CHAPTER TWELVE
the grey lady

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

FANNY WAS TOUCHED with a special gift, it turns out, and Effie finds it downright unfair.

     It all started because she kept barking on about the pristine lawn when the photographer was around. But for some mysterious reason, Fanny is the only phantom visible in the photos, which have been going viral on the internet (Effie still struggles to understand what that all means; she equates it to a level of superstardom that she deems Fanny highly unworthy of). As it turns out, fame is not always fortune for the Coopers... when is anything fortune for the Coopers?

Mike and Alison sit in the library, examining photos where Fanny is present, the ghosts huddled around them. He has unearthed some old ones of the estate from albums, and even in the faded sepia she is still there.

"She's everywhere... look, and there!" he says urgently, looking up at his wife.

Alison and the rest of the ghosts promptly notice the strange detail about Mike at the same time.

"Why is your husband wearing a monocle?" Effie asks bluntly.

Translating, Alison raises an eyebrow at Mike. "Where did you get that?"

"Over there."

No more clarity on that issue, then. Alison looks over his shoulder at Fanny. "Did you know this happens?"

"If indeed that is me," Fanny shrugs. "She looks at least twenty years older..."

Julian opens his mouth, a snide remark sure to follow, but Pat quickly shuts it down. Meanwhile, Thomas seems vexed by the whole thing just as much as Effie is. "How come SHE can be seen?" the poet asks incredulously.

"Perhaps it's only if you're grumpy," Kitty giggles.

"Or ugly," Robin adds gruffly.

     "It's a waste of an ability, honestly..." Effie sighs pitifully. "At least I'm more photogenic."

Fanny glares at them all with abhorrent horror, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Alison pays no attention to it. "Well, she's all over Facebook now—"

"And the Instant Gram, too, I should expect," says Effie knowledgeably.

"Do you– do you mean Instagram?"

"That's what I said. Honestly, Alison, keep up."

"Anyway..." Alison huffs, not having the time to argue with a ghost. "The point is, Fanny's gone viral, so we can kiss good-bye to our chances of doing live events. No one wants a haunted wedding."

"No one will know," Mike says, nodding to his phone screen where the photo is posted on social media. "Look, it's only one window and he doesn't say where it is..."

Ping! Right on cue, a comment comes in underneath: "I know this place! Button House" And underneath they link the address, including the town and postcode, complete with a pin dropped on its location on a virtual map. Effie is baffled by the technology of it.

Mike chuckles uneasily. "Hmm. Okay, but does anybody actually read the comments?"

A mere few hours later, Mike can say that again to the crowd of people now gathered outside Button House — photographers, journalists and curious people with an interest in the paranormal. They linger outside the gates like a pack of vultures. The Coopers and their flock of ghosts watch from inside, cautiously wondering what they should do next.

     "Gah!" Julian scoffs. "Just look at them, gullible cretins! I mean, what sort of moron believes in ghosts?"

     Alison blinks at him. "You... ARE a ghost."

     "Well, yeah, but, you know, before I became one, you wouldn't have caught me believing in this sort of nonsense."

     "I'm going to talk to them," she tells Mike.

     "And say what?" he asks.

     "That there is no such thing as ghosts."

     With an awkward glance around the room full of phantoms, she bows her head and goes to grab her coat. Only Julian calls out after her: "Yeah, you tell 'em. Bloody weirdos!"

But once again, Alison fails in smoothing over their PR nightmare (as Effie has started calling it). She had tried fending off their invasive questions and flashes of photography. Then, as always, Button House found a way of humiliating her further — the archaeologists chose that moment to arrive with the remains of a plague ghost laid out on a stretcher ("You told us to move the van," they gave as an excuse). So they left, the skeleton on display to the rest and bound to go viral as well... it was hardly

Effie is just fascinated by how fast the news moves these days. By the time Alison has returned to the house, the TV is buzzing with headlines on the local news about the haunted manor. Reporters are standing right outside the gates with a whole crew reporting on the alleged ghost sighting.

"Look, we're famous!" Effie gestures to the screen, delighted. "Though Fanny gets all the credit... typical."

"You think I asked for this attention?" Fanny retorts.

