The Journal of Recent (And Not-So Recent) Hauntings of Lockwood & Co.

ACD (Lucy)

I honestly don’t know why I have to be the first entry in George’s stupid diary. [“Journal! It’s a journal, Lucy! It clearly says on the tape.”] Yes, yes alright. Now hand over the mic, George! It’s still my turn.

[A rush of static escaped, which we can only assume was Lucy’s sigh]

What kind of name is ‘The Journal of Recent (And Not-So Recent) Hauntings of Lockwood & Co.’ anyway? Rather tiresome to say.

[A quick pause ensued.] Well what do I start with?

[“The Cold Maiden of Malfrey Manor was a good one.” Lockwood mused. “No, no! I thought we agreed never to talk about that one.” George huffed.]

[A chorus of laughs erupted from the speaker]

It was rather funny, George. [“Good thing for us your bottom was lined with salt and iron or I don’t know what Lucy and I would’ve done.”]

[A faint grumbling could be heard. “I didn’t find it funny. My butt was frozen solid for a week! Just the thought of it makes my bum chilly again.”]

[Another round of laughter succeeded]

Oh don’t give us that look George. You can be the one to narrate next.

[A loud bark filled the speakers and a crash followed.]

[Lucy’s groan came out soft and muffled but gradually growing louder as she brought the microphone next to her mouth]

No, Doyle. This thing is not a chew toy 

[“Brilliant, Lucy! Why don’t you narrate about Conan?” A sharp clap followed Lockwood’s exclamation.]

[A loud licking noise was heard. Followed by a chuckle.]

Oh alright. Stop that, Doyle. [Lucy giggled into the microphone]

Well it started on a rather windy fall morning:

I was on my way back after picking up an early shipment from the post office. Lockwood insisted I go out as soon as they opened; I suppose he wanted to try our new rapiers.

[“Um if I recall, you were the one begging me to let you fetch the package.” A dainty tinkle of china on china meant Lockwood took a sip from his tea.]

I wouldn’t dream of getting up at six in the morning.

Anyway, I was bundling myself up with an itchy sweater and a thin coat. (It was dark in my attic and I couldn’t see that what I’d grabbed was an old sweater my nana knit for me.)

So there I was wrapped up tighter than a burrito, trying to shield my body from the winds using the box filled with the imported rapiers. It was like going against a current with the rate I was going at.

My cheeks were raw and nose running and I was just about ready to drop the package and take cover behind a bush. And as I was all set to do just that until something wet, cold and slobbery landed on top of me.

Doyle was pretty dirty. His nice shiny white coat looked nothing close to white; he looked like he went for a swim in the Thames during low tide. Despite the cold, he was energetic –all about and running in circles.

Now Doyle isn’t big. Probably as big as the small duffel bag we rarely use. But I was too tired and he was too fast and as a result, I tumbled on to the freezing pavement with three heavy rapiers and a dog to top it off.

I’ll admit too, I wasn’t one for dogs.

Dogs hated the aura of death and ghosts radiating off me. They barked whenever I came too close and did their business on my boots during patrols. Once when I was a kid, a rather nasty hound almost bit my head clean off while I was digging for a Source in a park. Another time, I was made bait by my colleagues to ward off a dog guarding its deceased master’s gravesite. They thought it was the Source to a tedious Type Two and after several laps around our village – lo and behold, it wasn’t the actual Source after all!