Originally Posted: 4:08 AM - Feb 17, 2012

The heat outside was almost suffocating London, especially on the High Street. Those who were forced to wear long sleeves, thick skirts, and trousers were suffering as they walked to their jobs. Worst of all were those in business suits; you could see the sweat pouring from them the moment they left their air-conditioned homes. It soaked their clothing so quickly that many had started bringing extra shirts and such with them to work.
James Lucas was no exception to this. The moment he arrived at work he went into the fitting room and peeled off his shirt. The cool air graced his skin and he found a vent nearby where it was blowing nicely. There he stood for a moment, his eyes closed, a relaxed smile on his face, and a sigh escaped from his lips.
Little did he know he was not alone.
"Great minds think alike, don't they, Mr Lucas?" said Mr Humphries as he joined the junior. His jacket, tie, and waistcoat came off revealing his own sweat-soaked shirt. He peeled this off, much to Mr Lucas' chagrin, and his eyes rolled back in his head as relief washed over him.
"I've never known June to be this hot," Mr Humphries remarked casually. "Have you?"
Mr Lucas shook his head, all the time watching his superior, a frightened look on his face. "No, Mr Humphries, never," he concurred. He backed away a few paces.
Mr Humphries didn't notice this. He took a spare handkerchief and patted his face and neck dry. "Shirts back on, Mr Lucas," he said. "We'll be open in just a minute. Can't walk around like this all day, can we?"
Mr Lucas nodded and quickly put on a fresh shirt. As he swung his jacket back on the bell rang overhead, signalling that the shoppe was open. He checked his tie and followed Mr Humphries out onto the floor, where they both took their positions behind the counters. Mr Grainger was late again, but after forty odd years of faithful service no one was about to complain or make any sort of fuss.
Over at the Ladies counter Miss Brahms stood alone, rearranging a bra display. Captain Peacock came toward her with a middle-aged woman in tow.
"Miss Brahms, where is Mrs Slocombe?" he asked.
"Oh, she's, er, otherwise engaged," Miss Brahms replied. She shifted her eyes to the fitting room as subtly as possible.
Captain Peacock recognised the international sign for 'She's hitting the bottle again' and rolled his eyes. "Then perhaps you can assist this lovely young woman. She's looking for a new bra and was asking if we had the new WonderWear model in yet."
"Oh yes," Miss Brahms smiled. "They just come in Monday." She pointed to the display she'd been working diligently on for roughly ten minutes. "I bought one meself when they came in and I love it!"
"Do you?" the woman said, looking a little unsure now.
"They're great for this wevver," Miss Brahms went on. "They've got this thick padding and breafable cotton that keeps you cool and dry, even on days like this. What's more, they come in five colours; black, white, beige, blue, and red, so they'll go with anyfing you've got on. What size is Madam?"
"Er, thirty-four C," Madam replied, still looking a bit wary. But Miss Brahms had already whipped out a black WonderWear bra and was ushering her into an empty fitting room.
Captain Peacock watched them disappear and decided to check on Mrs Slocombe. He knocked on the door frame and cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. No one answered. "Mrs Slocombe?" he called gently. "Are you free?"
"Just a moment!" came Mrs Slocombe's voice. There were a couple of thuds and a couple choice vulgarities muttered before the curtain parted and Mrs Slocombe's face appeared. "Yes, Captain Peacock?" she said sweetly.
"It is after nine o'clock," Captain Peacock reprimanded her. "Your place is out here on the floor, attending to customers. Miss Brahms has already taken a customer into a fitting room because you were unavailable."
"I'm sorry, Captain Peacock," Mrs Slocombe apologised, with a slight edge to her voice. "I was merely attending to my new morning medication regime. I shall take over at once." And she started for the other fitting room.
"You will not," Captain Peacock stated firmly, stopping her in her tracks. "Miss Brahms is doing fine on her own. Besides..." He leaned in close and whispered, "I can smell your Plymouth prescription from five feet away."
Mrs Slocombe narrowed her eyes at him as he walked back to the centre of the floor.

Back at the men's counter Mr Humphries had watched the entire exchange and was praising himself for learning how to read lips. Although he was still a beginner he picked up the gist of the conversation between Mrs Slocombe and Captain Peacock easily. He glanced left and right before nudging Mr Lucas.
"You'll never believe what Peacock just said to Mrs Slocombe," he muttered, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, which wasn't easy given its natural pitch. "He reprimanded her for not being on the floor, told her to leave Miss Brahms alone with her customer, and then told her he could smell the gin on her from five feet away."
Mr Lucas shot a quick glance at the Ladies counter, where Mrs Slocombe was still fuming as she rummaged through a drawer full of women's underwear. They saw her slip out a miniature bottle of gin and surreptitiously knock it back while Captain Peacock's back was turned. She gave a shudder and recapped it, stuffing it back in amongst the knickers. A female customer drew up to the counter and she immediately switched from her sour demeanour to one of dignity, charm, and grace as she addressed the woman.
"How much do you think she's had?" Mr Lucas asked.
"Who knows," Mr Humphries replied. "She's been like this for a few days now. I noticed something was amiss when she didn't call me Tuesday night."
"Does she call you every Tuesday night?" Mr Lucas inquired.
"Yes, that's when Coronation Street comes on," Mr Humphries said. "At eight-thirty sharp she rings me and we chat for about half an hour about what happened on the programme. When she didn't call this week I rang her but she never answered."
"What did you do then?"
