by Andrew May

31 October, 6.50 pm. Holywell Cemetery.

Holywell Cemetery is a picturesque oasis in the middle of the bustling town of Oxford. Now something of a wildlife refuge, its crumbling gravestones and ancient yew trees are overgrown with moss, ivy and brambles. Its main claim to fame is as the final resting place of Kenneth Tynan (1927 - 1980), who was the first (but far from last) person to say "%^&*@#" on British network television.

On this particular occasion I was using the cemetery as a convenient shortcut on my way home from the library, where I had spent the day researching for my Ph.D. on post-Gothic literature (specialist subject: the works of H.P. Lovecraft). The evening was dark and chilly, and the pallid, gibbous moon appeared only intermittently through the looming cloud cover. The silence of the graveyard was broken by the occasional hoot of an owl.

I shivered. There was something about the graveyard atmosphere that drew my thoughts inexorably back to the works of Lovecraft. My mind teemed with vague imaginings and nebulous horrors.

Gradually the weird feeling came over me that I was not alone. It wasn't that I saw a specific movement or heard a specific sound, but I just had an overwhelming impression that there was... something... out there. In the darkness and silence of the ancient burying ground, my mind was suddenly gripped by hideous possibilities. Every weed-choked tomb and decaying monument seemed to my over-stimulated imagination to conceal amorphous, unnameable horrors from the nethermost regions of Hell.

There was a rustle in the undergrowth. I stopped, frozen in my tracks, and peered into the gloom. I could see nothing. The sound, whatever it was, had stopped. The silence of the centuries reigned once more over the graveyard. I decided it must have been some sort of animal... the cemetery was known to harbour foxes, badgers and even small deer.

Ahead of me was a grand Victorian cenotaph, overgrown with creeping weeds. I heard the sound again, more distinctly this time. There was no doubt about it -- there was definitely something there. Maybe it was an animal, but then again maybe it was some nameless Lovecraftian horror, a thing of unutterable hideousness from beyond the realms of mortal science! I shivered, as my mind sank deeper into a world of eldritch, brooding horror.

Suddenly a figure tottered out from behind the cenotaph. It loomed on the path in front of me, swaying uncertainly. In the gloom of the cemetery, its vague outline was half human and half monstrous. I stood petrified in abject terror.

The thing wore tattered, blood-stained clothing, and had a ghastly, emaciated face with the slack jaw and gaping eyes of a mindless idiot. It stank of decomposition and decay. With a surge of horror I realised that it was a zombie! A member of that hideous legion of the living dead which rises from its grave to stalk its unsuspecting prey on this, the unholiest night of the year!

The zombie took two slow, shambling steps in my direction. I looked around wildly for a hawthorn stake or something. But it was too late! The creature was already stretching out its arms towards me...

"You... uh -- I mean, I.... urghh!" With a guttural moan the zombie lurched sideways, tripped over its own feet, and fell in a twisted heap between two gravestones.

As I stared in horror at the fallen thing, I became aware of the sound of frantic running footsteps. I looked up to see two rather camp young vampires arrive on the scene.

"Oh, there you are, James!" one of the vampires said, addressing the inert zombie. "Come on chum, it's time to go home."

The other vampire looked at me sheepishly. "James never could hold his drink," he explained.

I watched as the two vampires lifted the semi-conscious James to his feet, and then stagger off with the ex-zombie's arms draped around their shoulders.

"Well, I'll be %^&*@#ed," I said. "Mental note to self: never take a shortcut through a cemetery on Halloween."

**********

31 October, 7.15 pm. Holywell Street.

I was about to go straight up the stairs to my top floor flat, but then I suddenly remembered something. I knocked on the downstairs door, and entered to find the incumbent in a typical Sherlockian pose: sitting in his dressing gown in a high-backed chair, scrutinising the evening newspaper. This was Professor Pierce Stormson, world-renowned polymath and head of the Secret Oxford League of Volunteer Extracurricular Detectives.

"Hi Prof. Does the phrase 'Ghost in the Machine' mean anything to you?"