"So you're a paranormal expert?" the reporter on the television asks their interviewee; a man, very caught up in himself, in a bulky scarf and coat.

"Yes, indeed," he replies, staring straight down the lens. "I am a paranormal podder, blogger, vlogger, and psogger."

"Psogger?"

"It's a psychic blogger. The P's silent."

They are even trending on Twitter... whatever that means. Mike reads out one of the tweets on his phone: "'Man, this pic has me bricking it. That ghost be one scary-ass...' Is she in the room?"

"Yes," Alison and an agitated Fanny reply in unison.

"Well. It doesn't say 'lady'."

     The so-called psychic blogger goes on: "It's just a pity the owners are being so uncooperative, because the opportunity to study this kind of phenomenon is so valuable."

     An idea sparks in Alison's eyes: "How valuable?" she asks, curiously. Any way the Coopers can rake in money, they will take it.

     "Let's find out."

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

     BEFORE long, Alison and Mike have sniffed out the potential profits of having a haunted house — something they wished they knew months ago — and are getting ready to open it to all sorts of paranormal aficionados. Of course, it all operates on the assumption that their in-home ghosts will co-operate with them... and when do they ever co-operate? Effie, for one, isn't too against the idea. Any chance at a moment of glory is one she will take, no matter how much she must scrape the barrel.

     Some of the other ghosts require more convincing.

     "And you just get to be yourselves without me telling you not to, so go full ghost!" Alison tries to rally the troops in the living room. "Julian, just shove anything you like. Robin, just go crazy with the lights. Mary, lot of weird burning smells. And a few Fanny pictures?"

     "Oh, can I play?!" Kitty squeals.

     "Teamwork makes the team work!" Pat adds, missing the mark slightly with his phrase.

     But the Captain remains staunchly stubborn. "No... No, speak for yourselves. Personally, I don't want a bunch of misfits poking around in every corner, keeping us up at night with their probes and their machines—"

     "Captain?"

     "Yes?"

     "It... it's actually just these four —" Alison gestures awkwardly to Fanny, Julian, Robin and Mary, "— I really need. No offence, but, haunting-wise, you don't really have much to offer."

     From the corner, Effie tuts, inspecting her nails with a jaded look in her eyes. "Not all of us were so blessed with a special gift, now, were we?"

     The Captain falters slightly; even if he won't admit it, he perhaps liked the thought of being needed, especially in something that required a lot of precision and organisation, much like a military operation. But instead he clears his throat feebly. "No. That's fine, actually, er, because I'm, er... I'm busy with something. So, thank you. Mm-hm." And with that, the Captain exits the room, knee-popping lunge by lunge.

     Effie, Thomas, Kitty and Pat also take it as their cue to leave the room, seeing that they are not needed for this paranormal exhibition.

     Like he often does, Thomas lets out a tortured sigh. "I wish there were something I could do to assist fair Alison."

     "You're assisting her by leaving her alone," Effie mutters.

     "But I know what you mean, mate. The irony, eh? I had so many skills in life — knot-tying, tent-pitching, archery..." Pat suddenly flinches. He remembers the splintered bit of arrow sticking out from his neck, the constant reminder of how he died. Perhaps that one was a little too on-the-nose.

     "You haven't seen Norman, have you?" Kitty suddenly asks, now that the ghosts were supposedly rallied together.

     "Oh, no," Effie shrugs; she remembers the jester witnessing his small insect friend turn to a ghost earlier. "He's been following that ladybird in the garden for hours. Who knows where he is? At least we can have some peace and quiet for a little while, with less of the others around."

     But even that plan goes awry. Julian, Fanny, Robin and Mary soon come complaining about Alison forcing them to use their powers, and that they are therefore going on strike. ("That's hardly a strike," Effie had snorted when they came and said it. "But 1926? Now, that was a strike..."). Nevertheless, it looks as though they are all stuck together once more, and resort to their usual methods of passing time — Impressions Club. It is one that always turns out useless, anyway, because half of the ghosts never know who is being impersonated since they didn't exist in their lifetime. Pat and Julian are enjoying the former's impression of Bruce Forsyth, who none of the other ghosts know except for Effie, and it's only because Alison introduced her to Strictly Come Dancing.