"I waited 'til I saw her here the next morning and asked her if everything was alright. She said she was fine. Apparently she and her friend, Mrs Axelby, went out for the evening and lost track of the time."
"That's her story."
Mr Humphries frowned, but he knew Mr Lucas was right. Something was up with Mrs Slocombe.
One of the lifts dinged and a surly-looking Mr Grainger hobbled out. His face was beet red, what little hair he had was askew, and he was panting hard.
"Are you alright, Ernest?" Captain Peacock inquired, looking very concerned.
"This blasted heat's got me perspiring buckets," Mr Grainger growled. "And it's knocked the power out on my street. Mrs Grainger woke up at seven o'clock and gave me a hard shove that pushed me out of bed. Fortunately her sister is visiting and has a car, she leant it to me so I could get here before ten. However, the air conditioner is broken and all the way over I had to keep the windows rolled down so I wouldn't suffocate from the heat. I'm still puffed from the short walk from the parking garage to here."
"Anything I can do?" Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Grainger gave him a reproving look. "No thank you, Mr Humphries." He took a few steps toward the fitting room and seemed to change his mind. "On the other hand, do you think you could procure for me a new shirt to replace this one? I'm afraid it's a bit damp from my sweating so much. I just hope I don't become dehydrated after all that."
"Glass of ice water for Mr Grainger," Mr Lucas grinned.
Mr Humphries gave him a sharp tap on the wrist and passed a new shirt to Mr Grainger.

Meanwhile, Miss Brahms was finishing with her third customer that morning; a nightgown and lingerie for a young woman of about twenty-five.
"I've tucked the receipt in the bag," Miss Brahms said, giving a very toothy smile to the customer. "Don't worry if the nightgown seems a bit long. It will ride up with wear."
"It was actually a bit short," the woman replied.
"In that case, it will ride down with wear," Miss Brahms corrected herself. "But if you have any complaints don't hesitate to bring it back. We'll be glad to exchange it as long as you have the receipt, the garment hasn't been worn, and it's within ten days of purchase. Good day, Madam!"
The woman nodded, looking a bit confused, and went toward the lift. Captain Peacock appeared at the counter, smiling genially at Miss Brahms.
"You seem to have the golden touch today, Miss Brahms," he remarked.
"Well, I've got first crack, don't I?" Miss Brahms replied.
"Where is Mrs Slocombe?" Captain Peacock asked.
Miss Brahms didn't say anything, but gestured silently with her head toward the ladies' room upstairs. Captain Peacock nodded and looked at his wristwatch. With a heavy sigh he shook his sleeve back into place and went back to the centre of the floor just as Mrs Slocombe came out of the restroom. She pretended not to notice him glaring at her as she took her place behind the counter again. Captain Peacock said nothing but took out a small pad and pencil, made a note, and tucked them back in his jacket.
"Do you think he's going to write her up?" Mr Lucas whispered to Mr Humphries.
"I don't know," Mr Humphries muttered. "But I think we need to get to the bottom of this before it starts trouble for her."
"I think trouble just found her," Mr Lucas said as a plump middle-aged woman approached the ladies' counter.
"Excuse me," the woman called out to Mrs Slocombe. "Are you a senior?"
Mrs Slocombe narrowed her eyes and slowly swaggered up to the woman. "Are you inferring that I am a Jerry-hat-trick?" she demanded sternly.
"I was merely inquiring if you were the senior salesperson on this counter," the woman stated haughtily. "I am in need of a new handbag and wish to be served by only the most senior person on the floor."
"A haaaaandbag?" Mrs Slocombe slurred.
The woman blinked a few times, then sniffed the air. "I say," she said. "Have you been drinking?"
"Certainly not, Madam," Mrs Slocombe snapped. "I believe what you are smelling is my new mouthwash."
"Since when does a mouthwash smell strongly of gin and lemon?" the woman retorted.
Mrs Slocombe smiled sweetly and replied, "Since about the time you began to smell strongly of manure and straw, you fat, stupid cow!"
The woman clasped a hand to her mighty bosom and gasped. "Well, I never!"
"You should," Mrs Slocombe said. "It's fun. And you look like you've never had a day of fun in your whole life, you snooty bitch."
The woman gasped again, took out a handkerchief, and pressed it to her mouth before turning on her heels. As she stomped up the stairs to the lift Mrs Slocombe smirked and gave her a two-finger salute.
Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas both stared, open-mouthed. Then the older salesman nudged his junior as Captain Peacock walked by. They pretended to be busy while he surveyed the nearby displays. Once he had wandered off again they resumed their watch on the ladies' counter. However, Mrs Slocombe had already disappeared again so they resigned themselves to assisting customers.

At one o'clock the staff queued up for steak and kidney pie, rissoles, and some sort of green salad that was somewhat past its prime. As they stepped into the dining room Mr Humphries nudged Mr Lucas and nodded toward a lone figure sitting in the corner. It was Mrs Slocombe and she looked thoroughly depressed.
"Tell Peacock I'll catch up in a minute," he told the junior and went over to join the senior saleswoman. "How are you, dear?" he asked her.
Mrs Slocombe looked up from her rissoles, which she'd barely touched. Her eyes were bloodshot and a bit puffy.
"You've not been crying, have you?" Mr Humphries asked, genuinely concerned.
"Oh, no," she replied. "I just had a bit of bother with my contact lenses before lunch."
Mr Humphries nodded. "Yes, I can see how that would give you trouble. If you wore contact lenses, that is."
Mrs Slocombe smiled guiltily and took a sip from her coffee cup. She wrinkled her nose up at it then added some sugar.