Stormson looked up from his paper. " Ghost in the Machine? That was the philosopher Gilbert Ryle's derogatory way of describing Descartes' theory of mind-body duality."

"I thought it was an album by the Police," I said.

"So it is," Stormson nodded. "And it's the title of a book by Arthur Koestler."

"It was also an episode of the 'Inspector Morse' TV series," I added.

"Inspector Morse!" Stormson snorted. "A ridiculous conception -- what credibility can anyone accord to a detective series set in Oxford? As if we ever get any unsolved mysteries in this town! Anyway, it's nothing but an anagram, you know."

"What's that? 'Inspector Morse' is an anagram? What of?"

By way of reply, Pierce Stormson just looked at me without saying anything.

I shrugged and took out my notebook. "Anyhow, getting back to the Ghost in the Machine. The reason I asked was because of a cryptic e-mail with that phrase as its subject line. The e-mail just contains an address in North Oxford together with a date and a time. Tonight, at 10 pm."

"It sounds simple enough to me, Melvin," Stormson said. "You've been invited to a Halloween party."

"Not me," I corrected. "The e-mail was addressed to Sanyo Fujitsu, the grad student from Electronic Engineering. You remember, she helped me with the Case of the Shakespearean Super-Chimp a few months ago. She forwarded the Ghost message to me because it puzzled her. But you're right: it may just be a party invite. There's an easy way to find out."

I took out my mobile phone and called Swamp Rat, SOLVED's very own one-stop urban information service.

Swamp Rat's reply was short and to the point. "Ghost in the Machine, you say? Search me, squire... it's not one of my gigs."

I rang off and turned back to Stormson. "Swamp Rat hasn't heard of it. So it's not a party -- not one in this hemisphere, anyhow."

"Hmm. The mystery deepens. Who sent the e-mail?"

I consulted my notebook. "It says ghost666@ox.ac.uk. Obviously some kind of alias. No clues there."

Stormson rubbed his hands. "Ah, but we have resources at our disposal, Melvin! Try our esteemed colleague Miss Bateman. If the answer lies inside a computer, she will be able to trace it."

I called Miss Bateman and told her what we needed.

"Okay, son, I'm onto it," she grunted in her inimitable fashion. "Give me a few minutes and I'll get back to you."

In what seemed an impossibly short time, the phone chimed and a text message appeared: just a single name. Miss Bateman is nothing if not terse.

"Maxwell Quain," I read out. "Does the name mean anything to you?"

Stormson's eyes widened. "Maxwell Quain, of course! I should have guessed... Maxwell Quain, the mad scientist."

"Mad Scientist?" I raised my eyebrows. "It's not like you to use sensationalist language, Prof."

"There's nothing sensationalist about it. Professor Quain is a scientist, and he is mad. Ergo, he is a Mad Scientist. Quain was once the most eminent nuclear physicist in Oxford. Then at the height of his career he developed an unfortunate, um, mental condition. He went out of his mind, to put it bluntly. He now lives a reclusive existence in a large gothic house in North Oxford. I believe he has become obsessed with matters of alchemy and the occult, and in particular the work of the 16th century sorcerer Edward Kelley."

I recognised the name. "Edward Kelley! I've come across manuscripts by him in the basement of the Bodleian library. They're kept in the same heavily guarded room as the Necronomicon and the Voynich manuscript. Kelley's books are all written in a strange language called Enochian. They're supposed to be messages from beyond the grave that he picked up using a crystal ball."

Stormson nodded. "That's the fellow. It's all nonsense, of course. The Enochian language was a fraud, just like Kelley's claim to have discovered the secret of transmuting base metals into gold. The man was an out-and-out charlatan."

I was intrigued in spite of Stormson's scepticism. A mad scientist in a gothic mansion at Halloween! "There may be more to this than meets the eye," I observed. "Perhaps I should look into it: the Case of the Ghost in the Machine."

Stormson rolled his eyes. "Oh, very well Melvin. I won't spoil your fun. But ghosts -- the paranormal -- that's more in Crystal's line, I would have thought."

