was Virgil's turn to be concerned. "You flew through that door faster than Thunderbird One."

"It... That... The... A..." Scott swallowed and gasped a lungful of air. He leant on the rail and attempted to regain his composure.

"Slow down and take deep breaths," Virgil instructed. "Now... Tell me what happened."

"Dunno." Scott gasped again. "Something cold."

Virgil regarded him critically. "Where did it touch you?"

"Didn't. Walked through me."

"Walked through you!" Virgil shivered as though he was experiencing the same phenomenon. "Then what?"

"I... Saw..." Scott stretched his hand out before him, as if attempting to reveal the image burnt into his mind.

"You saw what?"

"Ghost."

Any other time, Virgil may have laughed, but there had been enough spooky goings on today for it to not be a laughing matter. "Are you sure it was a ghost? Not a reflection or something?" He remembered the gym's matt furnishings. "No. Not a reflection."

"No." Scott shook his head. "It was kind of... wispy. But I could make out the head and torso, and it was waving its arms like..." He moved his own in a rhythmical manner. "Like it was dancing."

"Dancing? Did it have legs?"

"No." Scott was sounding more in control now. "They weren't as defined."

"Okay," Virgil accepted. "Now what do we do?"

With a resolute expression, Scott straightened. "Now we get to the bottom of what's going on."

"How?"

"We call in the experts."

-F-A-B-

Brains was disinclined to call himself an expert in the supernatural, but he was inclined to call himself openminded – no matter how far-fetched the story he was being told. "S-So you both felt a, erm, cold presence," he mused.

"Yes," Scott confirmed. "It left finger marks on Virgil's arm."

"May I see them."

Virgil extended the limb in question. "There's nothing to see now."

"But they were there." Scott held his hand over the arm in demonstration. "As if he'd been grabbed like that."

Brains' eyes glinted in the beginnings of an academic fervour. "You saw the marks?"

"Just. They'd nearly faded by the time I had a chance to have a good look at them, but I could make out where they were."

"Will you allow me to examine your arm closer, Virgil?"

Virgil gave the scientist a sideways look. "Depends on how you're planning on doing it?"

"I wish to direct various wavelengths of light onto the skin to see if any discolouration or lines of demarcation shows up."

"Right..." Virgil said, wary about what wavelengths Brains may have in mind. "So long as the light isn't in phase."

"Do not worry, I do not intend to use lasers. This will be quite painless."

As Virgil shared a look with Scott that said: It had better be, Brains got his equipment ready.

A short time later he declared the examination over, with no findings to report. "Perhaps we had better move to the scene of the, er…"

"Visitation?" Scott suggested.

"Paranormal activity?" Virgil offered.

"I was going to say event."

They stepped out of the lab; almost bumping into an Alan whose skin tones closely matched his hair. "Where are you all off to with all that kit?" he asked, assuming an air of fake bonhomie.

Instead of answering, Scott frowned. "What happened to you? You look as pale as Gordon did at breakfast."

"Nothing happened to me!" Alan said quickly. Too quickly and he saw both of his brother's eyes narrow. "Well…" He hesitated, not wanting to appear foolish... If it hadn't been for Gordon's overnight dramas… "Something, erm, spo-, ah, weir-, um, odd just happened."

It was Virgil's turn to frown. "What was spooky, weird, and odd?"

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Yes, you were. Just like something spooky, weird, and odd happened to me and then Scott. So…?"

"Huh?"

"Tell us what happened to you."

"I, um…" Alan's previously pale face, reddened. "I was in my room… And…"

There was silence.

"And?" Scott prompted.

"Something odd happened."

"You said that. What?"

"My hairbrush fell off my dressing table."

"Did it fall or was it pushed?"

Alan stared at Scott. His brothers were taking this way too seriously. "Erm... Pushed... Why..."

"Both Virgil and I saw a ghost in the gym. We're heading down there with Brains to check it out."

"You saw... a ghost!?"

"No," Virgil corrected. "It touched me."

"It touched you!?" Suddenly intrigued, Alan's eyes widened when he saw his brother rub an arm in an almost unconscious act. "What did it feel like?"

The arm was rubbed again. "Icy."

"Did you feel it too, Scott?" Alan asked, as the four men started walking through the complex.

"Yeah. It felt like it walked right through me... Then I saw this ghostly shape."

Knowing that he wasn't alone in this was making Alan feel better. "Kind of human-shaped?"

"That's what I saw."

"Shimmering?"

"Yes… How'd you guess? Did you see it too?"

"Erm…" Alan wasn't sure how he wanted to respond. "Yes."

"Was yours dancing?"