"Now don't lie to me," Mr Humphries admonished her lightly. "I'm worried about you. First you didn't call after Coronation Street, then you forgot to buy cat food for Tiddles, now we find you're drinking on the job."
"I am not drinking on the job," Mrs Slocombe snarled.
Mr Humphries gave her his best 'bitch please' look, then picked up her handbag and gave it a shake. Glass bottles tinkled inside. Then he picked up her coffee cup, sniffed it, and immediately regretted it as his eyes began to water from the fumes.
Mrs Slocombe took the cup back. "Perhaps I have been taking an occasional nip…" she began.
"Mrs Slocombe," Mr Humphries coughed. "If I were to light a cigarette right now and you breathed on it just right you'd be an instant flame-thrower. Now what's going on? This is not at all like you."
Mrs Slocombe hesitated then her lower lip began to wobble. She started to speak but all that came out was a whimper before she dissolved into tears. She covered her face with a handkerchief and allowed herself to be comforted by Mr Humphries, who looked a bit uncomfortable but still patted her arm consolingly as she sobbed into his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she hiccoughed. "B-b-but I've just been so depressed lately."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Mr Humphries asked. "Aren't we friends? Friends look out for each other, through good times and bad. Now what's got you so down?"
Mrs Slocombe hiccoughed again and started to reach for her cup, but Mr Humphries intercepted and pushed it away.
"You've had enough for today," he said sternly. "Now talk to me."
She sniffed a few times and blew her nose loudly on her handkerchief. "It...it was twenty-four years ago, on Friday...that was the last time I saw Mr Slocombe. H-he went out to Sainsbury's for a pound of b-butter. S-slightly salted. He...he never came back."
"Oh my," Mr Humphries breathed. "What did you do?"
"I h-had margarine on me toast," Mrs Slocombe sniffed.
"I mean, what did you do after that?" Mr Humphries asked. "Did you file a police report or anything?"
"N-no," she stammered. "I figured everything out when I bounced a cheque at the market a week later. He drained our bank account dry. Then I got a credit card notice in the posts. The stupid ass forgot to change his address when he left. There were charges made in some place called Littlehampton, at a rock factory. Some bloke called Neville Sutcliffe, he bought several cases of rock off him after he...he...left me!"
She broke down again and Mr Humphries was at a loss for words. Then he furrowed his brow.
"Neville Sutcliffe," he repeated. "Why does that name sound...familiar...oh my word, I think I know him! Is he a blonde fellow that looks like that dandy John Inman, but dumb as a box of…well, rock?"
"How should I know?" Mrs Slocombe wailed. "All I know is last week I was walking through Paddington with Mrs Axelby when she veered into a market, said she needed something from the dairy case. It was slightly salted butter. We were in Sainsbury's. And then it hit me...he's been gone twenty-two years." She pressed the handkerchief to her face again as her body shook from silent sobs.
"I can see now why you're so depressed," Mr Humphries said consolingly. "But you mustn't let it affect you so badly that you turn to the bottle. You could lose your job if Peacock decides to get nasty and tell Rumbold."
"I know," Mrs Slocombe sniffed. "You're right. I must hold my head up and not let it get to me."
"Tell you what," Mr Humphries said. "Let's go out tonight. We'll check out that new club that opened last month. I heard they make a great cosmopolitan - and they get a lot of cute young sailors on shore leave."
Mrs Slocombe giggled and pretended to shove Mr Humphries, who was grinning at her. "You are terrible, Mr Humphries! But not tonight. I've got to do me laundry and Mrs Axelby's coming over to help me move some furniture."
"Tomorrow night, then," Mr Humphries said. "Now come on, let's get back to our regular table." He picked up his plate and gently smacked her wrist when she started to take the spiked coffee with her. She gave him a pout but left it alone.
"Ah, there you two are," Captain Peacock said as they sat down in their usual positions. "Is everything all right?"
"Nothing to worry about," Mr Humphries said, giving Captain Peacock a deft wink. "Mrs Slocombe was just feeling a little under the weather. We've sorted it all out."
"Good to hear," Captain Peacock nodded.
"'Ere, I've been looking for you," Mr Harman said. He came over to the staff's table and sat down without invitation.
"Mr Harman, this is not your table," Captain Peacock snapped. "Kindly remove yourself at once."
Without batting an eyelid Mr Harman looked at the floor walker and said, "Then I guess you don't want to 'ear about the takeover bid, what they're talking about up in the board room at this very minute." He started to stand up but Mr Lucas reached over and grabbed his arm, preventing him from rising.
"How do you know about a takeover bid?" Captain Peacock asked.
"I was just up there," Mr Harman replied. "An' I could overhear them talking in low voices."
"Do you know who it is?" Mr Lucas asked.
"I heard a few names mentioned," Mr Harman said. "And one of them was a bit familiar."
"Well?" Captain Peacock demanded.
Mr Harman turned to Mrs Slocombe and said, "The surname was Slocombe. I wondered if you might know 'im."
Mrs Slocombe shrugged. "It's not an uncommon name," she said. "My husband had three brothers, twelve cousins, and five nephews. It could be any one of them for all I know."
"What were their full names?" Captain Peacock inquired.
"Well, one was called Sutcliffe," Mr Harman replied. "I fink it was Neville Sutcliffe."
"Say what?" Mrs Slocombe gulped.
"And the uvver was a Cecil Slocombe, if memory serves me right," Mr Harman added.
Mrs Slocombe became very pale and her hands began to shake. Then her eyes rolled back as she collapsed in her chair. Mr Humphries cried out as the others huddled around her, and he took out his vial of ammonium carbonate to waft under her nose.