"Crystal, of course!" I slapped my forehead. "Why didn't I think of that? This is right up her street! She can be my assistant on the case. I'll call her up right away." Crystal Fanshawe wasOxford University's Professor of parapsychology -- a large, flamboyant woman much given to flowing robes and New Age jewellery.

Once again I brought out my phone. "Hello, Crystal? This is Melvin Root. I've got a new case for you..."

"A Case!" Crystal's voice boomed out over the phone. "How simply delightful! Just name it -- what can I do for you?"

"Well, can you spare a couple of hours this evening?"

Crystal sighed with genuine regret. "Oh, Melvin, I'm sorry but I can't! I'm Mistress of Ceremonies at the big pagan event tonight -- the festival of Samhain. It's the most important date in our religious calendar, you know. We'll be doing sky-clad circle dancing followed by the ritualistic coupling of Hieros Gamos."

I gulped. "S-sky-c-clad dancing? Rituisticalistic c-coupling?" My mind was flooded with visions of naked, writhing bodies presided over by the massive-mammaried Crystal. "Um... c-can I come along?"

"Why of course!" Crystal's voice boomed. " You'll be more than welcome, Melvin Root. Just turn up at 10 o'clock tonight. I'll look forward to seeing you."

She gave me an address, which I scribbled down with a breathless assurance that I would be there at ten. I rang off, then turned back to the Professor with a big grin on my face. "Sorted!" I told him.

"My word, Melvin! You mean to say you've solved the Case of the Ghost in the Machine already?"

I looked at him blankly for a second. "What? Oh that old thing... no, I lost interest in that ages ago. Guess what? I've just been invited to one of Crystal Fanshawe's naked pagan orgies!"

Stormson rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Crystal... naked...! Good God, Melvin -- you're a braver man than I am!"

**********

31 October, 9.50 pm. Summertown, North Oxford.

There was a crash of thunder as I descended from the bus into the pouring rain. I hunched for a moment in the struggling illumination of a street lamp and consulted my rain-spattered notebook. There it was... the address Crystal had given me. It was somewhere around here. I made my way into the maze of side streets that backed onto the river Cherwell. Large detached houses loomed in the shadows. At one time this had been a thriving, affluent neighbourhood, but now it seemed like a timewarp to Victorian days.

The dark streets were deserted, which wasn't surprising given the atrocious weather. The trick-or-treaters had long since made their way home with their ill-gotten spoils. Yet I knew that behind the façade of one of these old houses there was going to be a wild pagan orgy, and -- wonder of wonders -- I had a personal invitation to it!

Suddenly I caught sight of another figure hurrying along in the rain. A diminutive figure, clad in blue overalls and baseball cap, carrying a metal toolbox. Even at thirty metres the figure was unmistakable: it was none other than my SOLVED colleague, Sanyo Fujitsu. So Sanyo was heading for the orgy as well!

I lost sight of Sanyo as she turned off the street ahead of me. I hurriedly followed in her footsteps and found myself in the rain-soaked driveway of a big old gothic mansion. There was no sign of Sanyo or anyone else. A light was showing in one of the windows of the mansion, but only one.

I went up to the door and pressed the ancient-looking bell. From inside came the sound of slow, heavy footsteps approaching. Then the massive oak door creaked open on its rusty iron hinges. In the doorway stood a large, heavily built individual dressed in archaic butler's livery. The figure glowered down at me with a face like a Neanderthal.

"Have I come to the right place for the sex orgy?" I enquired hopefully.

The person (or thing) shook his (or its) head.

I winked knowingly. "I mean the sacred Samhain festival, of course," I amended.

Another shake of the head.

I was puzzled and a little frustrated. "But I saw my friend Sanyo come here, just a moment ago."

"Ain't no-one here," the servant grunted. "The Master is alone... just him and me in the house. Ain't got no visitors."

Just at that moment, from inside the house, there came a piercing shriek... a distinctly female shriek. The servant gave me a final glare and slammed the door in my face.

I was furious -- I was missing all the fun! The orgy was obviously in full swing, and this stupid, muscle-headed, caveman of a bouncer hadn't been told I was invited!

The situation called for a little initiative. There had to be another way into the house.

