A Christmas ghost story

Dec 19 2008 by Lorne Jackson

‘‘OKAAAAAY! It’s one minute to midnight, and all you nightbirds out there on the highways and byways are tuned into Hot-Flame FM. Demonic drones dirting-up your radio dial.

‘‘All... Through... The... Night!!!

‘‘DJ Dev’s got some smokin’ sounds for ya. Later on, I got The Rolling Stones, I got Meat Loaf, I got Chris Rea. Those dudes are gonna drizzle ya with sizzle. But first up, I got a sweet li’l boy stumbling upon a sassy li’l chick. It’s Cliff Richard, nightbirds, tellin’ you, me, plus anyone who want’s ta know, ‘bout his Devil Woman...’’

Alex turned down the volume until it was only a minor irritation; this was no time for getting lost in bad radio.

He was lost enough, already, in a muddle of meandering motorway.

Spaghetti Junction: his home city’s sole contribution to the civilized world.

Paris had its Eiffel Tower and a sketch of a huffy bird in some fancy gallery.

Birmingham had three million miles of tarmac yanked and knotted into a giant Scalextric track.

And he was slap-bang in the belly of the beast, with no end to it.

The windscreen-wipers were a windscreen wipe-out, smearing a dirty protest over glass, until it was almost impossible to see where in hell he was.

Through the side-window he just about made out towering factory chimneys, belching black and scarlet smoke.

There was a shuddering thump-thump-thump coming from that direction, too, while shadowy vehicles – turned into Matchbox models by the distance – shuffled through chunky factory gates.

“Recession’s not as bad as everyone claims”, thought Alex, “plenty heavy industry round here.”

In a prim female voice, his Sat Nav informed him to “Turn right at the next lane, turn right at the next lane, turn right...”

That couldn’t be correct, could it? Surely that would loop him towards the inner city, and he was heading home.

Wasn’t he?

He felt strange. Dreamy. Must be the time of night. Even the city looked exotic and unfamiliar in the pitch black.

“Stupid gizmo!” he grunted, rapping the Sat Nav in frustration,