CHAPTER FIVE
happy death day

( TW: slight mentions of gore, death )

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

DATE: AN UNASSUMING, SUNNY
DAY ON OCTOBER 27th, 1984...

THE LAWN OUTSIDE Button House house has been a stage for many events over the years, and today is no different — which is why Effie loves being spectator. Any bit of variety she can salvage in this haunted place is worthwhile. Lady Fanny Button, on the other hand, shifts gears into becoming extremely territorial. Effie can hear her from behind when she storms out of the house, joining her with Kitty, Robin and the Captain to watch.

"Whatever is going on here? They're going to tear up that lawn. Do you know how difficult it is to maintain all that grass, making it look spick and span?" Fanny complains.

"Yes, Fanny, I'm sure your gardeners worked very hard at that," Effie deadpans back, earning a disapproving scowl from the older lady.

     "What are they doing?" Kitty inquires breathlessly. "Oh, how I wish I could join in!"

     A gaggle of young boys assemble themselves on the lawn, fitted with collared shirts and yellow neck scarves. Before them stands a row of targets, set up by who appears to be their scout leader — Effie heard his name was Pat, back when he first secured a place at Button House and greeted the owners. The man is on the short and slightly plump side, complete with hugely magnifying glasses, an animated moustache and his jovial disposition. They are, as the Captain concludes, a group of Boy Scouts.

"Good morning, patrol!" Pat suddenly greets his scouts.

"Good morning, Skipper!" the boys recite back in unison, straightening up.

"Jolly good form boys, yes, yes..." the Captain mumbles beside Effie, inspecting the line.

"Welcome to day one, activity A, and A is for archery!"

"Yes!" the smallest boy of the group punches the air with his fist.

"Ooh," mutters Robin all of a sudden. "We use that to kill big mammoth. Big dinner..."

"Okay! We'll all get a chance to shoot at the target, but before we do, I just need to run through some do's and do nots..." the scout leader chirps, alive and completely unaware of the ghosts's chatter. Pat goes around to the boys, handing them each a bow and arrow to play with. "There you go, Frank, pass that down..."

"Are those actual arrowheads?" Effie remarks, as she can't help but take her eyes off one particularly keen boy, hair as red as berries. He already seems to be loading the very sharp arrow in his bow, inspecting it curiously. Even with her daring streak, she can't help feel slightly concerned.

"It's character building, Euphemia," the Captain replies, jutting out his chin. "Never too late to make little boys into men."

"Please... never say that again."

"It may surprise you to know that most accidents happen after the arrows have hit the target," says the scout leader responsibly, pacing up and down the lawn. The ghosts all listen curiously, as if they were Pat's students too. "Boys run down the range and can easily trip up, so safety rule number one is no—"

Before Pat can finish his sentence, an arrow slices through the air and lodges itself in his neck. Effie gasps and claps her hand over her mouth, while the other ghosts stare on in shock. The arrow came from the red-headed boy, whose face has suddenly drained of colour. "Right in the neck..." she hears the Captain whisper next to her, but not out of admiration this time. The scout leader still doesn't quite seem to have realised what has happened yet.

A few seconds later, Pat finally begins to react. "I... er..." he starts to gasp and choke, fingers gingerly feeling around the protruding ends of the arrow. "That's gone clean through, that... clean through..."

Ghosts and children alike stare on, unable to move or say anything. His eyes are starting to glaze over with a tenseness, an icy realisation of his fate.

"I'm panicking. Right..." Pat exhales shakily and pulls some keys out of his pockets, staggering towards the kids. "Who can drive? We might need one of you to drive– no, that's a silly idea. Don't look at me, kids! Make a path! You don't want to see this in your dreams..."

"Oh God," Fanny whispers, and Effie shares in her horror. Surely he isn't surviving this. But even with a new ghost onboard, as it seems, she always hates seeing the actual deaths happen — especially untimely ones like this. And there are children watching...

All everyone can do is simply observe as Pat starts staggering towards the bus parked a way off in the grass. "Someone call Carol, please! You've got to go to the New Forest next week, that's out..." he starts mumbling incoherently to himself, Effie going tense as she overhears his life flashing before his eyes. Suddenly he lets out a muffled yelp and reaches for the arrow again. "Oh, it's cold, innit?" Pat gasps, clinging onto the side of the bus.

