Sker House Read Online Free

failed, so did she.
    No pressure, then.
     
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 2
     
    On the Scent
     
     
     

 
    After much fussing around, Dale finally succeeded in establishing a Wi-Fi connection on his laptop. It was a weak signal, constantly flitting between a healthy four bars to a sick-as-a-parrot one bar, but it was a connection just the same. He wasn't even sure how much he would actually need to use the Internet during their stay at Sker beyond periodically checking his email. He wasn't really one for social networking, that was Lucy's department. He was baffled by some people's fascination with constantly telling everyone else in the world what they were doing. As if anyone really gave a shit. It was the word processor he needed, and that didn't even require an internet connection. He opened up a blank Word document and quickly tapped out:
Ghostly goings-on at Sker House.
    He'd have to think of something better than that, but it would do as a working title. He retrieved a pencil and notebook from his rucksack. He preferred using a notebook when making notes, and even when interviewing people. He felt more connected that way, only using his digital Dictaphone as a safeguard. There were certainly advantages to using modern recording equipment. Not least that they looked a lot more professional and minimized the danger of misquoting someone. But Dale was old-school. He enjoyed the rustic feel of lead on paper. It felt more tangible and substantial. Plus, pencils never ran out battery. He wanted to get an early interview with Machen the landlord in the bag. Hopefully, he could fit in several separate sessions during their stay and splice together the best parts.
    “I'm going to get the low-down from the landlord. Back soon.”
    “Okay. Knock yourself out,” a mildly-irritated Lucy replied as she fussed with her suitcase. “I'll follow you down later to get some snaps. Need to unpack first.” He didn't know what had gotten in to her lately. She seemed even more unapproachable than usual. It might just be her time of the month, but something told him it was more than that.
    “Sure thing.” Dale went back downstairs to the bar. As he entered, Champ the German Shepherd lifted his head off the floor to see who the new arrival was and sniffed the air. Satisfied there was no imminent danger, he allowed his head to flop back down again onto the hard wood floor with a soft plop. Machen was still hovering behind the bar, and the old man was still sitting at his table hunched over the newspaper.
    “Um, Mr Machen?” Dale asked tentatively.
    “For the last time, it's just Machen.”
    “Oh right, sorry. If you aren't too busy, I was wondering if could I could get a quick interview for our, er, magazine?”
    The little man's chest swelled almost visibly, “Interview? With me, like? Okay! This will be my first one. After it gets printed, I'm going to frame it and stick it up in the bar.”
    “I'll send you a copy,” Dale promised. “Do you mind if I take notes while we talk?”
    “No, no. If that's what you do, go ahead. Who is it you work for again?”
    “It's national publication called, er, Solent News...”
    “Solent News?” Machen the landlord replied. “Never heard of it. What's that about, then?”
    “It's about lots of things Mr. Machen. Sorry, Machen. Anything newsworthy. And you and Sker House are certainly that. We really like what you've done here.” Dale had learned quite early that when interviewing someone, flattery can be a powerful tool.
    “Er, ta very much, like. Solent News, is it? I get the news part, but what does Solent mean?”
    “The Solent is the stretch of water off the south coast of England, between Southampton and the Isle of Wight,” Dale said, laying his notebook and pencil out in preparation.
    “Oh, right.” Machen replied, as if he had known that all along.
    “I have a digital recorder upstairs,” Dale said, trying to put Machen at ease. “But I like to do things the old-fashioned