I went around the back. It was in almost total darkness, broken by the occasional stark flash of lightning. The garden was overgrown and dismal-looking, with crumbling stone statues and gnarled, misshapen trees. There was a crash of thunder, and somewhere in the distance a dog howled.

I turned my attention to the house itself. It was a vast gothic pile, with grotesque towers and arched stone windows. I tried the back door... it was locked. I walked slowly round the house, but all the windows on the ground floor were firmly shut. And the same was true upstairs.... or was it? No! As the lightning flashed again I saw clearly that there was an open window on the upper floor!

Protruding from the back of the house, like an obscene black pustule, was a large Victorian boiler. An intricate, baroque network of rusting iron pipework emerged from it in all directions -- obviously the result of some clumsy attempt to retrofit the mansion with a central heating system.

The sound of another female scream reminded me that I needed to find my way inside the house ASAP. Otherwise the orgiastic proceedings would be over before I even arrived!

I scrambled up on top of the boiler, which was slippery with moss, algae and rain. Then taking my life in my hands, I shinned precariously up a rusting pipe to the open window.

Just as I was pulling myself inside, I caught sight of a stealthy movement below. I peered down into the gloom to see what it was. I could just make out a hunched figure, dressed in shabby old clothing and peering intently through one of the ground floor windows. Obviously some kind of tramp, indulging in a bit of covert voyeurism. Dirty old man!

I clambered into the house and found myself in a musty-smelling room of moderate size. It was difficult to make things out in the dim light that filtered in from outside, but it appeared to be a study or library of some kind. It had a high vaulted ceiling, and there were tall bookshelves lining three of the four walls. In the centre of the room there was a big wooden desk.

There was an antique-looking electric lamp on the desk. I pressed the switch, and the lamp came on, illuminating the desktop with a weak yellow light. A few books were scattered there, with titles like "Practical Necromancy", "Spiritualism Unveiled" and "The Secrets of Alchemy".

There was also a hand-written manuscript, which I picked up to examine more closely. The crabbed handwriting was difficult to read, but eventually I deciphered the title page: "Notes on the language of Enoch, by Maxwell Quain".

Maxwell Quain! That name again! So this was Quain's house. It suddenly dawned on me that I must have got the addresses mixed up. This wasn't the house of the pagan ritual after all, it was the house referred to in the e-mail about the Ghost in the Machine! That explained why Sanyo was here -- she'd come in response to that e-mail!

**********

31 October, 10.30 pm. Maxwell Quain's mansion.

Just as I realised my error, another of Sanyo's screams rang out through the house. It finally dawned on me that it wasn't a shriek of pleasure -- she was in trouble and she needed help! The scream appeared to come from downstairs somewhere.

I opened the door of the study and found myself peering into a long, cobweb-festooned corridor. I took a step forward, and a floorboard creaked loudly. I tensed inwardly -- I had to be as quiet as a mouse! The last thing I wanted was to be caught by the grotesque Igor (which was the name I had mentally assigned to the Neanderthal butler).

I crept as silently as I could along the corridor. The place reeked of desolation and neglect, with peeling wallpaper and flaking plaster everywhere I looked.

Turning a corner I found myself at the head a marble staircase. At one time it must have been a thing of magnificence, but now it was cracked and dilapidated, with dust and cobwebs covering the handrail and balusters.

I reached the ground floor, but the sound of another scream made it clear that my destination lay farther down still. I had to get to the basement! I hunted around vainly for a downward continuation of the staircase. Blundering around in the dark, I knocked against a small statuette of some Greek goddess. With a groaning of hinges, a section of oak panelling swung open in the wall in front of me. Behind it was a narrow stone staircase spiralling into the unlit depths below.

Shuddering at the thought of going down into that unknown darkness, I summoned all my courage and began to feel my way carefully down the rough-hewn steps. As I descended, the atmosphere became increasingly oppressive and cloying.

As I got closer to the bottom I became aware of a dim light filtering up from below. Finally I found myself standing in a small antechamber, with a partly open door leading into a larger room. It was from that larger room that the light was emanating -- a bright, harsh light.