Straining, he attempts pulling on the arrow to remove it, but gags a little afterwards — it won't budge. Once he disappears into the bus and turns on the ignition, the rumbling engine and blaring music drown out anything else he might be saying. The bus meanders haphazardly across the grass — "Oh, do watch the lawn!" Fanny cries out next to Effie — before suddenly careening to the side and ramming straight into a tree. The air is shattered with the chilling cacophony of blaring music and the long, shrill cry of the bus horn...

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

DATE: PRESENT DAY

     HAVING Alison around in Button House certainly made the mundane everyday more exciting. They were small adjustments, of course, but already so much flavour had been added to Effie's afterlife.

One of her favourite additions was music. The house had felt so empty without it for so long, but Alison sometimes left her device with a playlist of various songs for Effie to discover. It was fascinating to see what people enjoyed nowadays — music had come so far. Although Effie was a jazz fan of the Roaring Twenties, through and through, she has also become partial to some modern hits... right now, it's the Spice Girls.

     "I'll tell you what I want what I really really want, so tell me what you want what you really really want..." Effie sings along to the music playing from the phone, shimmying on the spot. Over the last few months, she has learned the lyrics to quite a few modern songs — she wouldn't want to be caught out unprepared if Alison decided to throw a party. She has to be cool. Effie is so occupied with the song, she barely noticed Alison walk into the room and lift a quizzical brow, before she reaches for the phone and switches it off.

"If you want my future, forget my past, if you wanna get with me, better make it fa— hey! I was listening to that!"

"You can listen later," Alison fires back. "The builders are here."

"So what? They might be partial to some Spice Girls," Effie says, giving a playful shrug of her shoulder.

"Partial or not, you're also draining my battery, and I need my phone..."

With a defeated sigh, Effie disappears through one of the walls to take a shortcut. Button House was to undergo some serious renovation at the hands of the Coopers, so the arrival of the builders marked endless racket all day... along with some amusing scenes to watch. Her fellow ghosts, on the other hand, don't seem as impressed. Effie dissolves into one of the dilapidated rooms to find the Captain briefing some of the other ghosts.

"Now, it's clear that this new enemy, these builders, are deep in our territory. It's an occupation." The Captain steels himself with a glint of duty in his eyes, staring off into the distance. "We shall fight on the beaches... we shall fight—"

"On the landing?" Julian interrupts, to which Effie grins.

"Yes, alright. Don't be glib."

"But how do we fight?" asks Robin gruffly. "We have no rocks, no sticks, no bears."

Folding her arms across her chest, Effie saunters into the conversation with an air of flippancy. "Well, I still don't see what the big problem is for you all. I know they're noisy and invasive, but it's only temporary, isn't it? We'll have a much better house at the end of it, because someone couldn't keep it up in the meantime..."

"Excuse you, it's rather hard to do when you're dead, Effie!" Fanny retorts.

"I was only teasing. Gosh, you can't take a joke, can you woman?"

A heavy, forlorn sigh from the corner captures the attention of the ghosts — Effie knows the melodrama in that tone. Thomas is perched in the windowsill underneath rays of sunlight, gazing wistfully out of the window. "Oh, yes, very good Thomas," Fanny patronises him, "we'll just sigh at them."

"You don't understand, do you?" Thomas whines.

"Almost certainly not," mutters the Captain under his breath.

"She does not comprehend the profundity of my feelings for her..."

To translate, Robin turns to Julian and grumbles: "Thomas in big love with Kim Wilde."

"Kim Wi– Alison?" The information instantly lights up Julian's face, mockingly pointing his finger at Thomas. "Ha-ha! He's got the hots for Alison!"

"Oh, it's far more complicated than that, damn your eyes!" Thomas seethes in a strop. Then, with extravagant hand gestures, he starts explaining his ambitions. "I am attempting to compose a poem of such intricate beauty to reflect the way I feel. I cannot be expected to plot with you halfwits and work on my art!"

"Ooh, the struggles of the tortured poet," Effie chides sarcastically, clutching her heart to mock him. With an agitated huff, Thomas storms off to find his space to do his work.

Not bothered to have their time wasted by the poet, the ghosts all take their own routes downstairs, to where most of the builders are congregated. Kitty isn't too far behind in tow, already tracing every footstep of Alison's. The excitable Georgian phantom has been attached to Alison like a leech ever since the Coopers moved in — Effie can't criticise it, for at least it gives her breathing space to snooze a little longer in the mornings.

