Frank's Companion

Frank Humbolt was only half listening to his companion as he bitched and moaned about his lot. He was always grumbling, and Frank had heard it all before, a thousand times over. He'd grown used to tuning it out, and only occasionally making a response to indicate that he was still listening. Frank had more important things to worry about. For a start he was tired. He'd been walking all day and his feet were sore. The sole of his left boot was worn through.

“Paper thin. Paper bloody thin. Nothing's made to last these days. Lasted five bloody minutes, not even bloody that. Need some card or paper then we can patch it. Paper bloody thin.”

Frank sighed heavily, and wished that he'd never mentioned the shoe. Now he'd be listening to that for the next hour or so.

It was getting late, and the dull October day was nearly through. Soon it would be getting dark. Worse still, the clouds that had been milling about indeterminately all afternoon, were now spreading out and settling down for a long wet evening spent soaking Frank and his companion. Now would be a really good time to find somewhere to shack up for the night.

“Middle of bloody nowhere. Paper bloody thin. Bloody pouring down. Paper thin.”

Frank's companion was no help at all, and seemed to have a degree in repeatedly stating the bloody obvious. Frank shrank down miserably into his shabby army greatcoat as the rain began in earnest. He pulled his greasy wool knit hat down over his balding pate, and thrust his hands deep in his pockets.

For the last half mile or so there had been a high chain link fence bordering the right hand side of the road. Frank hadn't really been aware of it, or paid it any particular attention. Now he noticed a gap in that fence. He stood in the steady rain, contemplating the gap and the possibilities it might offer.

“Come on. Come on. Don't bloody wait all day will you. Make your mind up. Pouring it down. Bloody pouring it down. Come on.”

His companion, never especially patient at the best of times, hectored him.

Sighing Frank pushed his way through the fence and wandered into the scrubby woodland beyond it. He thought that perhaps he might find a shed or something. Emerging from what had turned out to be quite a thin band of trees, Frank saw a large blocky building in front of him. Straight away he could tell that it was deserted. There were several broken windows, and the place had no lights.

Shuffling over, Frank began to work his way around the building. Through the windows, the rooms beyond already looked dark and shadowy. He found a door and tried it. To his pleasant surprise it wasn't locked, and though a little stiff, it opened easily enough. He and his companion slipped inside. The door slowly closed behind them. Now there was even less light to see by, and the companion complained bitterly.

“Dark as a bloody...”

Frank ignored him and started trying a few doors. The first couple revealed offices, dusty desks and filing cabinets. Then he struck gold, for the third room he discovered a bed. Well, a bed after a fashion. In fact Frank quickly realised that this was likely an examination room of some sort, and the bed was an examination table. However he wasn't going to quibble. Frank and his companion were soon sharing the narrow bed. After telling his companion rather sharply to 'Bloody belt up”, Frank turned on his side and drifted off to sleep.

---

Frank sat up quickly as his sleep was terminated abruptly by a muffled boom somewhere in the building. His companion also awoke.

“What the bloody hells that eh? Police? Is it the bloody police again eh?”

Frank's companion hated the police. Whenever they were moved on, it was always his companion who would make matters worse. He had a nasty habit of shooting his mouth off, and Frank had endured numerous nights in uncomfortable holding cells, thanks to his garrulous companion.

Trying hard to ignore the low complaining murmur, Frank listened carefully. He knew that although the place was obviously derelict, some police officers would take a sadistic pleasure in turning them out into the rain. Thinking he could hear voices, Frank ordered the grumbling companion to “Belt up.” Dragging himself off his 'bed', Frank groped in the darkness towards the door. Pulling it open, he stood with his mouth open, straining to hear the voices again.

“Is there anyone here?” A woman's voice, young and confident.

“Is there anyone here who would like to talk to us?”

It didn't sound like a cop.

Frank's companion stumbled against something as he moved to hear better. This brought an immediate response.

