Demon Storm by Justin Richards

point,’ Gemma told him.
    ‘Gemma, you come with me and we’ll see if we can work out what’s going on.’ Knight raised a finger to Ben to stop him following. ‘You can wait here for the Reverend.’
    Ben watched the two of them make their cautious way into the graveyard. Soon they were swallowed up by the gathering mist.
    ‘Ben Foundling!’ The voice was deep and gruff, right behind Ben.
    He gave a yelp of surprise and whirled round.
    A dark-cloaked figure stood beside the car. A hood covered the figure’s head so that its face was wreathed in darkness.
    ‘Are you a ghost?’ Ben stammered, taking a step backwards.
    The figure advanced towards him. It raised a pale hand and pushed back the hood of the cloak. ‘Good gracious me, no.’ Beneath the hood was a very ordinary-looking man with a round, ruddy face. ‘I am the Reverend Alistair Growl. Mr Knight called me to say he was bringing a new chap with him. That must be you. How do you do?’
    Relieved, but with his heart still pounding, Ben shook hands with the man. Beneath the cloak, he saw that Growl was wearing a black cassock and clerical collar.
    ‘Gone to take a look, has he?’ Growl asked.
    ‘Yes. With Gemma.’
    ‘Good, good.’ Growl stared off into the misty evening. ‘She’s nothing too complicated. A couple of well-chosen prayers should see her off.’
    ‘Gemma?’ Ben asked, confused.
    ‘The Grave Lady. That’s what the locals call her anyway. She’s been sighted on and off since the seventeenth century, according to the parish records and local gossip. But she’s become a bit more of a nuisance recently. Appearing more often, frightening people. Walking through the walls of the offices over there.’ He gestured to the vague shape of an office block. ‘The head of the accountancy department is in hospital, you know– weak heart, poor chap. Can’t have that. Oh dear me, no, no, no.’
    They stood together, staring into the deepening fog.
    ‘Are you one of the School of Night?’ Ben asked at last.
    ‘I am indeed, for my sins. I don’t know that I have a title as such, but I am a sort of visiting teacher of exorcism. I’m looking forward to teaching you, Ben.’
    ‘Mr Knight told you about me?’
    ‘A little. Did he tell you about himself?’
    ‘Himself?’
    Growl nodded. ‘I thought not. You know, a little honesty and openness can go a long way. Knight used to see things, as I think you do now.’
    Ben didn’t correct him. ‘You mean, like ghosts and stuff?’
    ‘I mean like ghosts and stuff,’ Growl agreed, amused. ‘Oh, Dirk Knight doesn’t see ghosts any more. But he used to, when he was a child. So he knows how terrible, how malevolent, some of them can be. Not our Grave Lady, she’s strictly an amateur compared to some. But there are ancient powers, monstrous creatures, ghosts and demons struggling to break free and wreak havoc.’
    ‘What happened? Why doesn’t he see them now?’
    ‘He grew out of it, just as everyone does. Well, almost everyone. I have a certain … facility,’ he admitted. ‘Though it comes at a price.’
    Before Ben could ask what he meant by this, Growl went on, ‘Knight lost the Sight in his early twenties. Until then he fought the darkness and he banished the spectres. But then his abilities deserted him.’ Growl raised his hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. ‘He grew up. Occupational hazard, I suppose.’
    ‘I suppose.’
    ‘But he knows that children – some children – have an affinity with the unnatural and paranormal. It’s a rare gift in a child. Even rarer for the child to retain that gift into adulthood.’
    ‘And so now he trains those who still have it,’ Ben said, remembering what Knight had told him earlier.
    ‘He has dedicated his life to learning all he can about the ghosts and demons, creatures and spectres. No one alive knows more than Dirk Knight. No one alive is better qualified to arrange the exorcism of the malevolent forces. If only he can find