One of the builders named Terry, a man with a bristly red beard and a plaid shirt, is discussing the building works when Effie starts eavesdropping. She stands at Alison's side, while the Captain and Fanny hover behind Terry, giving him sceptical looks (unbeknownst to him of course). "But we have found something else," she hears him say. "The drainage from the East Wing is cracked. I don't know when it was put in."

"1894," Fanny interjects instantly.

"1894," Alison echoes. Then, self-consciously, she tries playing off her knowledge as Mike rejoins her. "Erm, probably, between..."

This is something Effie has noticed, and takes great pleasure in stoking the fires of — if the ghosts are around, every social interaction Alison has is bound to end up a total disaster. And that's on top of her inherent social awkwardness. While she does love teasing her and having fun with this new situation, Effie sometimes wonders if Alison could do with a confidence boost of sorts. Seeing in her everyday life has made her realise she really needs to let loose. And who better to teach her this than Effie Connolly herself?

"Right. Well, it needs a lot of work to make sure it doesn't breach," say Terry. At this, Effie starts yawning loudly, which Alison tries desperately to ignore. "I can do you a quote on top of the old one, which has gone up a bit, I'm afraid."

"We don't have any more money—"

"Great, great!" Alison cuts off Mike, swinging her arm around his shoulders. "We'll probably just put our heads together, run some numbers up the flagpole and just see if any of that makes sense."

As Terry disappears to make a phone call, a perplexed Mike whirls around to his wife. "What are you doing? We can't just agree to more work like that. We're burning through money quicker than actually burning money."

"Mike, it's fine," reassures Alison. "This is all part of being project manager. It's a negotiation. You get them on side, do a bit of wheeling, dealing. You gotta be mates, if you want mate's rates—"

"Please stop rhyming..." Effie cringes.

As Terry comes back, Mike and Alison quickly reassemble as some more ghosts huddle around. "Listen, Tel, let's chat numbers later," she says, in what Effie thinks is an attempt to be cool. It's not working. "And in the meantime, how about a nice cup of old Rosie Lee?" asks Alison, doing a strange cockney accent and arm-jig on the last few words.

Shaking her head slowly, Effie blinks at her. "You poor thing. You really do need my help."

The flapper girl doesn't want to listen to this anymore — partly due to Alison's social awkwardness making her toes curl, but mostly the fact that all this builder's talk is boring her to death. She clocks a splash of yellow and some kind eyes behind spectacles on the other side of the room; Pat. Meandering past builders, careful not to have them walk through her, Effie joins Pat along with Kitty. She could do with a bit of the scout leader's enthusiasm and cheeriness right now.

     "What do you make of all this then? Frankly, I'm happy with anything, as long as it means I can finish my Spice Girls session that was rudely interrupted..."

     When she gets no reply, Effie finds it rather odd. She glances over at him, and that's when she realises something is off. Pat's moustache droops with sadness along with his downcast gaze; there seems to be something weighing on his mind. He even seems to be swallowing thickly, as if fighting a lump in his throat.

     "Pat, are you not well?" Kitty asks innocently.

     "Hm? Oh no, I'm fine," Pat shrugs, snapping out of his daze. "It's just that... tomorrow's my death day. So, you know, I always get a bit emotional..."

     "Oh God, you're right," Effie whispers in remembrance. October 27th. She remembers bearing unfortunate witness to his death, and being the first ghostly face he saw when he left his world. For such a ray of sunshine like himself, it almost felt wrong to Effie that she should be the first one he saw — as if he deserved someone more decent. Of course, for Pat the anniversary's effects are much worse.

     Every ghost has their death day. It feels imprinted on them, unable to leave them. Effie thinks of it as the anti-birthday: perhaps the only occasion about her which she doesn't wish to celebrate. In fact, over the past ninety years or so, she has done everything in her power to blot out the memories of that day... the ones she hadn't forgotten already. But whether she wants to or not, Effie never forgets the moment it all ended. And she remembers the date — August 16th, 1927. For every ghost, including Pat, it feels like rubbing salt into a wound. A milestone you can't escape and will always relive, over and over again.

     Effie is just contemplating this grimly, when Kitty suddenly blurts out an off-topic question:

     "How are babies made?"

     Pat blinks at her, quite unable to answer after being torn abruptly from his downtrodden mood. Instead, Effie takes over, a cheeky grin tugging the corners of her lips.