At six o'clock the staff found themselves huddled around a table at Beppo's Café, where they were sipping decent coffee. Mrs Slocombe had calmed down greatly since but had refused to discuss anything until after work when they could all have some privacy.
"I take it you know Cecil Slocombe," Captain Peacock said when their sandwiches arrived.
"I do," Mrs Slocombe replied softly. "He's my ex-husband, who left me in June 1951."
"Our Ada," Mr Humphries whimpered. "No wonder you were so upset."
Mrs Slocombe took a mini-bottle of gin from her handbag and opened it. This time no one stopped her from draining it. Smacking her lips she stared at her co-workers, bleary-eyed, and continued her tale.
"It was eight o'clock in the morning, twenty-four years ago this Friday. I'd made breakfast and he was sitting at the table, real quiet and calm. We'd had a bit of a row a few nights before, but we'd made it up. Anyway, all of a sudden he stood up and announced that he was going down to Sainsbury's for a pound of slightly salted butter. He never came home. A couple weeks later I received a notice from our credit card. He'd made a bunch of charges in Littlehampton, for cases of rock at some factory owned by a Neville Sutcliffe Senior. I figured it out and filed for a divorce. It was all done through the posts. I thought I'd never see him again, would never have to be reminded that I was dumped like that." She sniffed heartily and pressed her handkerchief to her face.
"I had Mr Harman ask some questions," Mr Humphries added, taking out a small notepad from his jacket.. "He did a little reconnaissance for me. According to this, Cecil bought all that rock from Sutcliffe because the factory was losing money. He then sold it at a nice profit and used it to become a shareholder in the Littlehampton Rock Factory. Turns out that Neville is his long-lost brother. He has a son, Neville Junior, who's only taken over in the last few months. Neville Junior owned a fish and chip shop in Blackpool. He sold it to pay off some outstanding debts the factory had. However, he's since recruited Cecil to help him run the business and now they're making very nice profits. We actually sell some of the rock at Grace Brothers."
"I-is that how you know N-Neville?" Mrs Slocombe snuffled.
"Sort of," Mr Humphries replied. "He was in London, giving out free samples to local businesses, trying to get them to flog it. He offered me a pulled banana and I totally misunderstood him. But we worked it out and ended up having drinks at the pub." Mr Humphries got a faraway look in his eyes as he reminisced. "Nice chap, but not very bright."
"Why's he back in London, though?" Miss Brahms asked.
"According to Harman," Mr Humphries said, "they're looking into other businesses, such as sweet shops, restaurants, and department stores. Cecil has already bought a few ailing businesses, turned them around, and then resold them at a very nice profit. He's hoping to do the same with Grace Brothers."
"Grace Brothers is doing fine, though, isn't it?" Captain Peacock asked.
"Not as well as could be expected," Mr Humphries replied. "That little stunt the chemists and technicians pulled last year has not been good for public relations. You remember, it was in the news for two weeks solid. Things have improved slightly but we've still a long way to go before we're back to where we were."
"That's not saying much," Miss Brahms sighed.
"So, let me get this straight," Mr Lucas said, slathering mayonnaise and mustard on his turkey club. "Cecil Slocombe left you all these years ago and moved to Littlehampton. Now he's back and trying to buy Grace Brothers so he can turn it around and sell it."
Mrs Slocombe nodded sadly. She took out another mini-bottle and used it to wash down her ham and Swiss on rye.
"How many of those are you carryin' aroun'? Miss Brahms asked.
Mrs Slocombe shrugged, but Mr Humphries snatched up her bag and shook it. They heard the tinkle of several bottles inside. He and Miss Brahms exchanged a look, nodded, and he turned it upside down. About twenty tiny bottles fell out along with a flask and a vial of lemon juice.
"What did you do?" Mr Humphries asked. "Raid a miniature wet bar?"
"Give me that," Mrs Slocombe snapped. She swept the bottles back into her bag and shoved it back under the table where no one could grab it.
"Do you think he knows you're still at Grace Brothers?" Miss Brahms asked.
"I don't know," Mrs Slocombe sighed. "But he'll find out soon enough, won't he? If he makes a good enough offer Mr Grace will hand over the keys right then and there. Then when he sees me he'll probably push me out the door first!"
"That's if he decides to buy Grace Brothers," Mr Lucas said, shoving the sandwich into his mouth.
"What do you mean, 'if'?" Captain Peacock said.
Mr Lucas finished swallowing his mouthful and motioned for everyone to lean in closer. "Well, what if he found that the store was in too bad shape to purchase? Say, the plumbing and wiring was shot? The workers keep striking? A bit of food poisoning from the Canteen?"
"You're describing the store in its current state, Mr Lucas," Captain Peacock muttered. "And others have nearly bought it."
"Good point," Mr Lucas sighed.
"What if the store was haunted?" Mr Grainger spoke up.
The others stared at him.
"Mrs Grainger and I nearly bought a house in Coventry once," Mr Grainger said. "It was quite nice. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, not far from the bus stop...and the back garden was very roomy. But when we spoke to the neighbours they warned us that it was haunted. Well, at the time Mrs Grainger and I weren't about to listen to such fallacies. We made an offer and had just started to move in when odd things began happening."
"Like what?" Mr Lucas asked.
"We'd unpacked a couple boxes with things for the kitchen," Mr Grainger replied, "and had some plates lying on the table. Then we went out to the car to get a few other boxes. When we returned to the kitchen all the plates had been put back in the box."
