Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) by Simon R. Green Page A

bring in new advertisers, and turn the station into a cash cow. None of which is going to happen anytime soon. Advertisers have been running for the hills like rats from a sinking ship. Pardon my metaphors. The new owners don’t know about our . . . current problems. Or why the old owners were so keen to sell.”
    “Why were the new owners so keen to buy?” said JC.
    “I may have . . . slightly exaggerated the financial possibilities,” said Jonathan, smiling slightly. “They’re not local, so they don’t know about . . . I was desperate to find someone, to keep the station going! I liked the old owners. They ran us as a tax loss and left us alone.” He looked almost pleadingly at each of the Ghost Finders in turn. “You have to find an answer to this . . . mess. Before the new owners find out!”
    “Who are these new owners?” said Happy. “Anyone we might have heard of?”
    Jonathan winced and looked away. He couldn’t have seemed any more embarrassed if his trousers had suddenly dropped down around his ankles. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. “Seriously Substitute Sausages.”
    “What?” said Melody.
    “Seriously Substitute Sausages!” Jonathan said loudly. “All right? They’re made of soya! And, other things. They’re very big in their field. So I’m told.”
    “Taste good, do they?” JC said innocently.
    “Like chewing on a towel,” said Jonathan. “And the new owners can’t be doing that well, or they wouldn’t need us as a cash cow.”
    “Excuse me for pointing out the obvious,” said Happy. “But why isn’t there a receptionist, behind the reception desk?”
    “She’s on a break,” said Jonathan. “She takes a lot of breaks. Sally Walsh; only temporary. Because we can’t get anyone to stay. Not since . . . You know, we used to broadcast right around the clock, twenty-four hours a day. Our coverage was exemplary. Advertisers were fighting each other for space. Now it’s all we can do to manage eight hours. Most of the announcers and technical staff are gone. We’re struggling to keep the station going with a skeleton staff.”
    “How many, exactly?” said JC.
    Jonathan met JC’s gaze almost defiantly. “There are four of us left, now. The ones with nowhere else to go.”
    “All right,” said JC. “Let’s get down to what matters. What is the problem here?”
    Jonathan looked around the reception area, as though afraid someone else might be listening. He hesitated, searching for the right words.
    “Officially,” he said finally, “as far as the staff are concerned, you’re here as guests. To be interviewed on air, as experts in the supernatural. You have my authority to ask the others anything you like, but
please
. . . tread carefully. We’re all a bit . . . on edge after everything that’s happened. We’ve all been through a lot. So please don’t do anything to upset anyone. I can’t afford to lose more people.”
    JC stepped forward and thrust his face right into Hardy’s. “Enough!
What is the problem?
”
    Jonathan took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and braced himself. All at once he looked older. Tired, and beaten down by circumstances beyond his control. But at the same time, he looked almost relieved. As though he could finally put down a weight he’d been carrying for far too long. He looked carefully at each Ghost Finder in turn, willing them to understand.
    “Over the last few months, we’ve been having problems with . . . voices. Voices from outside, from nowhere. At first it was the odd sound, breaking into our transmissions. We didn’t know what it was. The sounds became words, and the words began to form sentences. To begin with, they only appeared during unanticipated moments of radio silence. When for one reason or another, there was no music, no chat, what’s known in the business as dead air. Then these . . . voices started to appear more often. Harsh, raw; shouting and screaming. Desperate to be heard. Some sounded