     "Well, Kitty, I can't tell you everything about baby-making. But I can promise you that it's very fun."

     "Oh, really?!" Kitty squeals.

     "Yes... lots of fun..." Effie says with a wink. "And—"

     "You're too young to know about the birds and bees just yet," Pat interjects, his protective side re-emerging. "Run along, now. Maybe Alison can explain it to you in a better way."

     As Kitty scurries off, Pat seems to wilt in spirit once again, and Effie frowns. "Chin up, Pat," she encourages him. "There's no point in dwelling too much. I find it hurts less if you try not to think about it."

"I know, but... Carol's coming today. And the family. It's impossible not to think about it."

Of course. Pat's family come and visit Button House every year since his death, including his widow Carol. They walk up together to the tree that the bus swerved into all those years ago, which is now a stump after the great storm of 1987. Effie would hate to be the one reminding him, but it's the truth — eventually they will stop visiting. Enough generations go by, and people forget. At least that was her experience...

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

DATE: ONE WEEK SINCE THE
DEATH OF EFFIE CONNOLLY...
    

FOR the past six or seven days, the grounds of Button House have acted as a vigil for all those who wish to see where Effie Connolly died — which isn't many.

In her new ghostly form, Effie had watched them all come and go. First there was her husband, naturally, since he was there the night things went horribly wrong. Philip Connolly had been torn up in bits; weeping, even. She'd never seen him weep before. She had listened to the raw regret and sorrow haemorrhaging out of him, and could only selfishly find herself thinking: Where was all this a few months ago? Why didn't you tell me all this earlier?

     After that there were reporters, then those reporters were ushered away by police carrying out investigations. Effie still struggled to comprehend that the word 'biopsy' was about her. She was gone.

     Then Olive had visited. She wasn't allowed too far inside the grounds, since investigations were still going on in the property as to how Effie ended up how she did. Olive Carter, her dearest best friend, had looked weak and frail when she walked to the gates of Button House. Effie tries yelling at her and waving her arms about, hoping a miracle would strike or this would all be a horrible nightmare. But still, Olive just gazed on and cradled her bloated belly, well into the pregnancy of her second child.

     A couple of days went by, with little more action at Button House.

     And then came the worst of them all.

     It took Robin hollering and pointing out of the window, alerting the ghosts to a visitor, for Effie to realise Fred was there. Her heart had plummeted into a dark abyss then, and if it still heated, it would have hammered relentlessly as she sped downstairs and ran out into the courtyard. He was limping towards the gate, his wife's linked arm acting as an extra crutch to the injury he'd had since the Great War. In his other hand was the walking stick he'd been using since then.

     "Fred! Fred, it's me!" Effie cried, skidding to a halt at the gate.

     But her younger brother took no notice, as if she were invisible; unseen and unheard. Swallowing thickly, Fred stopped at the gate and quietly surveyed the grandiose estate. His wife, Annie, could clearly sense he was taking it all in. She had that sensitivity about her — Effie should know, for she was the one who introduced the two quiet individuals.

"Do you want to go in?"

"No," Fred said firmly. "No, I don't..."

But he still stayed frozen to the spot. Gently taking his hand, Annie glanced up at him with shimmering eyes. "Shall I give you a minute? I won't be far, just by the gate over there."

Fred considered this for a few moments, then nodded; his eyes fluttered closed as she gently kissed his cheek and started walking down the winding path. Steeling himself through a deep breath, the pools of amber in his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He let out a shaky breath — a bitter laugh, almost — and wiped his eyes. "Bloody hell, Effie..." he mumbled.

"Fred, don't cry, I'm right here," Effie pleaded, reaching her hand through the bars to try and caress his face. Then she retracts her hand — she can't feel him. She can't feel her baby brother.

Unaware of her presence, Fred went on to voice his thoughts. "You know what I was thinking of the other day?" he had asked, as if she were there, and Effie nodded. Go on, she urged him. "I was thinking about that one summer when we were little... you know, when we spent all afternoon down at the South Parade Pier, and I didn't want to go home because I wanted to collect rocks on the shore. Silly, really, and it was getting dark; I haven't forgotten the hiding we got from Mum when we got home..." Fred manages a weak laugh for a moment, remembering fondly but with an overshadowing grief. "Anyway, you didn't take me home when it started getting dark. You went, 'Hey Fred, let's go under the pier, that's where all the best treasure is!', like the cheeky bugger you are– I mean... were. So we did. I took off my socks, you rolled up your skirt and your stockings and we hid under there looking for treasure..."