"Perhaps you were imagining things," Captain Peacock said. "Or your wife put them away and you didn't notice."
Mr Grainger shook his head. "Oh no. I asked her and she said she hadn't touched them."
"Eerie," Mr Lucas muttered.
"Then we heard voices that night," Mr Grainger went on. "It sounded like there were two people in the room with us, talking about something. But when we switched on the light there was no one there."
"Sound does carry, you know," Captain Peacock remarked. "It could have been the neighbours talking and you overheard them next door."
Again Mr Grainger shook his head. "We had the windows shut. But the thing that drove us out of that house was when I woke up late that night and saw a young girl standing at the foot of my bed. I thought I might have been dreaming until my wife woke up as well and saw the girl. Then she disappeared like she was made of smoke. The next day we packed our things, withdrew our offer, and went back to London."
"Creepy," Miss Brahms shivered.
"So you're saying if the store was haunted," Mr Lucas said, "then he might not want to buy it."
"Well, that's simple enough," Mr Humphries said, rolling his eyes. "We'll just pop 'round to Coventry, pick up a few bored ghosts, and see if they'd like hanging around Grace Brothers."
"I was actually thinking," Mr Grainger explained, "that we could come up with some fake ghost stories and when he comes to inspect the departments we casually mention them."
"He'd never believe it," Mrs Slocombe said. "He's too stubborn."
"But what if the spirits made themselves known somehow?" Mr Grainger said with a mischievous grin.
"I think I follow you," Mr Lucas said, with a grin of his own.
"Good," Miss Brahms sighed. "Because I'm lost."
"It's simple, really," Mr Lucas explained. "We just rig up a few 'special effects' around the department and when Cecil Slocombe comes down to inspect - and he will - we'll casually mention a few tales of paranormal activity. Then when he scoffs we'll back 'em up with, I dunno, say, a moving mannequin or a creepy mist that suddenly appears."
"Voices from the fitting room," Mr Humphries giggled. "Tape measures that take inside legs on their own..."
"I'm not so sure about this," Captain Peacock said quietly.
"It's worth a try," Mr Lucas said. "I mean, if it keeps ol' Cecil from taking over and possibly sacking all of us..."
"What makes you think he'd sack the entire staff?" Mr Humphries asked.
"That's what you do when you take over a business," Mr Lucas replied. "You get rid of the old staff, bring in fresh blood, remodel the building, bring in new stock, then have a grand re-opening. It's what I'd do, anyway."
"It's very frightening," Captain Peacock muttered, "when you actually make a very valid point that makes perfect sense."
"He's right, you know," Miss Brahms said. "If you're so business smart why are you working at Grace Brothers?"
Mr Lucas sipped his coffee and shrugged. "I never finished my degree at university. I keep telling myself I'll go back and get it, but then something pops up."
"I've just had a thought," Mr Humphries interrupted. "Two thoughts, actually..."
"Bully for you!" Mr Lucas chuckled.
Mr Humphries shot him a dirty look. "First, shouldn't we come up with some sort of ghost stories? Say, maybe a few former assistants who have since passed, and their ghosts still come to work?"
"Real assistants or made-up ones?" Miss Brahms asked.
"Either or both," Mr Humphries replied. "The other thing I thought of is a friend of mine works for the BBC. She's done some work on Doctor Who, she might be able to lend us some tips as well as equipment that would make for a very spooky and realistic ghost encounter."
"Good thinking," Mr Grainger said. Then he became concerned. "Mrs Slocombe, whatever's the matter now?"
They all looked at Mrs Slocombe, who had silent tears streaming from her eyes and splashing into her coffee. She turned away for a moment to dab at her face, then said in a shaky voice, "I have never been so moved in my life. To think that you all - even you, Mr Grainger - would go to such lengths to help me. I'm so touched!"
Mr Humphries and Miss Brahms, who were sitting on either side of her, put their arms around Mrs Slocombe's shoulders as fresh sobs racked her body.
"Should we tell her that we're mostly looking out for our own hides?" Mr Grainger whispered from the corner of his mouth to Captain Peacock, who sighed and shook his head in response.
"Right, let's get started," Mr Humphries said after a moment. He whipped out a notepad and pencil. "Let's come up with some names and scenarios. I'll call my friend tonight and make some arrangements. You never know, this might just work."
"And if it doesn't?" Captain Peacock asked.
"Then we start updating our CVs," Mr Lucas replied.

The next morning the news that two gentlemen were possibly going to buy the store had spread like wildfire. There were a few whispered conversations in the Canteen when Mrs Slocombe passed by with her morning coffee, but no one said anything to her. Meanwhile Mr Humphries was discreetly bringing in equipment and hiding it in a fitting room. Captain Peacock had not been very helpful the night before and had said more than once that he could not condone what they were planning, but he still looked away every time Mr Humphries walked by with a box in his arms.
Mr Harman gathered more reconnaissance for them when he could and they finalised their plans during lunch: Cecil Slocombe would be inspecting the store on Thursday afternoon along with Neville Sutcliffe, who was financing most of the venture. When he arrived on the first floor Mrs Slocombe would slip into the fitting room while the others greeted her ex-husband. They would then tell him about some of the 'odd things that had been happening' and to make sure it was driven home they would operate some of the machines Mr Humphries' friend had brought from the BBC, including a fog machine, miniature speakers, a radio microphone, and a few well-placed pulley systems that he and Mr Lucas would be installing after the store closed that would raise the arms on some of the dummies and even lift one female mannequin's skirt up.
