The Whispering Committee

By Lee Robert Adams

In 1950s England, small-time local villain Eric Tanner has recently found out that he's gay. The news doesn't go down well with his wife, resulting in a violent argument that leaves Eric with plenty of loose ends to tie up before he can flee the country with his boyfriend. But Eric knows all too well that secrets are hard to keep in a street full of curtain-twitchers and spiteful gossip...

Fifty years later, a hotel worker discovers that the room where the ill-fated lovers met in secret is still frequented by their spirits. Recruiting a friend to help investigate the ghostly occurrences, the past and present are set on a chilling collision course.

Inspired by the short story “Rats” by M.R. James, “The Whispering Committee” is a supernatural horror that asks the unnerving question: When we see ghosts, can they see us too?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Robert Adams
• Release date: Jun 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215968499

Lee Robert Adams

Lee is a freelance writer, film critic, and narrative designer living and working in Brno, Czech Republic.With half an education in film studies, he has been obsessively consuming cinema for over 20 years and sharing his thoughts and insights across the web for the past decade. He got his first paid gig for Brno Expat Centre in 2014, covering the local cinema scene for expats and English-speaking film buffs before writing for several other outlets including Way Too Indie, Kafkadesk, Prague Daily Monitor, and Slashfilm.Aside from writing about movies, Lee has worked as a narrative designer and content creator for a number of indie game developers including Madfinger Games in Brno. He is also the founder of Czech Film Review, dedicated to the cinema of his adopted home country, and the co-founder of the Brno Writers Group and Brno Short Story Competition.His fiction work includes elements of horror, supernatural, sci-fi, comedy, and social realism, often in the same story.If you'd like to get in touch, you can reach me at - [e-mail]

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The Whispering Committee

By

Lee Robert Adams

Copyright 2023 Lee Robert Adams

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I

Harwich, 1959

Two men came along a side street toward the ferry port and an October gale blowing rain sideways off the sea. As they rounded the corner, the strength of the wind rocked them both back on their heels. They swore, braced themselves against the downpour, and carried on.

The shorter, older man was poorly dressed for the weather, wearing only a light windbreaker over his grey suit. He was struggling with a large heavy suitcase but tried hard not to show it. Every few steps, the bottom of the case bumped on the pavement, sending him off balance and into a flurry of blue language.

Every time this happened, the younger man, a head taller and dressed more appropriately in a rain mac and hat, tried to take the case from his companion. Come on, Eric. Let me take it. And each time Eric waved him away irritably, forcing a smile. You’re alright, boy. I can manage.

They came to a pub. Eric stopped and set the case down. What do you reckon, Terry? Quick one for the road, eh?

Terry wiped the rain from his face and peered in at the inviting lights. Someone was playing the piano badly, accompanied by laughter and boozy singing. Then he looked up the road towards the glow of the ferry in the dock. I should get moving really. The boat’s leaving in a minute.

Rubbish. You’ve got ages yet. Eric was visibly buoyed by the prospect of alcohol and warmth. There’s always time for a swift pint.

Terry was reluctant, but gave in. Come on, just a quick one, then. He went to pick up the case, but Eric waved him away again, grabbing the luggage and ducking into the pub. He paused in the little lobby to poke his head around the door of the public bar, where the music was coming from. It was pretty rowdy, so he ushered Terry through to the saloon instead.

It was dead apart from two old codgers seated at the bar, smoking and quietly reading the paper. A fire crackled in the hearth at the far end of the threadbare room. Here y’are, Terry. Let’s get by the fireplace.

They took the nearest table to the heat and shed their wet coats. Jesus, Eric. You’re drenched. You’ll catch your death.

Give it a rest, boy. You sound just like the wife. Eric moved two chairs in front of the fire and draped his windbreaker and sodden suit jacket across the backs. His pale blue shirt was also soaked in places, clinging to his skin. The usual?

Terry sat and shook a cigarette from his pack. Nah, just a half of Mild, ta.

Eric went to the bar, taking out his wallet. No one was serving. He nodded a greeting to one of the older gents. Anyone on tonight?

She’s on the other side, the man said, then called out, Sandy! Customers.

The barmaid came through a moment later, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She was a flinty bottle blonde, probably in her mid-forties. She had a crimped mouth, like it was punched into her face with a biscuit cutter, and a nasty scar curling upwards from the left corner of it. Probably where her old man or some punter laid one on her, Eric thought. Not a bad figure for her age, he also noted. She obviously liked to keep herself tidy.

Alright love? Two pints of Mild and a double Navy rum. And have one for yourself.

The barmaid barely smiled her thanks and poured the drinks. Eric downed the rum at the bar and took the pints back to the table. Terry was gazing up at the ceiling, apparently fascinated by a shred of red tinsel from a Christmas past, still stuck in the far corner by a piece of nicotine-yellowed sellotape. Both of Eric’s jackets were steaming now. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and held his hands towards the fire. Right then. This time tomorrow you’ll be in a pub somewhere, chatting up those Dutch birds.

Terry smiled distantly. Probably, yeah. His tone changed, Eric, I said I only wanted a half. I’ve got to get going.

Stop moaning and get it down your neck.

Terry opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it. He took a long draught of the beer with his eye on the clock. We’ll miss our snooker night tomorrow, Eric.

Yeah, I reckon. Never mind, I suppose they have snooker halls in Rotterdam, too. Invented the game, didn’t they?

Terry thought about it for a moment and shook his head gently. I don’t know, Eric. I think that was us.

"Is that right? I thought it