     Fred seemed unable to go on after that, averting his gaze down to the ground, digging the toe of his shoe into the dirt. Then, with some resolve or a sudden reluctance to stay, he whirled around and started limping back down the winding path lined with trees.

     "Fred... Fred, wait, no, please!" Effie had begged, starting to run after him (which wasn't difficult). "I'm here! I can see you and hear you, all of it! I'm not gone, you have to believe me, please!"

     But Fred was none the wiser, and she watched him embrace Annie for a few moments, before they linked arms and slowly walked out of the final gate. Effie started charging through the open gate, but in a split second found her world flipped — her route had turned the opposite direction and deposited her back in Button House. She couldn't leave. She was stuck in this purgatory forever.

     That was the moment Effie accepted her fate. She still didn't know how to navigate it, but when she couldn't be reunited with the only living person who understood and was patient with her, she knew she wasn't getting out of this anytime soon.

     After all that had unfolded in the morning, Effie now sits numbed in front of a great grandfather clock which stands in the library of Button House. As the clock hands go by — tick, tock, tick, tock — time seems to stretch on into a never-ending loop. She ponders for a moment about the other strange ghosts in this place. Among them there is the eldest, a caveman named Robin who's seen it all. Then there was a headless man named Humphrey, who seems surprisingly calm for someone who got beheaded; Mary, who for whatever reason is covered head-to-toe in soot. Lady Fanny Button, who Effie was told about only a week ago when she was still alive, is unfortunately haunting this place too — in status, personality and even era by coincidence, Fanny reminds her of her unbearable mother-in-law. And that was only a small selection of the phantoms condemned to this fate...

"Oh, my sweet love! There you are!" a voice gasps in adoration. "I had been wondering where you'd gone. Oh, how I was aching to be parted from you..."

Of course... that was the other ghost she'd almost forgotten about. Thomas Thorne, allegedly renowned poet of the regency era, had fallen head-over-heels for Effie the moment he laid eyes on her ghostly form. In fact, she had spent her whole first week of being dead dodging his pursuits of love and poetic ramblings that come out of thin air. Usually Effie would mock him or snap back at him, but she is too tired and forlorn this time.

"Oh, come off it, lover boy," she mumbles. "I'm not in the mood."

Thomas frowns, hovering by the doorway with his arms dangling at his side. "What's the matter? You seem... burdened? A great weight is on your mind, is it not?"

With a sigh, Effie nods. Thomas gently tip-toes into the room, perching himself on the edge of the lavish sofa and crossing one leg over the other. His attentiveness is completely focused on her — even though he's coming on way too strong for her liking, Effie must admit it's nice to feel listened to for once in a while. She does love attention, after all. "So, is this just... permanent?" she asks helplessly. "Am I some sort of ghost now, just drifting aimlessly around this bloody house day after day?"

"Indeed it is that way."

"But isn't there a way to get out? To somehow move on?"

"I'm afraid it's not that easy," Thomas says with surprising sincerity. "For most of us, it seems we cannot... depart. Find peace."

Effie leans back in the sofa, slouching as her face tilts up toward the ceiling. She examines the patterns, the immaculate wood details someone centuries ago had probably carved out, and begins to think about the different walks of life here. They may be a strange bunch... but if she is to endure this new life, or death, Effie supposes she'd much rather do it with them than all alone.

     Before Thomas can get too lovestruck looking at her, she gazes curiously at him and asks, "How long have you been here?"

"Well, this October will mark one-hundred-and-three years exactly since my death."

     "A whole century? Oh God..." Effie groans, sounding dismal. Then she manages a cheeky smirk as she cocks her head towards the poet. "You know, you're not looking too bad for a centenarian."

"Pardon?" Thomas asks blankly.

     "I– it's a joke, because you're– you're a hundred and you look– never mind."

     "Effie!" Kitty squeals, suddenly emerging in the doorway, looking out of breath. "Right, so I've walked one hundred laps of Button House, just like you told me to—"

     "Seriously? That was on Tuesday!" Effie retorts in awe. In all honesty, she'd just made that passing comment in the hopes it would get Kitty off her back, but at no point had she considered she would actually do it...

     "Yes, and now that means we can spend time together, which makes me feel so excited! Also slightly nauseous... but mostly excited!"