"I think we should have a little rehearsal as well," Mr Humphries suggested at lunch. "Just to be sure everyone knows the stories properly and how to use the machines."
"What a good idea!" Mrs Slocombe chirped. "Ooh, I can't wait to see the look on his face when I flip the switch and show him my knickers!"
"I know that'd frighten me," Mr Lucas muttered.
Mrs Slocombe gave him a sour look, then nodded to Miss Brahms who punched him on the arm.
"Easy!" he snapped. "Remember, I'm trying to help you out. I'm staying late to put this lot together."
"True," Mrs Slocombe agreed. "But I am still your superior and you must show me some respect. Otherwise you'll get a bat 'round the ear 'ole!"
"Shall we say five-thirty?" Mr Humphries continued unabated.
The others murmured in agreement then quickly changed the subject when Mr Rumbold walked by on his way to the executive dining room. Somehow they had a feeling he wouldn't be too pleased with what they were planning.

At five-thirty the staff checked to make sure no one else was around and began setting everything up. Mr Harman helped them with the wiring and some of the pulleys, saying that he could use the overtime.
"But this isn't part of your job," Mr Lucas pointed out.
"It's gonna save the store," Mr Harman replied. "Now pass me that minyatore speaker."
In no time they had everything ready and after a few quick tests Mr Humphries nodded his approval and gathered everyone in the centre of the floor.
"Now, we're going to pretend that Cecil Slocombe has just walked in," Mr Humphries explained. "Mr Harman, would you be so kind as to act the part of Mr Slocombe?"
"What about the other one?" Miss Brahms asked. "What's his name? Neville Something?"
"Sutcliffe," Mr Humphries replied. "And don't worry about him. He'll be easy to persuade. It's Mr Slocombe we need to worry about. Now, Mr Harman has kindly agreed to alert us when Mr Slocombe has arrived in the building. He will call us and I will give the signal to Mrs Slocombe. We'll take it from there. Everyone to your positions!"
The staff scurried to their positions behind the counters. Mr Humphries picked up the phone and pretended to listen, then he replaced the receiver and nodded to Mrs Slocombe, who stared at him.
"Mrs Slocombe," Mr Humphries said, walking over to her counter. "That was your cue."
"You just nodded to me," Mrs Slocombe said. "That could mean anything."
"We must try to be subtle," Mr Humphries told her. "What if Jug Ears is on the floor when Harman calls?"
"'Ere, what if you just call our phone and tell me," Miss Brahms suggested. "Then I could tap 'er on the shoulder and..." She gestured with her head toward the fitting room.
"We'll use a code word just in case," Mr Humphries said. "When I call I'll tell you...ah, I'll tell you that I'm having trouble with my tape measure. That'll be your cue to cue Mrs Slocombe. Right! Let's try it." He walked back to his counter and picked up the phone. The phone at the Ladies' counter rang a few seconds later.
"Ladies Intimate Apparel," Miss Brahms answered.
"I'm having trouble with my tape measure," Mr Humphries whispered into the receiver.
"Sorry?" Miss Brahms replied.
"I'm having trouble with my tape measure," Mr Humphries repeated, slightly louder.
"You're having a mumble with your grape pressure?" Miss Brahms said, looking a bit confused.
"I'm having trouble with my tape measure!" Mr Humphries shouted into the receiver.
"Oh, right!" Miss Brahms replied. She hung up and tapped Mrs Slocombe on the shoulder, who nodded. Then she flattened herself against the wall and crept toward the fitting room in a manner that would have made Dan Briggs proud.
"Now then," Mr Humphries continued. "Mr Slocombe will come out of the lift and walk down to greet Captain Peacock." He gestured to Mr Harman who was standing next to the lifts. He came down the stairs and walked up to Captain Peacock.
"Mornin' Squire," he addressed the floor walker.
Captain Peacock groaned audibly, but answered, "Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the first floor. I am Captain Stephen Peacock, the floor walker. May I be of assistance?"
"I'm just lookin' 'round," Mr Harman said casually. "Might be buying this dump soon. I do that, you know. Buy up old businesses what's about to tank and then turn 'em aroun'. I thought I'd check out your floor firs', see what needs to be replaced."
Mr Grainger, who had fallen asleep in his chair, chose that moment to give a very loud snore.
"Cor, blimey!" Mr Harman chuckled. "He'll be the firs' to go!"
Mr Humphries rolled his eyes and bent over to whisper into Mr Grainger's ear. "Are you free, Mr Grainger?"
Mr Grainger snapped to a full alert state and stood up quickly. "Y-yes, I'm free!"
Captain Peacock clapped a hand to his face. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Perhaps you would like to visit the Men's department first? I'm sure our Mr Grainger could give you a quick tour. Mr Grainger?"
Mr Grainger stepped forward and smiled. "If you'd walk this way, sir?" He led Mr Harman over to the counter, then stopped abruptly. "Oh my," he said quietly.
"What's wrong?" Mr Harman asked.
"It's just that...he's been here," Mr Grainger muttered cryptically.
"Who's been here?"
"Mr Franklin, my old boss."
"So?"
Mr Grainger turned slowly and raised an eyebrow. "He's been dead fifteen years."
"D'you mean to tell me this place is haunted?" Mr Harman scoffed. "I don't believe a word of it."
"Oh, it's true," Mr Lucas chimed in. "We've had lots of paranormal activity around here. Every day Mr Franklin makes his presence known by waving a dummy's arm about. It's eerie, it is."
