The Physics Of The Dead - A Supernatural Mystery Novel by Luke Smitherd Page B
Authors: Luke Smitherd
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teething...” Then he was off again, and now even Hart had to laugh with him. It felt good for them both. The next game began behind them, the players unaware of the two spectators who sat in invisible hysterics on the other side of the room.
By the time they'd got their breath back, their boys were 2-0 up, with 8 more games to go; neither they nor the team were excited by this though. The best players always opened-a tactic Hart had expressed distaste with more than once-and then the players got worse as the evening went on. 2-0 was nothing to get worked up about. Defeat somehow always seemed to find them.
“No Greg...” Bowler observed, looking around.
“Holiday. Remember?”
“ Mmm . That's annoying. Wanted to hear how that thing with the loan played out.”
Hart tried to remember anything about this, but couldn't. He didn't like Greg very much, if he was honest. He'd known people like him; pub know-alls. Pub bores. Bowler liked Greg because Bowler obviously thought Greg was clever; but Hart knew that this was because Greg was the sort of man who memorised things to impress other people. He'd seen it so many times.
And that was the moment when Sarah Boss walked through the wall to their right, unaware that they were there, on her way through the building and on to wherever she had in mind.
Bowler saw her first.
“Hart! Sarah!”
Hart had been watching Shaun-his favourite player-try to claw back a one-leg deficit, and looked where Bowler pointed. His brow knotted, and he licked his bottom lip absent-mindedly.
“Hmm...not seen her for a while.” He watched her a moment as she made slow, and notably shaky progress across the room, strangely avoiding the tables when she had knowingly just passed straight through a concrete wall.
She was, as ever-not that she could ever change her clothes-dressed in her thick woollen jumper and stonewashed black jeans, sensible flat shoes (' Lezzer shoes' as Bowler had called them once. Hart hadn't got it, but didn't like the tone, and had told Bowler so. Hart liked Sarah) and her straight black hair tied back in a ponytail. Hart had always assumed the hair tie had materialised along with her clothes, accessories being rare amongst the Guests. He kept meaning to ask her about it, but he either forgot or, when he did remember, couldn't think of a way to mime the query properly.
But as he watched, he realised that it really had been ages since he'd seen her, let alone 'spoken' to her. Why was that? They crossed paths with the other three Talking Guests all the time. What had she been doing? Hart stood up.
“Quick, if you're going,” urged Bowler, not taking his eyes off her. He was right. Sarah had nearly cleared the room, not even glancing at the players surrounding her. She looked very focused, leaning forward slightly as she went, like a gun dog intent on finding it's Master's quarry. Hart bounded forward, passing through several chairs and tables, but taking care to avoid Passing Through any players. He had the fleeting thought that he might even jinx them somehow if he did, but he knew this was of course nonsense.
As he reached her, and raised a hand to tap her on the shoulder, he realised that doing so would scare her out of her wits. She would have heard the room, the background music, the players and the banter and the bleep of the gambling machine, but not the Guest coming up behind her. They weren't tuned in, and very rarely were. He thought he'd only heard her voice as little as once in the last ten years, but it was hard to say.
He accelerated and overtook her, coming around her left hand side, trying to make his movements as big as possible to give her enough warning, and hoping a flash of hand or leg at the edge of her peripheral vision might catch her eye and turn her gently to him. It didn't really work, as she still jumped considerably when he appeared into view, but he thought it was a lot better than just grabbing her shoulder from behind.
When she saw
By the time they'd got their breath back, their boys were 2-0 up, with 8 more games to go; neither they nor the team were excited by this though. The best players always opened-a tactic Hart had expressed distaste with more than once-and then the players got worse as the evening went on. 2-0 was nothing to get worked up about. Defeat somehow always seemed to find them.
“No Greg...” Bowler observed, looking around.
“Holiday. Remember?”
“ Mmm . That's annoying. Wanted to hear how that thing with the loan played out.”
Hart tried to remember anything about this, but couldn't. He didn't like Greg very much, if he was honest. He'd known people like him; pub know-alls. Pub bores. Bowler liked Greg because Bowler obviously thought Greg was clever; but Hart knew that this was because Greg was the sort of man who memorised things to impress other people. He'd seen it so many times.
And that was the moment when Sarah Boss walked through the wall to their right, unaware that they were there, on her way through the building and on to wherever she had in mind.
Bowler saw her first.
“Hart! Sarah!”
Hart had been watching Shaun-his favourite player-try to claw back a one-leg deficit, and looked where Bowler pointed. His brow knotted, and he licked his bottom lip absent-mindedly.
“Hmm...not seen her for a while.” He watched her a moment as she made slow, and notably shaky progress across the room, strangely avoiding the tables when she had knowingly just passed straight through a concrete wall.
She was, as ever-not that she could ever change her clothes-dressed in her thick woollen jumper and stonewashed black jeans, sensible flat shoes (' Lezzer shoes' as Bowler had called them once. Hart hadn't got it, but didn't like the tone, and had told Bowler so. Hart liked Sarah) and her straight black hair tied back in a ponytail. Hart had always assumed the hair tie had materialised along with her clothes, accessories being rare amongst the Guests. He kept meaning to ask her about it, but he either forgot or, when he did remember, couldn't think of a way to mime the query properly.
But as he watched, he realised that it really had been ages since he'd seen her, let alone 'spoken' to her. Why was that? They crossed paths with the other three Talking Guests all the time. What had she been doing? Hart stood up.
“Quick, if you're going,” urged Bowler, not taking his eyes off her. He was right. Sarah had nearly cleared the room, not even glancing at the players surrounding her. She looked very focused, leaning forward slightly as she went, like a gun dog intent on finding it's Master's quarry. Hart bounded forward, passing through several chairs and tables, but taking care to avoid Passing Through any players. He had the fleeting thought that he might even jinx them somehow if he did, but he knew this was of course nonsense.
As he reached her, and raised a hand to tap her on the shoulder, he realised that doing so would scare her out of her wits. She would have heard the room, the background music, the players and the banter and the bleep of the gambling machine, but not the Guest coming up behind her. They weren't tuned in, and very rarely were. He thought he'd only heard her voice as little as once in the last ten years, but it was hard to say.
He accelerated and overtook her, coming around her left hand side, trying to make his movements as big as possible to give her enough warning, and hoping a flash of hand or leg at the edge of her peripheral vision might catch her eye and turn her gently to him. It didn't really work, as she still jumped considerably when he appeared into view, but he thought it was a lot better than just grabbing her shoulder from behind.
When she saw
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