Bewildered by her enthusiasm, Effie mulls over the harrowing week she's had. If she really is stuck her for all eternity, she might as well squeeze every bit of fun out of it that she can. Who knows whether she'll have visitors anymore? Eventually, they may all forget her, and maybe that's what she deserves after all the mistakes she's made. At least here, Effie can have a fresh start. A new beginning.

     "Alright, Kitty," Effie slaps her thighs, standing up suddenly. "How do you fancy yourself some hide and seek?"

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

DATE: PRESENT DAY

     AS the sun sets another day on Button House in pink hues, Effie knows exactly where she can find Thomas Thorne. The dramatic poet is perched cosily in a window seat somewhere in the house, gazing out of the window as he searches for his artistic muse. The only difference is that today, she notices, he has been joined by a frowning Pat in the corner — whether he is aware of it or not. Either way, Thomas becomes aware when he drags out a long, dramatic sigh, and a more weary one echoes it from Pat's small corner.

     Offended, Thomas pivots in his seat with an incredulous stare. "Do you mock me, sir? This is my sighing place!"

     "Yes, and so is every other tall window in this house, so budge up," Effie remarks, finally making her presence known.

     Robin also emerges through one of the bookshelves, squeezing himself into the empty space between her and Pat. "And Thomas, Pat not feel good today. It's death day tomorrow. Family come."

     "No, fine! I wasn't trying to work or anything! Let's make an evening of it, shall we?" Thomas remarks bitterly. Swivelling on his seat, he claps his hands dramatically and hollers, "Bring wine! And figs!"

Pat stares down at his lap, fiddling with his hands nervously, before he finally confesses the burden on his mind. "I actually don't know if I want them to come anymore," he says weakly.

"Don't say that, Pat," Effie reaches across and puts her hand on his knee. "At least your family still bother to pay their respects. At least they– they remember you and they love you. Mine stopped coming years ago... long before you came along." Despite her attempt at reassurance, an uncomfortable silence falls over the four of them. This situation was always going to happen eventually — when your loved ones stop paying visits, whether it be they find better things to worry about or your legacy simply gets lost down the generations. When Carol, her children and maybe her grandchildren had eventually died, Effie feared there might not be anyone left to remember Pat... which felt wrong on so many levels.

Someone has to bite the bullet, and in the end it's Thomas. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, Patrick," he says, voice strained with sadness, "but eventually no one will come. That's just the way of it."

Robin blinks thoughtfully, before turning to face Pat as the clockwork of his thoughts grinds away. "What Thomas try to say is... you die... time pass, everything change. Family not come anymore. Is pain, but you heal. Yeah... you remember them here —" Robin gently places a hand on Pat's chest, where his heart is. "— And maybe, one day, you find new family."

     Effie, Pat and Thomas sit in silence, moved by Robin's surprisingly profound words; then his earnestness dissipates as he spots two builders chatting and waddles after them in a blur of animal-skin clothing. She wonders whether she should remark on the profundity of the caveman's speech, but Thomas beats her to it with a different comment: "Ohh, he stinks..." he grimaces, wafting his hand in the air.

     "Mmm. He does a bit," Pat adds uncomfortably.

     Despite the diversion, Effie thinks about what Robin said throughout the night, and for some reason it gnaws away at her. She tenderly brushes her fingers against her chest, her heart, and tries to think about her family: her parents, her brother Fred, her husband Philip, her son Ernest... in fact, would Ernest even have remembered her? He was so young when she died, only born a year or two before. Effie is suddenly seized with the desperate hope that Philip kept her memory alive for him.

     The next day rolls on by, and chaos soon ensues throughout Button House — least of all due to it being Pat's death day. Effie is just tracking down Alison on when her next 'jam session' (as the kids call it these days) can be, when she walks into the library and finds her discussing something with the Captain and Julian.

     "What's going on here?" asks Effie nosily.

     "These two think they've seen suspicious activity among the builders," Alison says with air quotations and an eye roll.

     "Oh, it's quite legitimate!" Julian protests, but with a strange forced casualness that seems suspicious. "Listen, we don't want to be a couple of tell-tale tits, but—"

     "Julian, er, saw..."

     "Yes, I saw one of the builders heading out of the East Wing just moments ago looking tres, tres shifty..."

     "Which one was it?" asks Alison, more concerned now.

     "The handsome one," the Captain blurts out, slightly flustered. "Erm, the... chap with the arms. Very strong. Probably."