I peered around the door, careful to stay in the shadows of the antechamber. The main room appeared to be a workshop or laboratory of some kind.

In the laboratory, a man that I presumed to be Maxwell Quain was in the process of removing a blindfold from Sanyo. Quain was a cadaverous and evil-looking individual, with a smooth, high-domed skull and a rictus-like smirk.

"So, my dear -- you have your first sight of the Machine!" Quain dissolved into a peal of maniacal laughter.

In my fascination with Quain, I hadn't noticed the Machine -- but I looked at it now. It dominated the centre of the laboratory. In appearance it was not unlike an old-fashioned jukebox, with a large speaker, flashing lights and a variety of knobs and levers. On the top of the Machine was a kind of metal satellite dish, pointing straight upwards.

Quain was still addressing Sanyo. "I gave you full instructions as I was bringing you down here. You know what it is I want you to do. So now, my dear, please proceed with the work."

Sanyo knelt down in front of the Machine, opened her toolbox and set to work. "No problem... I wish all jobs were this easy. I still don't see why you needed to scare the living daylights out of me, though."

Quain grinned his fixed grin. "Oh come, my dear -- what's the point of having a Secret Laboratory if one doesn't keep it secret? You may have a reputation as the best Electronic Engineer in Oxford, but I have my own reputation as a Mad Scientist to consider." There was another peal of crazed laughter.

Sanyo worked for a few minutes in silence, then looked up at Quain. "I've never seen a sub-etheric quantum resonator quite like this one before. What are you going to use it for?"

"With your help, my dear, I will use the Machine to capture the spirit of Edward Kelley. He haunts this mansion, you see... that's why I purchased it. My colleagues used to laugh at me, but they won't laugh when I've persuaded Kelley's ghost to give me the secret of alchemical transmutation."

Quain opened a wooden box and took out a glass globe, about ten inches in diameter. "This is Thomas Kelley's original crystal ball, with which he summoned spirits of the dead in the days of Elizabeth the First. I finally got my hands on it, after tracking it down through half the bazaars of Asia. It cost a king's ransom, but it will be worth it."

Quain placed the crystal ball in the metal dish on top of the Machine.

A moment later Sanyo stood up. "There.. it's all done, just like you wanted it. I've set the frequency to 144.6 MHz. I guess I'll be on my way now."

Quain shook his head. "Not so fast, my dear. I haven't finished with you yet. There is a ritual that must be observed. It's a terrible bore, I know, but I do need to offer up a human sacrifice. It's the way these things are done, you understand."

Sanyo looked horrified. "You'll never get away with it! There's someone else who knows where I am. I told Melvin Root, at the Secret Oxford League of Volunteer Extracurricular Detectives. He'll know what to do."

Quain's devilish laughter rang out again. "I assure you I've taken precautions against such eventualities, my dear. I've installed several highly sophisticated security devices. Your friend may be able to find his way into this mansion, but he will never get out again!"

Sanyo smiled knowingly. "Oh, Melvin's cleverer than that. He knows better than to walk straight into a trap."

On hearing this, I decided it would be a good idea to double-check my escape route. I took a step back, and immediately the anteroom was flooded with powerful arclights, the musty air was pierced by the wail of a siren, and there was the clang of metal as a heavy door swung shut somewhere behind me. I made a desperate dash for the stairs, and ran straight into the unyielding midriff of Igor the butler.

**********

31 October, 11.45 pm. Quain's basement.

Within a few minutes I was bound hand and foot, gagged, and placed ignominiously on a bare wooden chair in the basement laboratory. To my left Sanyo, also bound and gagged, sat on a similar chair. She kept giving me black looks, which struck me as uncharitable seeing as the only reason I was there was because I'd tried to rescue her.

We were well and truly trapped. Igor was standing guard outside the door, while Maxwell Quain went about his Mad Scientist business in the laboratory. The jukebox-like Machine, which Sanyo had unwittingly helped to get into working order, stood in the centre of the room.