"Dancing? I don't think so… Didn't you see it, Virg?"

"Nope. Feeling it was bad enough." Virgil stopped at the door to the gym and took a deep breath. "Well, they say you should get straight back into the saddle..." He opened the door and strode through.

Once inside they stopped walking: shocked. The gym looked, sounded, felt, and smelt like a normal gym.

Brains began to slowly waft some of his many instruments about. "I'm not reading any, ah, abnormalities."

Scott stalked around the room with a thermometer, trying to seek out any temperature fluctuations; but, aside from one spot near the ventilation unit, there was nothing out of the ordinary. "Either the instruments aren't reading anything, or it, whatever it is, is gone."

"Now what do we do?" Virgil asked. "Warn everyone else? Or keep quiet so we don't worry anyone else?"

"If you're worried about Grandma, I wouldn't bother. They'll be more frightened of her."

"True."

Scott switched off the thermometer. "Whatever we decide to do, we've got to let Gordon know that he's not the only one to experience something abnormal."

Brains was finishing his last, slow circuit of the room. "I'll need to examine both yours and Gordon's suites, Alan."

"Go for it. I'd like some reassurance that whatever it is has left."

As they headed for the accommodation area, no one commented on his acceptance of what they normally would have dismissed as hogwash, nor his faith that Brains instruments could pick up any unwanted visitors.

The arrived in the hallway to find Gordon hovering uncertainly outside the door to his own room.

Taking pity on him, Alan blurted out: "We've heard it too."

Scott rounded on him. "Heard it? You never said you heard it."

Alan gave what was supposed to have been an unconcerned shrug. "You didn't ask."

"What did it say?"

"Alan."

"Was that all?"

"Yes."

"And it called me 'Virgil', so it, whatever it is, knows our names." Virgil felt a shiver run down his spine as if the so-called ghost had walked over his grave.

"Hold on, hold on." Gordon held up his hand. "What are you all talking about?"

"We," Scott began, "aside from Brains..."

Brains gave a giggle.

"...have all seen, or heard..."

"Or been touched by," Virgil rubbed his arm again.

"...Your ghost."

"Ghost!" Instinctively, Gordon took a step backwards. "It's not a ghost. It's not my ghost!" Curiosity overcame him. "What happened?"

Taking it in turns, each of his brothers gave him a debriefing about their experiences.

By the time they'd finished, Gordon's relief was palpable. "So, I didn't imagine it?"

"No."

Alan, surrounded by three tall, muscular, always-been-there-in-a-crisis, pillars of strength, felt strong enough to be dismissive of something that had had him quivering in his shoes a bare ten minutes earlier. "It's got to be a joke."

"Not perpetrated by any of us," Scott stated. "Right, Fellas?

Gordon watched as four heads nodded their ascent. "Then who did?"

Scott managed a wry grin. "Normally, you'd be our main candidate, but we know you're telling the truth. We've both spoken to John, so we know he has nothing to do with it. Grandma and Kyrano have been too busy getting ready for Hallowe'en to even think about doing something like this... And Tin-Tin..." Seeing Alan about to jump in with a protest, he continued quickly. "...wouldn't even think about doing something this..." He considered his words. "...unsettling."

"So, who does that leave? Dad?"

"Well... We know he's not adverse to the odd prank. And he's got a good poker face."

"And he's reminded me what the boundaries are often enough over the years to be well aware of them himself. Which means that I would think that he would think that scaring the sleep out of one of International Rescue's operatives would well and truly overstep that mark."

"Also..." Virgil just managed to stop himself from rubbing his arm again. "How could he come up with something that would enable him to know where we were, when we were there, and ensure that each of us was in the right place to see, feel, and hear whatever it was he wanted us to see, feel and hear?"

"Okay, so are we agreed that he's not the culprit?" Seeing four nodding heads, Scott continued. "So, who is it?"

Four faces looked bemused. Four pairs of shoulders shrugged.

"Okay…" Feeling just as unsure, Scott came to a decision. "I think we need to warn everyone about what's going on, so they're prepared. There are no guarantees that it's only the four of us that are going to be..." he paused, unsure what the correct wording should be.

"Visited," Gordon told him.

"Spooked," Alan offered.

"Touched," Virgil added.

Alan nodded. "Maybe we are."

"What? All of us?"

Deciding that it was time for action, Scott made a move for the door. "I'm going to call a meeting now."

"Now?!"

"The sooner we do it the better. Everyone in the lounge in five minutes."

Everyone was in the lounge within four minutes and, with John looking on from his video portrait, the three brothers, (since Gordon had already said his piece), explained what had happened to each of them and detailed Brains' subsequent findings. Which was a very short report, as he hadn't been given time to examine Gordon's and Alan's rooms.