     "What?" Julian murmurs, lifting a quizzical brow towards him. However, Effie just stares on with a coy smile, once again getting the feeling that confirms some suspicions she's had all along about him. But even as a lover of gossip, she never feels compelled to spill the beans to anyone... because even the Captain seems semi-clueless of it himself.

     Regardless of strange behaviour, Alison organises a meeting of all the builders in the downstairs living room, in order to investigate who had been acting shifting. Apparently her wedding ring had gone missing, alleged Julian, and surely enough she couldn't find where she had placed it earlier.

     "I am actually pretty gobsmacked that you think it might've been one of us," Terry sighs, sounding disappointed.

     "Please," Alison says reluctantly, "I just need you to open your bags so I can check."

     "Come on! Empty your pockets, riff-raff!" Fanny adds, which was probably uncalled for.

     The builders all oblige, opening their various bags and toolboxes, rummaging through for any sign of Alison's ring. Suddenly a glint of light in one of the toolbox catches Effie's eye — it belongs to one of the younger builders (the only handsome one!, she despairs). He seems just as alarmed as all the rest when he fishes it out, holding the ring between his fingertips.

     "Is this it?" he asks guiltily. "I'm so sorry. I didn't even know it was in there. I didn't take it, honest! It could have been knocked off the workbench."

     Almost instantaneously, the Captain and Julian hover around him with strange expectancy, as if they knew he would find it all along. Effie knows then that they must have had some involvement in it all, whether it was by planting the ring in his toolbox, or something else. Alison seems to be considering this too, sighing deeply.

     "You are so right," she nods sheepishly, taking the ring from him. "Yep. And I'm... I'm so sorry."

     "It's a bit late for that, Alison. Today's our last day," says Terry, arms folded across his chest.

     "And the plot thickens..." Effie gasps.

     While Alison starts pleading with them not to leave, the builders are already packing up their toolboxes and taking them back to the van. "Pleas don't go! I've been under a lot of stress lately, and... would it help if I told you this house is haunted, and I am being plagued by ghosts who are making my life a misery?"

     "No," Terry deadpans.

     Visibly agitated that she got tricked by a couple of ghosts, Alison leans her head against the doorway and mutters a string of curse words under her breath.

     "Did you know they were doing this?" Alison asks the flapper girl in despair.

     "Me? No, not immediately," admits Effie. "But that... I loved all that. The drama of it all!"

     "Drama? Do you know how expensive those builders were to get?"

     "Nope. And I'm not the one paying for them, so you just do what you need to do—"

     "Ooh! A carriage! Someone's coming!" Kitty shrieks, fanning herself excitably.

     In an instinctive reaction, Effie lunges forward to the window with wide eyes; the moment she recognises the car pulling up, she finds herself whirling around to gauge Pat's reaction. Hesitating slightly, she tells him softly, "... It's Carol." In years gone by, Pat would have rushed out to see her, but he initially stays paralysed and pained.

     "Come on, Pat," says Effie gently. "They might not be here for long. Let's get a look before they go, shall we?"

     Eventually, after some consideration, the scout leader stalks through the room rigid with nerves. Alison and the other ghosts follow him out of the front door, the gravel crunching only under one pair of feet as they watch on. Pat's widow, Carol, gets out of the car slowly — her silhouette appears frail and shaky, her hair grey and wiry, with wrinkled skin that's lived a long and fulfilled life. Some other family members get out too, some of whom bear a vague resemblance to Pat.

     "Okay, you win," Alison turns to Pat. "What do you want me to say to them?"

     Pat had been hellbent all of yesterday on forcing Alison to deliver a message to them from him, to let them know he was alright, but now he dismisses it with a wave. "I've had a think, Alison, and I've decided it's best you don't say anything. I don't want them to worry about me. Let them get on with their lives, and I'll get on with my... death."

It always sounds depressing when it's put like that, even if it rings true; Alison, however, seems to not take no for an answer. She is already approaching Pat's family before he can stop her — after a friendly greeting, they spend a good few minutes engaged in some conversation, all of them appearing very sincere and emotional. What are they talking about? Alison even accompanies them to walk to the tree stump where he died, which is a huge sign of welcoming her in. Even for Effie, the anticipation is killing her, so she can't bear imagining how much worse it feels for Pat right now.