"In fact, I wouldn't stand so close to that one," Mr Humphries said, indicating a male mannequin wearing a yellow and black sweater that stood next to the counter. "That's the one he's been using lately. Right, now that's your cue, Mr Lucas."
Mr Lucas nodded and subtly tugged on a thin wire hidden under the counter. Nothing happened.
"Mr Lucas, you're supposed to pull the wire," Mr Humphries chided him.
"I am pulling it," Mr Lucas snapped. "It's caught on something."
Mr Humphries sighed and began examining the dummy. "Everything looks fine here," he said.
"Wait, I think I've got it," Mr Lucas said. Then he yanked hard on the wire, causing the dummy's hand to jerk upward and catch Mr Humphries in the groin. He cried out in pain then leaned on the counter for support.
"Are you alright, Mr Humphries?" Mr Lucas asked, looking very concerned.
Mr Humphries whimpered something that sounded very much like, 'Get stuffed.'
"Perhaps we should move on," Captain Peacock suggested in a very bored tone.
"Yes," Mr Humphries squeaked. He cleared his throat and limped toward the fitting room door. "Now, you know the script. Carry on!"
Mr Grainger led Mr Harman to the fitting room. "I must warn you, there have been stories of people hearing whispers while they're in the fitting room. It's very peculiar. I've heard them myself a few times."
"Rubbish," Mr Harman stated firmly. He walked toward the door and Mr Humphries opened a drawer that contained a small box. He pressed a switch and they were treated to a loud recording of Mr Lucas mimicking an old man's voice. One of the miniature speakers sparked then blew out while the other blasted incomprehensible garble. Mr Humphries shrieked and nearly dropped the tape recorder as he fumbled around for the volume. Finally he located it and turned it down to a low whisper.
"What happened?" Miss Brahms asked, racing over from her counter.
"Someone left the volume cranked up," Mr Humphries replied, clutching his chest. "Oh, Sheryl's not going to be happy. Those speakers cost five pounds each. How am I going to replace them?"
"We'll think of something," Mr Lucas said. "We only need one up there, anyway. Try it again."
Mr Humphries pressed a shaking finger to the switch and Mr Harman listened closely.
"I can't hear anyfing," he said.
Mr Humphries turned the volume up slightly.
"A little more," Mr Harman said. "A bit more...wait...yeah, I can 'ear it now." He listened for a moment. "What's 'e sayin'?"
"'Don't let Jug Ears near you in full sunlight, otherwise you'll be blinded'," Mr Lucas laughed.
"Enough fooling around," Mr Humphries said. "Let's try the Ladies department."
Miss Brahms went back to her counter as Captain Peacock led Mr Harman over. "This is the Ladies department," he explained. "I'm afraid our senior assistant has been called away for the moment, but I'm sure Miss Brahms will be happy to help you."
"Good morning, sir," Miss Brahms bubbled. "How can I assist you this morning?"
"I can think of a few ways," Mr Harman replied, staring at her ample cleavage.
"Mr Harman, please!" Mr Humphries cried.
"Er, you can show me aroun'," Mr Harman added quickly.
Miss Brahms curtsied and started to leave the counter. However, she stopped dead in her tracks and muttered, "Oh no, not again."
"What's wrong?" Mr Harman asked.
Miss Brahms gestured for him to come closer so she could whisper, "It's Mrs Harrison. She used to be the senior 'ere, but she was forced into early retirement five years ago. It was too much for her. She died six months later. The doctors said her last words were, 'I'll make them pay! I'll make 'em all pay for givin' me the sack!'" Miss Brahms narrowed her eyes and adopted a mean, bitter voice to go with the words.
"Blimey," Mr Harman shuddered. "That's enough there to give anyone the collywobbles."
"What's more is when a man goes into the ladies fitting room she shouts at them to get the 'eck out," Miss Brahms continued.
"But she asks Mr Humphries where he gets his nails done," Mr Lucas cracked.
Mr Humphries glared at Mr Lucas.
"She's the phantom of the fitting room, she is. If you don't believe me, go on in," Miss Brahms said, stepping aside and pointing to a stall. "Go on. I dare you."
Mr Harman grinned and shook his head, then walked into the fitting room Miss Brahms had indicated. He pulled back the curtains and waited. Nothing happened.
"We're never going to get home tonight, are we?" Mr Lucas grumbled.
"Mrs Slocombe?" Mr Humphries chirped. "Mrs Slocombe? You missed your cue." He pulled back the curtains on the adjoining stall to find Mrs Slocombe passed out inside.
"Bloody 'ell," Mr Harman coughed. "I can smell it from 'ere! How much 'as she 'ad?"
Mr Humphries gently shook Mrs Slocombe awake. She raised her head slowly and a small avalanche of miniature bottles that had been supporting her like a pillow fell onto the floor. A Plymouth label was stuck to her cheek and her lipstick was smeared across her face as well as the wall.
"Will you take over, Miss Brahms," Mr Humphries groaned, "while I take Mrs Slocombe to hospital to have her stomach pumped?"
"You'll be there all night," Mr Lucas chuckled, earning him a few hard smacks from Miss Brahms.

By Thursday morning Mrs Slocombe was involuntarily sober and the staff were confident they could pull the stunt off. Mr Humphries kept checking the wiring as well as the volume switches on the radio microphones and tape recorders. Mr Grainger tried his best to stay awake but ended up nodding off just after lunch. Miss Brahms kept a close eye on Mrs Slocombe and had even rummaged through her bag a few times, confiscating more tiny liqueur bottles as well as a fresh lemon and a can of mace that she knew was reserved for the ex-husband.