What followed was a quiet and not so quiet discussion as everyone expressed their beliefs and disbeliefs and analysed the situation. By the time they finished they were no further ahead, aside from Grandma declaring that she didn't have time for such tommyrot and that any ghosts had better think twice about interrupting her cooking!

The rest of the team were of the private opinion that if any ghosts were brazen enough to attempt to frighten the matriarch of the family, then they'd better make sure that they had adequate life insurance... Or death insurance... Or whatever it was that ghosts required to ensure a peaceful afterlife...

But, despite their fears, the rest of October 31st passed in relative peace...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

John loved being alone in his observatory. As much as he missed his family when he was on Thunderbird Five, after his tenure on the satellite, he initially found being close to so many other people to be somewhat anthropophobic. And so, the night after he'd returned to Earth, he'd escaped to the dark side of the island to soak in the light of the stars.

"John..."

It was a feminine voice that spoke his name; one coloured by an unknown accent. It was not the voice of a member of his family.

Feeling goosebumps rising, John turned.

Before him, within arm's reach, a ghostly figure levitated above the ground. Through the indeterminate shape, he could see the door to his observatory almost twinkling like the stars appearing in the darkening skies.

John did up his jacket against the cold. "Talofa, Natia."

"Talova'a, John. You are home again?"

Grinning, John opened his arms as if making a great revelation. "Guess I am." He spoke in Samoan.

"Your time, up there..." The figure pointed towards the stars. "It went well?"

"There was one disaster and we saved everyone, so it went very well. And you are..." John was never quite sure what the best word was to use in this situation. "...good?"

"I did as you asked."

"I know. They never suspected that I had anything to do with it."

"You are pleased?"

"Very pleased. After the number of times that they've given me frights over the years, it was great to have the opportunity to get them back."

The wispy form, clearer than that seen by Scott and Alan, inclined its head as if in thought. "Get them back?"

"Friendly retribution. Doing to them what they like to do to me."

"I do not understand this Hal-lo-ween."

John lost his smile. "Didn't my explanation make sense?" He'd done his best, but Natia had lived in a time long before his, and over the intervening centuries the language used by her Polynesian descendants had slowly evolved. The modern Samoan that John spoke was similar, but sometimes it was only by taking it slowly, analysing what each other's words, and rephrasing their sentences, had they been able to make intelligent guesses as to what the other was saying.

"You explained that in the past Hal-lo-ween was a time to honour the dead."

"By the Celtic people on the other side of the world, yes."

"Yet, in your time, it is seen as a time to frighten the living and to beg from strangers, even when you have no need to beg? I do not understand this."

"I am not sure that I do either," John admitted. "All I know is that traditions change over the centuries." He smiled. "Just like language."

"Your language, it is strange. I tried to remember the sounds as you spoke them to me. I hope I said it as I should."

"You were perfect."

"And I did as you said. I frightened only your brothers." There was a ghostly, yet shy, smile from the figure before him. "It is strange, but their reactions made me happy. If I could, I would like to frighten them again."

John laughed. "Then it's just as well that I asked you do to it only once."

"Perhaps next year?" Natia sounded hopeful.

John laughed again. "Perhaps next year." He regarded his sepulchral friend earnestly. He still didn't fully understand what had happened to cause her to exist in this state. The multi-century time difference was a barrier to the words required for a full explanation. "I wish there was some way that I could help you go to wherever your family is."

"You can not, John."

"I know, but it doesn't seem fair that you're stuck here alone."

"Some time, when the time is right, I shall depart this world. But while you are here, I am grateful for your friendship."

"And I am grateful for yours."

Natia's ghost indicated the observatory. "You wish to observe the heavens?"

"For a little while. Would you like me to show you something?"

"I thank you, John, but no. I see that you are shivering in my presence, and I do not wish to cloud the sand that you see through."

John chuckled. He'd once attempted to explain the manufacture of glass optics and hadn't quite succeeded. "Why do you think I put this thick jacket on?"

Natia smiled. "I shall return tomorrow. Then you can show me what you find tonight."

"It's a date."

"Date?"

"Promise."

"Tova'a, John."

"Tofa, Natia."

The spirit vanished, but John, deep in thought, didn't move. He'd meant it when he'd said that he wished he could help Natia move on to wherever her people had moved on to, but there were limits to what one man could do. Even when that man was a member of International Rescue.

Rescuing the living was easy, John decided. It was rescuing the dead that was impossible.

The end.

Happy Hallowe'en.