When Alison finally does return, her eyes are aglow with emotion and she can barely hold back a tender smile. "So, Pat, I did talk to them, but I didn't tell them about you. I asked about them," she says proudly. Pat's eyes glisten in wonder, hanging onto every word as he is overcome with emotion. "I figured you might like to know that your son Daley is an accountant. He's very happy. Carol's busy with the bowls club and Morris is very sweet too, but unbelievably small."

Pat chuckles at this, understanding some deeper context, although he's misty-eyed and choked up now — Effie can't say she isn't either.

"Thank you," he whispers to Alison. And she can tell he has never meant those two words more.

"Oh, and they called him Pat!" she adds, a bubbly excitement seizing her all of a sudden.

A flash of surprise illuminates his face, watching as she steps aside and nods over to the family again. Effie doesn't know what they are looking for at first, her eyes darting between different members of the Butcher family — and then she spots him, as the woman cradling him turns to face them.

A baby.

"Your grandson."

     Effie's hand flies to her heart, the hairs rising on the nape of her neck. She watches as Pat runs over to his family like his life depends on it. Unbeknownst to them, he glances lovingly between them, then stares in wonder at the bundle of joy that is his grandson. And he's named after him — the most intimate, thoughtful way of remembering a wonderful man if Effie ever knew one.

     "He's got my legs!" Pat hollers triumphantly, flexing his own pair in his shorts to demonstrate.

     Through some tears threatening to surface, Effie laughs, and Pat comes zooming back to them with the eagerness of a Labrador puppy. "Guys, I've got a grandson and he's named Pat!" he grins, looking back at his family. "Oh, I'm so proud I could burst!"

     Before he can ramble further, a blinding beam of light splits through the front door, lighting up his face. Seized with fascination, he takes a few heavy steps towards the door, his silhouette cutting a Pat-shaped hole in the rays. "Guys, this is it!" he shouts. "I feel great! I think I'm moving on! I can see the light, can you see the light?"

     Pat turns to face them all, his life seeming to flash before his eyes in a reel of happiness and joy. His gaze is bursting with contentment and fulfilment; all Effie can think is, who's going to tell him?

     "You were all my family in a way," he professes, launching into a passionate speech. "And I loved you all, apart from Julian, who I didn't really trust. And Lady Button, you need to chill out, just relax, okay? And Captain, the war's over, man, it's over... and—"

     Abruptly, the light switches off, showing itself to be a giant beam from a light two builders are wielding. Pat steps to the side as they carry it out, slicing through the emotional atmosphere of what he mistook for moving on like a knife through hot butter.

     "Ah..." Pat murmurs, rocking back and forth on his heels. "This is awkward."

     With the mood arguably killed by the builders, as ever, the other ghosts start filing back into the house; business as usual. But Effie isn't quite done yet. Still feeling an emotional hangover as she watches Carol duck her head into the car, she reaches out and places a hand on Pat's shoulder.

     "Pat?"

     "Effie?" He turns around, gazing at her expectantly.

     With a deep breath, she composes herself and finding the right words. "You know what we said to you yesterday? About your family? I want you to know that we were wrong. I was wrong. The Butchers, they... they seem like a very special bunch. And they won't be forgetting about you anytime soon."

     Pat blinks at her, his watery eyes magnified by his spectacles. "Cheers, Effie, that... that was really nice of you to say."

     "Sure," she shrugs, unsure of where to go from here.

     As Pat walks inside, happy on the note he has left things, it is Effie who lingers behind and watches the car rumble down the path. And she wonders if maybe, just maybe, there is anyone left in her family who thinks of her — anyone who would even consider naming their daughter Effie.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

( date: 26th august, 2022 )

oh gosh, this chapter was an emotional rollercoaster to write 😭 this episode was the first one where i realised just how emotional this show would get, as well as funny of course. and then on top of that, we got our first proper pieces of effie's backstory! a lot of characters from her past were mentioned, and they will crop up again, but this is just my way of introducing them.

in the next chapter, it's not based on any bbc ghosts episodes — completely made-up scenes by me — which i'm excited for but also rather nervous. also, you guys are going to be meeting a NEW GHOST in the next chapter! not saying who yet but i'm very eager for you to meet him 🥰

did you have a favourite scene/moment from this chapter? and any first thoughts about effie's backstory so far?

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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.]

( some jim howick content to
celebrate a pat-centric chapter!
credit to the creator on youtube )

have a good day/evening,
— IMOGEN ♡