Page 112 of Unalive On Air

I rub my thumb over his lips and leave it there so he can’t accidentally spoil this moment and fulfil every late‑night fantasy and every birthday candle or dandelion wish I’ve had since I was a kid.

“After the podcast, if you have some words for me, then I have some words for you too,” I say.

Trystan nods. “Deal. But just in case yours is solving multiple homicides at once . . .” He kisses me again, deeply, and I almost forget I have a programme to record in thirty seconds.

“Gary . . .” Pixie’s voice eventually carries over to me. “Gary? It’s eight. Are you ready?”

I pull apart from Trystan. Good lord, that’s a beautiful man. “Ready,” I say.

twenty-seven

The End is Nigh

“Hello ghouls, gentleghosts, and people who have yet to cross the River Styx. Welcome to the latest, and possibly last, episode of Unalive on Air. I’m Gary Runcorn, and I have an incredible lineup of topics for you today. Full disclosure, this may run longer than a couple of hours.

“So, if you possess the ability to ingest food and drink, use this time to make yourself a cup of tea, fix yourself a sandwich or a bowl of popcorn, and get comfy. That is, if you know how to sit yet. I’m still figuring it out.

“Many of you are familiar with the story of Imogen Savona so far, and if you’ve been watching the news, you’ll be aware someone’s been arrested for her murder. That someone is Kelsey Cobbledick, and today, I’m here to prove he didn’t do it. Not only that, but I want to explain who the actual killer is.

“If you’ve been paying attention to the local headlines, you will’ve heard something else, something impossible, but true. Jean’s murderer also happens to be my murderer.

“It sounds so far beyond anything even the wildest imagination could conjure, but hear me out. I, Gary Runcorn, was killed almost a month ago when someone shot a ghost‑repellent gun at the cable of an antique chandelier, sending it falling onto my sleeping and very much alive body. One of the pointy downward bits of the chandelier, and yeah, I probably should have looked up the technical name for it, pierced my carotid artery, causing me to bleed out within a few minutes. The responding police officer, Sergeant Dave Davies, dismissed it as suicide so he wouldn’t have too much paperwork to file and he could get to his snooker game on time.

“How do you know this, Gary? I hear you say. Well, I know exactly what happened because my spirit was still in the room watching him make all these terrible decisions.

“Okay, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I am a ghost, and yet I’m presenting this podcast from the afterlife. You can choose to believe me or not. You can choose to imagine I somehow recorded these episodes before I died. Maybe I had a time machine, and that’s how I have all this information. Maybe I was clairvoyant. Or you can choose to believe someone with my exact voice and speech patterns is pretending to be me. Though I don’t know what the purpose would be in doing that. There’s no cash to be made in a small‑time podcast like this one, and since I’m dead and I have nothing to spend money on, it’s rather a moot point anyway. You might think I’m some sort of AI deep fake.

“Let me tell you, if you’re clinging to any of those scenarios, then I have bad news for you. You won’t enjoy today’s episode, or the outcome.

“Ultimately, the reason we all listen to true crime podcasts, or watch dramatized murder mysteries, is because we all crave the same thing: closure and justice. I’m not sure either of those things will be served this week, but that’s not for lack of want or trying.

“But I do have quite a lot to get through tonight, so let’s hop to it. I have not only Jean Johnson’s and my murder to solve, but also the murders of a few people who I’ve recently grown to call my friends, and yup, they’re all ghosts too. They’re actually all here with me as well. Say hi, everyone.”

“Really?” Pixie says. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” Stove and Trystan say.

“Hello, darlings,” Jeanie says.

“Bonjour,” Camille says.

Only Peter remains silent.

It doesn’t matter too much anyway. I’m not sure how well Stove’s microphone can pick up their voices from their assorted trophy room locations.

“But they’re not the only special guests we have today,” I say, continuing the podcast. “By a stroke of luck, we also happen to be graced by none other than the person responsible for these various crimes. My murder, Jean Johnson’s murder, and as it goes, everyone else’s.”

The rest of the ghosts gasp. I turn away from my mic and look over at the door. One second later, it opens inwards.

“Evening all!” booms the Grim Reaper.

Well, not quite the Grim Reaper. It’s just Magnus in a Grim Reaper costume complete with scythe, but at least he’s wearing clothes today.

“Thought I’d dress the part,” he says.

I lean back over to the microphone. “For the benefit of those listening on their phones or radios, a man has entered the recording studio. He is not, in fact, the killer, but he is here to make sure the real killer can’t leave the room unexpectedly.”

Everyone looks at me, then looks around at their fellow ghosts.