     Suddenly the Captain comes storming in with his swagger stick stuck firmly underneath his armpit; there is a stern furiousness in his eyes. "Gentlemen, there is an invasion afoot," he informs the room. "Despite expressly forbidding it, she has just opened up the border and let them all in. The place is awash with eccentrics and fantasists."

     There is a gasp that ripples through the ghosts. Effie has mixed feelings on the whole thing — the only thing that unsettles her, about what she otherwise sees as hilarious when it comes to these paranormal investigators, is the fact that she is suddenly some supernatural spectacle. Even if she cannot be seen, the fact she could be regarded as one is... strange. Sometimes, she forgets that she is a ghost, in that sense. Effie feels more like a person with a mind and a spirit (no pun intended), so how can she be reduced to some fright-inducing ghoul who attracts folks like this?

     But beyond that, she hardly thinks of it. It's all just good fun to Effie. However, the other ghosts aren't as lenient.

     "Uh-uh. No way, Jose," Julian wags his finger, pronouncing Jose more like Joe-say. "We told her we weren't playing ball."

     "Yes, there be nothing to see!" Robin huffs, as Mary shyly adds, "Slash smells."

     "No, they are planning on faking it all!" the Captain stresses. "Pretending that there are ghosts. I mean, it makes a mockery of our very existence!"

     "But these people came here for a glimpse of Fanny," says Julian, raising an eyebrow.

     The now-famed Edwardian ghost adds, "Yes, and they can hardly fake that."

     Effie throws her hands up in the air, her jewellery clinking together. "Oh, you lot are so boring! It's not often you find people who actually want to meet ghosts. And I, for one, would like to be desired for once in my ninety years of death. Who wants to be entertained by this bunch being invited into the house?"

     Without another word, Pat, Thomas and Kitty happily leave the room with her — the latter disappears to tag along with Alison, convinced she will see some ghosts (and conveniently forgetting that she is one), leaving the other trio to explore as Button House becomes rife with paranormal investigators. It is strange seeing them walk through the corridors, and knowing that they are looking for them... usually Effie feels so invisible, with the exception of Alison. This could make a rather exciting change.

She feels Thomas shift just behind her shoulder blades — as much as a ghost can feel, anyway, rather like a cool breeze — as he has just spotted something of interest. Effie and Pat follow him into a narrow room, where a lady with cropped bleach-blonde hair is testing some kind of device she has set up, while her assistant quietly watches and takes notes.

"Check, one, two. Check. Check. One, two, two, two. Pop into Pagham to purchase a pig..." Then, satisfied with her gibberish, she smugly checks her watch and announces, "OK. It's 21.07. Recording in zone four for EVP."

"What?" the assistant asks blankly.

With a roll of her eyes, the paranormal expert replies, "It picks up vocal frequencies of discarnate entities... ghosts, Danni, the voices of ghosts."

Pat's eyes light up, as do Effie's, and they meet one another with an excited smile. Thomas, however, looks at the device as if he has just seen an alien from outer space. When the two ladies leave, the excited scout shuffles around on the spot with restless joy. "Did you hear that?" he asks.

"What?" Thomas asks, sounding a lot like Danni the assistant.

"That thing there picks up ghosts' voices," Pat prods a finger towards the device. "Maybe we can help after all!"

"Not so useless after all, eh, Alison?" Effie calls out, as if the owner of Button House might hear them.

Only now does the poet perk up. "Help Alison?" he asks, sounding breathless.

The trio slowly approach the device, such a strange and modern contraption — the further back each ghost goes, the more they are perplexed by it. Effie can at least draw some kind of comparison to the radios she remembers. She still recalls her younger brother, Fred, tinkering with them after he returned from the war. Fiddling with the dials and catching random transmissions was one of the few things that kept him calm after he returned from France a changed man. Then a couple of years later, of course, Effie huddled around to hear the first ever radio broadcast in Britain...

How different could this be?

"Speak into that microphone, and we can prove that this house is haunted!" Pat says excitedly.

"What would we say?" Thomas frets, looking clueless. He and Effie watch the scout lower himself into the wooden chair next to the device, tapping his chin for something to say that might interest those looking for ghosts. It is a fair point... how do people think ghosts act?