“S**t. What was that.” A man's voice this time, then it added,

“Did you hear that? Down there.”

Frank decided that it was probably time to leave. It sounded like bloody youths, and they could be bad news. He and his companion had encountered bloody youths before.

“Bloody hate 'em I do. Bloody hate the lot of 'em. Bloody paper thin. Pouring it down. Bloody youths. Need some paper or card we do. Hate 'em”

Stress always seemed to make Frank's companion worse, it would be a good idea to get out as quickly as he could. Moving into the corridor Frank immediately saw torch lights. Instinctively he turned and shuffled off in the opposite direction, praying his companion wouldn't trip or otherwise draw attention to them. He turned a corner and, as he did, heard a voice behind him shout.

“S**t! S**t! Did you see that? Did you see a shadow moving down there? I swear I saw a shadow. S**t!”

Frank hurried along the corridor, pushing at every door. Finding one open he lurched into the room beyond, pushed the door shut behind him and leant against it, panting and wheezing at the exertion.

“Bloody hate 'em. Police, youths, bloody hate the lot of 'em. Paper bloody thin. Dark as ...”

Frank wished fervently that just for once his companion would shut up. Surely, he thought, it would not kill him to shut up, just this once?

His pursuers were getting close, he could hear them. Apparently his companion did too, because his grumbling dropped to a whisper.

“That bed. Did you see the thermal camera image. It was like someone had been lying there. So f*****g cool.”

“Did you check the EVP?”

“No not yet. There are five of the recorders all set up. We'll check them out tomorrow.”

Frank heard the people moving down the corridor. Someone tried the door, but gave up immediately when Frank's weight prevented it opening. They carried on, away from Frank.

He waited for five minutes, listening to his companion's whispering complaints, and his own ragged breath. Then he began to retrace his steps, hoping to find the exit quickly.

The corridor was suddenly bitterly cold, and Frank shivered. Then he heard a door bang, just behind him, for some reason he was convinced it was the door to the room he'd just been in. This spurred him into an extra effort as he shuffled around the corner, he could hear distantly someone shouting,

“S**t! Back this way. Did you hear that? S**t!”

Ahead of him Frank thought he could see the door he'd come in through. Then from one of the rooms a dark and shadowy figure stepped out. Frank and his companion let out a hoarse cry of fear. Frank felt a painful blow. As though someone had swung a sledgehammer and slammed it into his chest. His cry trailed off to a thin piping wheeze, as his last breath escaped. Clutching his chest Frank Humbolt slid lifelessly to the floor.

---

The police questioned the ghost hunters of course. But they did have written permission to be at the former hospital for the clinically insane.

One of the cops in attendance recognised the deceased, old man.

“Always muttering to himself he was. Lieutenant Frank Humbolt. He was a war veteran, decorated too. I looked him up a while back, seems he was quite badly injured in a bomb attack at a road block, still managed to save the lives of three of his squad. They gave him a medal and a medical discharge.”

Looking down at the crumpled figure, he remarked,

“Poor old Frank. He just wandered around, always talking to himself. He got a bit loud sometimes, but he was basically harmless. He seemed to imagine that he had a companion, who caused all the trouble, and did all the muttering. I guess he was a bit schizophrenic.”

Thee coroner stated that it was very likely that Frank had died of a heart attack, though he would confirm it after the autopsy. None of the ghost hunters had actually seen the old vagrant fall, they had just heard his scream. When they had found him he was already dead.

A few days later the group was reviewing their electronic voice phenomena, (EVP). Several times they heard the voice of Frank's 'companion' droning on, and even Frank telling him to 'belt up'.
On the recording from a room near to the rear exit, they heard Frank's dying cry.

What really freaked them out was recorded some 45 minutes after the sounds of them calling the police and an ambulance, and all the subsequent uproar. They heard this,

“Bloody paper thin. No time at all. No bloody time at all. Hate 'em. Bloody hate 'em all.”

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