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“Someone died at the station years ago and his ghost haunts the station,” he continued.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.
“I’m not. I’ve seen it. He freaks me out.”
I looked up at him and became concerned at the resolute expression plastered across his face. Maybe he genuinely believed it. Would that mean he was mentally unwell? Surely he hadn’t actually seen a ghost.
“When I’m there on my own throughout the night, I see things happen,” he said.
I laughed out loud at the absurdity of what he was saying.
“I’m serious,” he went on. “Ask anyone. It’s alright for you, but when you’re there on your own all night, it’s creepy.”
-------------------------------------------
“Our station officer is off sick,” my sergeant declared in our briefing before we started our Night Duty. He paused as he looked around the room, his eyes falling on me. “Bill, can you cover the front office tonight please?”
“Of course Sarge,” I replied, compensating myself with the thought that at least I could watch some telly.
An hour later I was settling down to a night in front of the television, praying that nobody would wander in halfway through the night and thus ruining my night of chilling. I watched the response vehicles pour out of the yard on the bank of CCTV camera screens I had in front of me and suddenly realised how quiet it was.
I turned the TV onto a music channel and started cranking up the volume, listening to my personal radio whenever it crackled into use.
As I sat there, I heard a noise in the corridor. I paused for a second, straining to hear. If it was my skipper still wandering around, I’d prefer for him not to catch me with my feet up. Hearing nothing, I relaxed, remembering I had watched him drive out only minutes earlier. I relaxed back into my chair and thought about getting a bit of sleep until I heard something else that sounded like footsteps.
I picked up the remote control and muted it quickly hoping I would hear the odd noise. I couldn’t and began to worry that I was not alone.
“It’s haunted you know,” Michael’s voice sounded in my head. “Someone died at the station years ago and his ghost haunts the station.”
I realised I was being foolish and tried to relax, my heart still racing furiously. I was a police officer, in a police station and was getting spooked by a few noises. I didn’t for one moment believe it was a ghost, but was concerned that there could be intruders.
Feeling thirsty and knowing that the lights on the top floor were not working, I was unsure about venturing to our canteen.
“This is ridiculous,” I scolded myself, wondering what people would say if they could see me. I was probably in the safest building for miles around and was also probably the most scared.
I reached for my torch from my body armour which was lying on the floor and undid my baton from my belt in case I needed it. I half thought about putting my body armour on, but decided against it on the basis that ghosts could probably penetrate stab vests as easily as walls.
Fumbling around the canteen with torch in one hand and baton within easy reach, it was a complicated tea-making process but I managed it and retreated straight into my office, keeping the television volume low so that I could hear any strange noises.
For the next six hours, I sat alone, with just the noises for company and myself fast becoming a dishevelled nervous wreck. Once the sun began to rise and Early Turn units began turning up, I looked stressed and tired.
“Busy night?” my relieving station officer asked as he dumped his bag under the desk.
“Not too bad, never a dull moment here,” I smiled cheerily.
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “Normally it’s dead.”
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