"Erm... hello, and, erm, welcome to Button Hou– ooh!" Pat suddenly perks up, as if an idea has hit him. "Welcome to Button FM! I'm Pat Butcher..."

Then, out of nowhere, he bursts into dynamic song, a far cry from the enunciated, composed voices Effie remembers from the radio in her day. For once, she is looking just as bewildered as Thomas is, as Pat sings:

"Ba-boom-boom-boom, the greatest DJ in the areaaa! Pat Butcher!" Then, without missing a beat, he transitions back into a normal speaking voice and says, "And joining me first this week is renowned poet, Thomas Thorne! How are you, Thomas?"

The poet looks like a deer in headlights. Effie has never seen him so lost for words. His mouth is shaped in a perfect 'O', his eyes like petrified saucers as he freezes up. In the awkward, non-eventful silence that follows, all they can hear is Effie cough (not that she has any reason to cough... she's dead, isn't she?)

"Thomas, we're on the air," Pat whispers.

Say something! Effie mouths to him, but it is no use. Thomas is completely paralysed.

"Aaand we'll be right back with Thomas, after this song from local band, Chicken & Chips! It's called 'Where's The Cream?'"

During this interval, Pat places his hand over the microphone — as if that will actually do anything — and shoots Thomas a sympathetic look. "Look, mate, I know it looks a bit advanced. But it's not that scary! Try not to think too much about it."

Sensing that Thomas is still completely flabbergasted, Effie pats his shoulder and turns to Pat. "Why don't I go next? I certainly haven't got an issue with it."

"Sounds good! Right, then..." Removing his hand and putting on his best radio DJ voice, Pat resumes the broadcast. "Good evening and welcome back to Button FM. I'm your host, Pat Butcher, and my next guest is a rather special one. She's got style, she's got jazz, and she's got pizazz... it's Effie Connolly! How are you today, Effie?"

     "Superb, Pat, thank you for having me," Effie confidently perches herself on the edge of the table; Thomas seems amazed by her fearlessness.

     "Not at all, not at all! So, what did you want to tell about today?"

     Getting more comfortable now, Effie leans forward closer to the microphone. "Well, I know some things don't change about humans as time goes on, and one of those things is that we love a bloody good party. 'But Effie,' I hear you asking, 'Where do I find one?' My advice? Follow the music. You know, I used to go with my girl friends down to some speakeasies in London — rather hush-hush, if you know what I mean — and we would spent the whole night dancing until our feet felt like they would fall off. And do not even get me started on the New York clubs! Anyway, that's a story for another broadcast..."

     Miraculously, Effie manages to go on for at least another five minutes, giving all her tips for having the best party like an unofficial agony aunt. She hardly pays attention to whether Pat or Thomas are listening or not. She is quite enjoying her moment of glory.

     "... And remember, ladies, it doesn't matter what you wear, as long as you have enough room to Charleston," she finally concludes.

Pat pauses, checking she is definitely done talking, before giving a small round of applause. "That was brilliant! Thanks, Effie. Now, we are just going to have a small music break—"

"I have a song request, actually."

"You do?"

Shamelessly bathing in the limelight of this ghost detector, Effie is throwing everything she has at this thing to pass on some kind of legacy. She clears her throat and starts singing a jolly tune she has had stuck in her head all week:

     "Yes, of course we have no bananas,
     We have no bananas today,
     We've strings beans, and onions,
     Cabbages, and scallions..."

Thomas slowly leans to the side, baffled, and catching Pat's eye as all they can do is sit and listen to Effie sing into the microphone. The scout leader starts tapping his show encouragingly on the floor, but his ghostly foot makes no sound against the floorboards.

     "... we have an old fashioned to-mah-to,
     A Long Island po-tah-to,
     But yes, we have no bananas,
     We have no bananas today!"

Pat gives another small round of applause. "Thank you, thank you for that! An oldie but a goodie."

"Thank you, thank you," Effie gloats. "I was going to sing some Cher, but I thought you all might prefer something of my time."

"... Oh?"

"Time for your next guest, I think."

Rather glad that the flapper girl seems to have stepped back as co-DJ, Pat shifts his attention back to a panicking Thomas. He attempts to conduct an interview about his life, his poetry and the inspiration behind them. The interviewee can hardly wrap his head around the whole thing. In a strange way, Effie finds herself unable to mock him — how can he be two extremes at once? One minute, impossibly big-headed and pretentious, and then the next minute, completely uncertain about his abilities.

