The Ghoul of Christmas Past

then could not understand that such things take time. They wanted immediate returns on their investment – some now, not lots later as he proposed.
The man calling himself Mr Dickens was going to show Glaagard, but how was he going to grab him now? Silently seething in the driver’s seat of the van, he glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the ghoul hunched up in the back. He was too distinctive to have in the front of the van, but he was also too big to fit into the seat anyway.
There had been still two more shareholders to get if the ghoul had been successful in grabbing Glaagard, but now it was three. When the ghoul came running back through the bushes, Dickens caught a glimpse of the old man following him – he wasn’t police, and he didn’t look like he was part of Glaagard’s family. So who was he?
Dickens pushed it from his thoughts to concentrate on the next task: grabbing Mason Sabre. Mason was going to be the easy one. He lived at home in a big, detached place with no neighbours that could see in. The ghoul would grab Mason when he answered the door. It still left Glaagard and Cudmore, but as his frustration cooled, and he allowed himself some time to think clearly, a plan presented itself.
A small smile tugged one corner of his mouth. It was a little theatrical, but there was no harm in that. The danger was in the need to take the ghoul out in public. It might be tricky, but if he chose the right location, one that would not alert his intended victims or make them feel overly trepidatious, then he felt certain he could still pull this off. The new plan might even be better, but that was the kind of man he was – one who never saw a problem, only an opportunity.
Everything was going to work out perfectly.

Trouble with Mary. Saturday, December 24th 1525hrs
The sound of Michael’s phone ringing broke through the still air of the winter’s day. Mr Glaagard had gone back inside to fetch a coat but was with them as they all followed Michael around to the side of the house. Patience had used the brief interlude while they waited for the homeowner to explain who Michael was or, rather, who his son was. They all knew the name Tempest Michaels; it was almost impossible not to because his face, and that of their former police colleague Amanda Harper, had been splashed across the local newspapers, and indeed the national press, several times in the recent months.
Whether the male officers were impressed or not, Michael couldn’t tell but they were certainly acting like they didn’t care. They were following him so they could see the footprint because it was their job to do so. The homeowner reported a prowler and described him as disturbing looking though Mr Glaagard also said he wasn’t able to get a good look at the man at any point.
Sensing an opportunity, Michael hung back to walk with the museum shareholder, but his phone rang before he got the chance to speak. He cringed as he reached into his pocket because he knew which name would be displayed on the screen. He knew because Tempest had helped him assign a ringtone a while back and the sound of Darth Vader’s Imperial March cutting through the chill air was hard to mistake for anything else.
‘Hello, dear,’ Michael tried, putting emphatic joy into his voice as if hearing hers could lift his spirits so.
He could almost feel her annoyed expression when she replied, ‘Don’t you go “Hello Dearing” me, Michael Michaels. You’ve been gone ages and you promised me you wouldn’t go to the pub.’
‘Well, dear I would have been home already, but I am assisting the police with their enquiries at the moment.’
‘No, you’re not! Don’t you dare lie to me. Tell me the truth right now!’ Mary Michaels had always been a difficult one to convince once she’d decided she knew what was happening.
Huffing a breath that ruffled his lips, Michael held up the phone and called out, ‘Constable Woods? Any chance you could have just a very brief word with my wife? She thinks I’m off galivanting or something.’
He pressed the button to engage the speaker and held the phone out so Patience could talk. ‘Hello. Is this Mrs Michaels? This is Constable Patience Woods. I think we might have met once, but I’m not sure. I know your son anyw …’
Mary interrupted her. ‘No.’
Patience jinked an eyebrow. ‘No?’
‘No,’ Mary repeated. ‘You’re some trollop in the pub that’s he’s got talking to. I’ve never heard of a Patience Woods. Tell that idiot husband of mine he’s to get himself home right now or …’
Whatever she said next went unheard as Michael stabbed the speaker button once more to disengage it and put the phone back to his ear. The police officers were all close enough to hear what his wife had said and were smirking at him now.
‘Hello again, dear. If you want me home, please come to this address.’ He recited where they were. ‘You’ll find me there with several police officers who I am helping with their enquiries. I have to go, there’s a criminal at large.’ He cut the call off with a satisfactory stab of the red button.
The call filled the gap between moving from the front of the house to the side where the police officers were now fanning out to inspect the ground. The footprint was easy to see, not least because Michael pointed it out to them. Hanging back, he grabbed his chance to ask Mr Glaagard some questions.
‘Were you aware Ronald Norton had gone missing?’
Richard nodded. ‘I saw the article in the paper. Actually, it was my wife who saw it and pointed it out