Quain, now dressed in a priest-like white robe, was obviously engaged in the preparations for some sort of occult ritual. He scattered incense around, and mumbled strange words in what I guessed might be the Enochian language. Then he took a piece of chalk and knelt down to draw a large pentagram on the floor, with the Machine at its centre.

The main vertex of the pentagram pointed directly towards Sanyo's chair. At that vertex Quain placed an antique, jewel-encrusted dagger. The sacrificial dagger, presumably.

The preliminaries over, Quain took up a solemn stance facing the Machine and chanted some unintelligible syllables. He reached forward and depressed one of the levers on the front of the Machine. Then he turned to face Sanyo.

Picking up the dagger, Quain chanted some more syllables (I really ought to learn Enochian, I decided). Then he raised the dagger with both hands and took a step towards Sanyo.

Suddenly the Machine crackled into life. There was a dull moaning sound, that might have been the combined lament of all the lost souls in Hell. Then followed a thunderous crash, and a hair-raising howl like a dying werewolf (or possibly acoustic feedback). This dissolved into a rapid chattering sound in which, occasionally, meaningful words could be discerned.

Quain dropped the dagger to the floor and stared at the Machine in amazement.

"This is the unhappy spirit of Edward Kelley," the voice from the Machine announced. "Who is it who has disturbed my rest? What is it that you want? My soul is trapped in this infernal contraption -- tell me your bidding and I will do it. But then you must release me, to return to the Place from whence you summoned me."

Quain collected himself enough to speak. "What I want can be stated very simply. I wish to know the secret of transmuting base metals into gold."

"Oh, that." The Ghost in the Machine made a sound like a yawn. "The key to the secret is simple. It is Red Mercury, in finely powdered form. One part Red Mercury to three parts Base Metal. Heat at 900 degrees Kelvin for six hours and the result will be Gold..."

Quain grabbed a paper and pencil and started scribbling frantic notes.

The Ghost went on. "But you can't use just any old Red Mercury for this. It must be purest Red Mercury from the Lost Mine of Kazakhstan, washed clean in the waters of the mighty Amazon and freeze-dried in the highest peaks of the Himalayas. And after that..."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sanyo jump up from her chair. She must have got hold of the dagger somehow, and used it to cut the ropes binding her. She grabbed the crystal ball from the top of the Machine and bashed Quain over the head with it. He fell to the ground and lay there, out cold.

A moment later, the door flew open. I stared towards it in horror, expecting to see the fearsome form of Igor the butler. But it wasn't him! It seemed incredible, but it was the tramp I'd seen earlier peering in at one of the windows!

The tramp looked down at himself, muttered a word or two and brushed some dust off. Then he beamed at Sanyo. "My congratulations, Miss Fujitsu! I trust you haven't done the old boy any lasting damage. And as for that brute outside, I believe I've dealt satisfactorily with him myself."

With a start of recognition, I realised the "tramp" was none other than Pierce Stormson, in one of the clever disguises he adopts when working on some cases.

Sanyo removed her gag. "Hi, Prof! That was a really neat trick you did there." She pointed at the Machine.

"Ah, but I could have done nothing without your help, Miss Fujitsu. I listened in on the whole thing -- sound travels admirably well through those old heating pipes. But if you hadn't mentioned the exact frequency..." Stormson pulled a walkie-talkie from his capacious pocket. "I had to make a few adjustments in order to get all the effects I wanted, but even with the consequent delay I'm gratified to see I was still in time. Now, I suggest we get out of here before the bad guys regain their senses. With any luck, Quain will stay out of our hair for a few years following up those instructions I gave him."

Sanyo and the Professor turned towards the door.

"Mmf-mmf!" I said, through the gag.

Stormson looked back at me with mock astonishment. "Melvin! What a surprise meeting you here! I was under the impression you were otherwise engaged -- a Samhain festival or something of the sort." He came over to me, untied me and removed the gag. "Of course, if I'd known you were on the case I would never have dreamt of blundering in myself."

I rubbed my wrists back into life. "Let's just say it was a team effort," I mumbled. I was prepared to be magnanimous, under the circumstances. "The Case of the Ghost in the Machine: SOLVED!"

THE END

Copyright © 2009 Andrew May