"And, of course, your poetry rhymes, which is A: harder, and B: shows you have a real passion for the English language. Is that fair to say?"

Thomas slowly leans forward, his lips almost grazing the microphone, and utters: "Yes..." before leaning back once more.

Realising he is getting nowhere with this interview, Pat hurries things along. "And we'll be back with Thomas after these advertisements."

Effie nudges the poet, urging him to say something. Thomas flaps his hands in a panic, his sleeves like billowing sails, as he grasps for something to say. Finally, he blurts out the first thing he can think of:

"Buy cheese."

He looks to Pat, then Effie. She nods encouragingly.

"... Please?"

Something suddenly sparks in Thomas's eyes — a passion which had been lacking until now. He has just realised something in what he said. A rhyme?

"Louise," he utters, delighted by his poetic spin; Thomas suddenly launches into a melodramatic, off-the-cuff advertisement. "Buy Louise's Pleasing Cheese... made from only the freshest Jersey milk... lovingly thumbed by our all-Friesian herd..."

Effie grins, pleased that Thomas has finally taken to the medium of radio. But it is only short-lived; now they can't stop him from talking. He takes it as an opportunity to try and recite every bit of poetry he has written, past and present, and admittedly some of them are painful to hear. Pat can barely get a word in edgeways and Effie finds herself fidgeting after a while.

"The housemaid's leg was Gwendoline... and the lusty dog... was I," Thomas finishes his last poem with a flourish.

Pat quickly jumps in. "Yet another poem from Thomas Thorne, there. And apologies for those still waiting for the pop quiz..."

The door suddenly swings open behind the trio — it bursts the bubble they have been living in for God knows how long, enjoying themselves and talking to the radio. The paranormal investigator is coming back in. This is our moment! Effie thinks, overjoyed. The thought of hearing their voices back on tape thrills her, especially after all these years... she will not be forgotten, not on her watch.

"Right, let's see what we've got..." the blonde investigator sighs.

Quickly ending the broadcast, Pat blurts out: "Join me next week when my guests will be Sheena Easton and Dudley Moore!"

Then the scout hops back from his chair, his moustache twitching with excitement. Thomas and Effie step back, too, watching the investigator fiddle with the dials with bated breath. She waits to hear her own voice rebounding back to her through the speakers — but instead, there is deafening silence. The trio wait longer and longer... why hasn't the device picked up on their voices?

"Maybe the volume isn't high enough," Effie tells the woman, then remembers she cannot hear her.

More silence...

Deafening silence, where not a single word can be heard...

The paranormal investigator sighs with an all-knowing shrug. "Nah. Nothing. Thought as much. There's no energy here. With experience, you can feel it. You can't learn that sort of thing. It's a gift... a calling, really."

Effie, offended, retorts: "Speak for yourself, love! Your machine is clearly faulty."

But the pair leave the room, the ghosts unbeknownst to them dropping their shoulders in disappointment. Pat pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger and smiles comfortingly at Effie and Thomas.

"You were great, guys," he says.

"Thanks, Pat," Effie replies quietly. "You too..."

Thomas almost looks like he might say something earnest as he places a hand on Pat's shoulder. "You have a slightly grating register and a tendency to gabble. And, Effie? You linger on one subject for far too long. Something to work on..." And with that, the poet turns on his heel and vanishes from the room.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

     FOR a haunted house, Effie is hardly feeling the thrill of it. After their failure with Button FM, they have re-joined the striking ghosts, who have somehow still been roped into the whole scheme. Meanwhile, the Captain has been busy trying to hide Fanny from any paranormal investigators. Attempts to make the house feel as haunted as it truly is seem to have gone down the drain, and now Alison and Mike are clutching at straws — they even tried using magnets to make it look like Julian was moving a teacup.

     Pat is stood by the window, when he suddenly lets out a gasp of horror at what he sees outside.

     "Oh no!" he cries, turning around. "FANNY'S EXPOSED!"

