‘Oh? Well, forcing him out is going to be a bit tricky. I thought his home ground might make him emerge spontaneously but it seems not. Hang on, let me have a go.’

Spike leaned against the remains of a pew and grunted and strained for a few minutes, making some of the oddest faces as he tried to expel the spirit of the Evil One. It looked as if he were trying to shit a bowling ball out of his left nostril. After a few minutes of exertions he stopped.

‘Bastard. It’s like trying to snatch a trout from a mountain stream with a boxing glove. Never mind. I have a plan B which shouldn’t fail.’

‘The metaphorical fox-terrier?’

‘Exactly so. Thursday, draw your weapon.’

‘Now what?’

‘Shoot me.’

‘Where?’

‘In the chest, head, anywhere fatal. Where did you think? In my foot?’

‘You’re joking!’

‘Never been more serious.’

‘Then what?’

‘Good point. I should have explained that first.’

He opened the holdall to reveal a vacuum cleaner.

‘Battery powered,’ explained Spike. ‘As soon as his spirit makes an appearance, suck him up.’

‘As simple as that?’

‘As simple as that. SEB containment isn’t rocket science, Thursday—it’s just not for the squeamish. Now, kill me.’

‘Spike!’

‘What?’

‘I can’t do it!’

‘But you promised—and what’s more you really promised.’

‘If I’d known that meant kill another SpecOps officer,’ I replied in an exasperated tone, ‘I wouldn’t have gone along with it!’

‘SpecOps 17 work ain’t no bed of roses, Thursday. I’ve had enough, and believe me, having this little nurk coiled up in my head is not as easy as it looks. I should never have let him in in the first place, but what’s done is done. You have to kill me and kill me well.’

‘You’re crazy!’

‘Undoubtedly. But look around you. You followed me in here. Who’s crazier? The crazy or the crazy who follows him?’

‘Listen—’ I began. ‘What’s that?’

There was a thump on the church door.

‘Blast!’ replied Spike. ‘The undead. Not necessarily fatal and severely handicapped by that slow swagger—but they can be troublesome if you get cornered. After you have killed me and captured Chuckles up here you may have to shoot your way out. Take my keys; these two here are for the inner and outer gates. They’re a bit stiff and you have to turn to the left—’

‘I get the picture.’

Another thump echoed the first. There was a crash from the vestry and a shape moved past one of the lower windows.

‘They are gathering!’ said Spike ominously. ‘You’d better get a move on.’

‘I can’t!’

‘You can, Thursday. I forgive you. It’s been a good career. Did you know that out of the three hundred and twenty-nine SpecOps 17 operatives who have ever been, only two ever made it to retirement age?’

‘Do they tell you that when you join?’

There was the sound of stone against stone as one of the headstones on the floor started to be pushed aside. The undead who was thumping on the door was joined by another—and then another. Outside we could hear the noises of the awakening. Despite the moonlit night, the Evil One was calling to his servants, and they were coming running—or shambling, at the very least.

‘Do it!’ said Spike in a more urgent manner. ‘Do it now before it’s too late!’

I raised my gun and pointed it at Spike.

‘DO IT!’

I increased the pressure on the trigger as a shaky form stood up from the open grave behind him. I pointed the gun at the figure instead—the pathetic creature was so far dried out it could barely move, but it sensed our presence and teetered in our direction anyway.

‘Don’t shoot it, shoot me!’ said Spike with some alarm in his voice. ‘The job in hand, Thursday, please!’

I ignored him and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell harmlessly with a dull thock.

‘Eh?’ I said, chambering the next round. Spike was quicker than I and loosed off a shot that disintegrated the abomination’s head. It collapsed in a heap of dried skin and powdery bone. The sound of scrabbling from the door increased.

‘God damn and blast, Next, why couldn’t you do as I told you?!’

‘What?’

‘I put that dud on the top of your clip, idiot!’

‘Why?’

He tapped his head.

‘So I could trick Chuckles in here to come out—he’s not going to stay in a host he thinks is about to croak! You pull the trigger, out he comes, dud bullet, Stoker lives, SEB sucked up—QED.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked, my temper rising.

‘You had to mean to kill me! He might be the personification of all that is evil within the heart of man, but he’s no fool.’

‘Oops.’

‘Oops indeed, knucklehead! Right, we’d better be out of here!’

‘Isn’t there a plan C?’ I asked as we headed for the door.

‘Shit, no!’ replied Spike as he fumbled with the key. ‘B is as high as I ever get!’

Another creature was rising from behind some upended tables that had once held a harvest festival display; I caught it before it was even upright. I turned back to Spike, who had the key in the lock and was muttering about how he wished he was working at Sommeworld™.

‘Stay away from the door, Spike.’

He recognised the serious tone in my voice. He turned to face the barrel of my automatic.

‘Whoa! Careful, Thursday, that’s the end that bites.’

‘It ends here and tonight, Spike.’

‘This is a joke, right?’

‘No joke, Spike. You’re right. I have to kill you. It’s the only way.’

‘Er, steady on, Thursday—aren’t you taking this just a little bit too seriously?’

‘The Supreme Evil Being must be stopped, Spike—you said so yourself!’

‘I know I said that, but we can come back tomorrow with a plan C instead!’

‘There is no plan C, Spike. It ends now. Close your eyes.’

‘Wait!’

‘Close them!’

He closed his eyes and I pulled the trigger and twitched my hand at the same time; the slug powered its way through three layers of clothing, grazed Spike’s shoulder and buried itself in the wood of the old door. It did the trick; with a short and unearthly wail an entity emerged from Spike’s nostrils and coalesced into an ethereal version of an old dishcloth.

‘Good work!’ muttered Spike in a very uncertain voice as he took a step back. ‘Don’t let it get near you!’

I ducked as the wraith-like sprit moved in my direction.

‘Fooled!’ said a low voice. ‘Fooled by a mere mortal, how utterly depressing!’

The thumping had now increased and was also coming from the vestry door; I could see the hinge pins start to loosen in the powdery mortar.

‘Keep him talking!’ yelled Spike as he grabbed the holdall and pulled out the vacuum cleaner.

‘A vacuum cleaner!’ Sneered the low voice. ‘Spike you insult me!’

Spike didn’t answer but instead unravelled the hose and switched the battery-powered appliance on.

‘A vacuum cleaner won’t hold me!’ sneered the voice again. ‘Do you really believe that I can be trapped in a bag like so much dust?’

Spike sucked up the small spirit in a trice.

‘He didn’t seem that frightened of it,’ I murmured as Spike fiddled with the machine’s controls.

‘This isn’t any vacuum cleaner, Thursday. James over at R&D dreamt it up for me. You see, unlike conventional vacuum cleaners, this one works on a dual cyclone principle that traps dust and evil spirits by powerful centrifugal force. Since there is no bag there is no loss of suction—you can use a lower wattage motor; there’s a hose action—and a small brush for stair carpets.’

‘You find evil spirits in stair carpets?’

‘No, but my stair carpets need cleaning just the same as anyone else’s.’

I looked at the glass container and could see a small vestige of white spinning round very rapidly. Spike deftly placed the lid on the jar and detached it from the machine. He held it up and there inside was a very pissed-off spirit of the Evil One—well and truly trapped.