The Ghoul of Christmas Past

Speaking for the first time, he asked, ‘What van?’
Michael threw his arms in the air. ‘The silver van the man was driving. The … thing I chased …’
Williams interrupted him with a snort of laughter and smiled broadly. ‘Ah, yes, the ghoul. Isn’t that what you called it?’
‘You can call it what you will. It is over seven feet tall and looks dead. When I saw it in the alleyway, it had a man by the throat and when I got close, another man appeared from the shadows. He was dressed in the clothes of Charles Dickens which were stolen from the Dickens Museum three nights ago.’
‘Wait.’ Williams held up his hand to stop Michael speaking. ‘You saw a man dressed as Charles Dickens?’
‘Yes.’
‘In the vicinity of the Dickens stage production in the castle?’
‘Yes.’ Where was he going with this?
Williams looked at his partner. ‘Isn’t it traditional for people attending to dress up for the occasion?’
Musgrove nodded. ‘Many do.’
‘So what?’ Michael demanded. ‘What are you trying to say? That all I saw was a man dressed up for the night and I imagined the rest? That the man I saw getting strangled was part of a street theatre act?’ He thumped the table with a frustrated fist, drawing a warning look from both men opposite. ‘The man in Charles Dickens clothes took the victim to a silver van and escaped the scene. I think the ghoul,’ he said the ghoul with added emphasis and ignored that Sergeant Williams grinned again and mugged away to his partner, ‘was supposed to get into the van too.’
‘Did you get the van’s registration number?’ asked Musgrove, taking this more seriously than his colleague.
Michael made an annoyed face. ‘I didn’t get the chance.’
‘Why not?’ Williams wanted to know.
‘Because I was too busy chasing the ghoul,’ Michael snapped, his impatience making its way to the surface.
‘Yes,’ agreed Sergeant Williams, ‘along Rochester High Street on Christmas Eve, among hundreds of pedestrians with a double-headed axe held above your head.’
‘Did you see the body being loaded into the van?’ Musgrove asked.
Michael opened his mouth to answer, but knew that if he said yes, he would be lying. ‘No,’ he admitted.
Musgrove pressed him, ‘But you did see the driver and it was this Charles Dickens character?’
Again, Michael had to admit that he hadn’t actually seen the driver. He had assumed, because of the circumstances he witnessed, that the third man in the alley took the van and put the victim in it.
The interview went on like that for another fifteen minutes. They believed the story about the ghoul, but they were not doing anything about it. No one was reported as missing. No one else had seen the attack, not even Frank. According to Musgrove and Williams, Frank heard Michael shout something and go into the alley. Frank saw the ghoul but didn’t see the other man or his victim and no one else had seen the van. It was only because the police could corroborate Michael’s story about the giant figure crossing in front of cars by the river that caused them to let him go with a caution.
He had to go through the process of having his personal effects returned, among which was his phone. The battery was in the red but would hold on long enough for him to call Mary – a task he did not currently relish. Unsurprisingly, he had a stack of missed calls and some strongly worded text messages.
He was looking down at his phone when the officer placed a broken top hat on the counter. ‘That’s not mine,’ Michael said, wondering why he’d picked it up in the first place.
The officer shot him a look. ‘You came in with it, therefore it’s yours. This isn’t a lost and found storage facility.’
Michael almost asked where he could find the nearest trash receptacle but spotted something poking from the black band going around the hat. It was nothing more than the top corner of a ripped piece of card, but his eyes immediately identified it. He hadn’t seen one like it in years.
He signed for the items, said thank you, and confirmed he was free to go. However, he only went as far as a line of plastic chairs where he sat to inspect his find. Using a thumbnail to hook an edge, he pulled the ticket stub free. It was a dull purple colour with black ink, just like they used to dispense in cinemas and clubs when he was much younger. A person handed over their coins and the person in the booth hit a hidden button somewhere behind the counter causing tickets to shoot from a tiny slot in the steel surface.
That’s what it was, but its nature was far less interesting than where it was from.
Frank was waiting for him outside. ‘I was starting to think they weren’t going to let you out,’ he said by way of greeting, nudging himself upright from a position slouched against the wall. ‘Poison is waiting around the corner with a van.’
Michael nodded. ‘Good.’ He held up the ticket stub so Frank could see it.
‘Dickens Greatest Works Theme Park?’
‘That’s the part that has been missing,’ Michael announced. ‘All this time, I thought this was to do with the museum but that’s not the case. At least, I don’t think it is. The curator there is up to something; I haven’t worked out what that is yet. I don’t think it’s connected to the ghoul though. I think the two things are separate and that is what has been throwing me.’
Frank asked, ‘We’re still going after the ghoul, right?’
Michael snorted a laugh of hopelessness. ‘Surely, you have to be kidding? I thought that thing was going to kill me earlier. I don’t know what came over me when I decided to chase