     Leaping up from their seats, the other ghosts hurry to the window to see. Surely enough, Effie spots Fanny on the front doorstep, a few paces behind the psychic blogger slowly pivoting and filming the house on his phone — if he captures Fanny on his camera, it'll all be over. But what can they possibly do?

     Just in time, the Captain comes hurtling onto the drive, out for his evening run. "FANNY!" he hollers. With militant precision, he makes a sprint for her and rugby-tackles her through the front door. They slip soundlessly through the wood before the camera can capture them. The other ghosts gathered in the entrance, they all breathe a sigh of relief, some applause abounding for the Captain.

     He takes a proud glance at the grandfather clock. "2:29. Shaved off a second!"

     "Well done, Cap," Pat congratulates him.

     "I knew it! It's the cold air, you see. I've still got it. In my bally prime."

     They all nod encouragingly, but once the Captain is out of ear-shot, they murmur amongst themselves:

     "2:30, weren't it?"

     "Yeah..."

     "Slower, if anything."

     An awestruck gasp suddenly grabs their attention — in the hallway, the blonde paranormal investigator's eyes are bulging, her whole body trembling as she stares at something in the distance. Raising a shaking finger, she points into the darkness: "The Grey Lady! There's free-floa... in zone... there's a ghost upstairs!"

Effie blinks. She slowly looks from the investigator, then to Fanny (who is clearly downstairs), then back to her. "Well," she scoffs, "this should be interesting..."

All of the visitors in Button House rush up the stairs like a swarm of flies, desperate to get proof of there being a ghost; meanwhile the real ghosts follow curiously behind them. Just beyond a ray of moonlight pouring through the windows, a lady in grey stands with her arms folded at her front. In fairness, it could look like Fanny. But of course, the real Fanny is standing with the other ghosts, watching the whole performance. Robin starts playing with the lights and making them flicker.

"Hi, Alison," says Effie casually.

Right on cue, the lights turn fully on, exposing Alison — she is dressed like Fanny in a strange dress held together with duct tape. To the paranormal experts' annoyance, she hovers awkwardly on the spot while thinking of a cover-up. "Guys, there you are!" Alison throws her hands up in the air. "I think I just saw a ghost in there..."

"Alison, why are you dressed like Fanny?"

Grinning cheekily, the flapper girl ignores the death stare she receives from Alison.

It is safe to say that the haunted house exhibition is swiftly concluded after that. By morning, the experts and paranormal aficionados are leaving in droves, all wearing expressions of contempt and distaste towards the Coopers apparently faking it all. The psychic blogger insists they will be hearing from his lawyer when he gets one, and the blonde radio operator responds accuses Alison of, "exploiting people, just because they're open-minded enough to accept the possibility that there might just be such a thing as ghosts?"

Standing around Alison, Effie and the ghosts listen intently to this explanation.

Determined, the woman adds, "Because, let me tell you, there are spirits all around us. I just hope one day, you come to embrace them."

"At least!" Thomas sighs lustily.

As the door shuts behind their last visitors, Effie shrugs. "Oh well. There will be other chances at fame, I am sure."

Effie takes one look at Alison's exhausted expression, and adds it to the ever-worsening list of faces that she makes when the ghosts irritate her; they are awfully good at it.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

( date: 8th january, 2024 )

happy new year! hope this following year brings you all lots of happiness and opportunities 😊 this chapter was very fun to write, from all of the fanny jokes this episode, to the button FM scene (which is one of my all-time favourite ghosts scenes; i can quote the cheese advert off-by-heart!). but at the same time i'm not sure if the pacing was weird? oh well, i'm just glad the chapter is out.

so, ghosts is now officially done... i thought the finale was perfect. it struck the balance between humour and heartwarming so well, and the postscript especially had me tearing up. really exceeded my expectations! thank you to everyone behind this show for bringing it to life, it has well and truly been a joy and will go down as one of the greats. i'm going to miss them...

now that the show is finished, i can get a better overview of this whole fic, so i can plan it better. i can tell you that the next chapter is one that deviates from season 2 and it'll be focused on linda and lloyd — IT'S BACKSTORY TIME!

thank you for reading!

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horrible histories
icon of today:
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[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

( such a clever spin
on the addams family! )

have a good day/evening,
— IMOGEN  ♡