Read Online Ways to See a Ghost by Emily Diamand - Free Book Online Page A

coated in ice. I should have kept my mouth shut, because as soon as the words were out, Dad’s ears pricked up, and there was no stopping him.
    He spent ages on the Internet, and then he got onto the Network, which is basically this club for UFO freaks. I mean, they don’t call it a club, but they send each other emails all the time, and they have these meetings at hotels, where they give each other lectures and slide shows, and try and flog stuff like spaceship detectors, or anti-bugging gizmos for your mobile.
    “Those losers,” is what Mum calls them.
    The reason I know all about them is cos Dad took me along once. It was to ConspiriCon, which is just forconspiracy theories. Like, who blew up the Twin Towers? Or were the moon landings really faked in some desert in America? Actually, those are normal-sounding, compared to what was at ConspiriCon. There was this man who said the world’s really controlled by aliens. And another who said the ancient Egyptians had predicted the end of the world, and it’s going to happen in about five years. There was a guy who went on about the earth being hollow, and how the government are going to hide inside it when things get too bad. Dad made me sit through a talk about how UFOs are just a cover story for secret government weapons, and halfway through this other freak stood up and started shouting, saying it was really the exact opposite.
    We went there because it was Dad’s weekend and he didn’t want to miss out. On seeing me, or on going to ConspiriCon. So he just booked another ticket and didn’t tell Mum. He didn’t tell me either, not until we were on the motorway.
    “No way, Dad!” I said. “I’m not going!”
    “You’ll enjoy it,” he said. “You always enjoy our chasing trips.”
    “I like
camping.
I like being outside. This is just some crappy hotel, and everyone will have their shirt tucked intheir trousers. I’m not doing it, Dad! I’m going back home to Mum.”
    “And how will you do that?”
    I yanked at my seat belt, undoing the clip.
    “Just let me out, I’ll hitch or something.”
    “You won’t.” Dad reached with one hand, grabbing the seat belt and trying to clip it back in. The camper wobbled in the lane, a lorry slow-honked us. I suppose I could’ve grabbed the wheel and spun us off the road, but that was probably the only way I would’ve stopped him.
    Sometimes, I totally get why Mum left Dad.
    Anyway, it was the Network that Dad used to work out his theory about Norman Welkin’s death. He sent off all these emails to his UFO friends, and he was on the computer all the time. Then, he got to use ‘The Database’.
    Honestly, that’s how he says it, like he’s in MI6 or something.
    One of the super-freaks, this bloke called Stu Bradley, looks after The Database. Not that Dad ever calls him Stu, he always says, “The Keeper”. Stu wouldn’t even come to our house until after dark, which meant it was eight at night before he turned up.
    “A dark green Volvo, that’s what we’re looking for.”
    Dad stood at the side of the window, like someone was watching us, and twitched his head to look every time a car went by. In the end this boxy old Volvo pulled up outside, really knackered, and Stu peered out. When he’d checked up and down our street, he ran for the house clutching a bag, the hood on his coat pulled right up.
    He was really old, fifty or something, with long grey hair and grey stubble all over his chin. He didn’t look special; you’d never notice him on the street or anything. Except for his cigarette stink. He smelled like an ashtray, and his teeth were this nasty brown from all the fags. As soon as he got inside, he lit up a cigarette, and Dad never even stopped him. The house filled up with smoke, not that Dad cared.
    “Is that it?” he asked, nodding at the bag.
    ‘Stu the Keeper’ didn’t say anything, just frowned at me.
    “Don’t worry about Gray,” said Dad. “He can hold his tongue.”
    Stu the Keeper