At a quarter to three the phone rang on the men's counter. Mr Humphries rushed to answer it. He nodded and hung up, then dialled the Ladies counter.
"Ladies Intimate Apparel," Miss Brahms answered.
"I'm having trouble with my tape measure," Mr Humphries said softly into the phone.
Miss Brahms glanced over and nodded. She hung up and tapped Mrs Slocombe on the arm.
"Shove off," she said. "Cecil's on his way up."
Mrs Slocombe looked terrified but she took a deep breath, puffed out her chest, and went into the fitting room.
A moment later the lift doors dinged and out came a stoutish man of about fifty with greying ginger hair. He had a younger blonde man following him, who could easily have been Mr Humphries' long lost twin if he was an inch taller and fifty IQ points smarter, which he demonstrated by trying to chat up the first male dummy he saw.
"My, what a lovely jacket," he purred to the mannequin. "It brings out your eyes so nicely," he added, even though he was looking nowhere near the mannequin's face.
"Neville, you're flirting with a dummy," the older man sighed heavily.
"He looks smart enough to me," Neville grinned.
The older man grabbed Neville's arm and led him away. Captain Peacock saw them and intercepted.
"Good afternoon, Sirs," he greeted them. "Are you being served?"
"No, thank you," Neville replied with a toothy smile. "We're here to inspect the building in case we decide to buy the business. My name is Neville Sutcliffe and this is my partner, Cecil Slocombe."
"Business partner," Cecil added quickly.
"Ah yes," Captain Peacock replied. "We've been excepting you. Perhaps you'd like to inspect the men first?"
Neville looked startled then excited as he started to move toward the men's counter, but Cecil threw an arm out to stop him.
"I think you should look at the Ladies' section," he suggested.
"I don't want to look at them," Neville protested.
"You'll do as you're told," Cecil snapped. "Remember when the business was going south and who pulled your ass out?"
"Extremely well," Neville muttered.
"Just go check out the Ladies," Cecil sighed. "I'd do it myself but my ex-wife still works here and I don't think we need a scene."
"Your ex-wife?" Captain Peacock repeated, trying to sound surprised. "You mean...you and Mrs Slocombe...?"
"Betty Slocombe, yeah," Cecil growled. "And I'd rather not run into her if I can help it. Get going, Neville."
Neville tossed his head and minced over to the Ladies counter, where Miss Brahms immediately went into her routine. Within seconds she was leading him toward the fitting room.
"If Sir would follow me," Captain Peacock addressed Cecil. "I'm sure Mr Grainger would-"
Captain Peacock's next words were drowned out by a loud shriek. Neville burst out of the fitting room and was caught under the arms by Captain Peacock. His face was very pale and his whole body was shaking.
"What's the matter, Neville?" Cecil asked. "You look as though you've seen a ghost!"
"Worse than that," Neville whimpered. "I went to look in the fitting room and when I pulled back the curtains I saw...I saw..." He broke down into convulsing sobs.
"Calm down there, mate," Cecil said, patting Neville awkwardly on the arm. "I'll go 'ave a look."
Cecil turned and went toward the fitting room, then he too screamed and bolted from it.
"Come on, Neville!" he cried. "We're leaving!" They ran up to the lift and jabbed frantically at the buttons. When the lift doors opened they fought to get inside and punched at the buttons until the doors closed.
"My word!" Mr Humphries chuckled. "It worked! They were really convinced the store is haunted."
"Not really," Miss Brahms said, looking a little guilty.
"What do you mean?" Captain Peacock asked.
"Well, I thought Mrs Slocombe was in the first stall so I had Neville open the second and she was in there," Miss Brahms explained.
"So?" Mr Humphries said. "That shouldn't have frightened them."
"Not under normal circumstances," Miss Brahms winced. "I went in there after Neville bolted and found this." She held up a nearly empty Plymouth bottle. "She's got a hidden stash in there and she's been nipping from it all day. I reckon she went in and turned up the bottle when I gave her the cue."
"Oh dear," Captain Peacock sighed.
"But why would that scare them?" Mr Humphries asked. "We've all seen her drunk before. She's actually quite fun."
"Not when she's this blotted," Miss Brahms replied. "And has mistook the fitting room for the ladies'."
All four of the men stared open-mouthed at her. Mr Lucas shook his head and stepped forward. He went into the fitting room, pulled the curtain back ever-so-slowly, and quickly shut it again. He turned around and made a retching sound in the back of his throat.
"How bad is it?" Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Lucas took out his handkerchief and mopped his face, which had broke out into a cold sweat. "She's passed out," he said. "And...and..." He shuddered violently and began weeping. Mr Humphries went past him and took a look for himself. A moment later he returned looking very grave.
"Well?" Captain Peacock and Mr Grainger asked together.
"Let me put it to you this way," Mr Humphries replied as casually as he could. "I now realise why Cecil Slocombe left her, aside from the obvious reasons. Alcoholism and bitchiness aside, she's a lovely woman...until she shows you her pussy."
Captain Peacock and Mr Grainger stared, shocked, at Mr Humphries. Mr Lucas let out a fresh wail and Miss Brahms had her face pressed into her right hand. Just as Captain Peacock opened his mouth to admonish Mr Humphries a jellicle cat pelted out of the fitting room, jumped up on the men's counter, and began preening herself. The poor thing had no teeth, was bandy-legged, and had bits of fur missing here and there.
Mr Grainger looked relieved and Captain Peacock leaned on the counter for support. "My word," he breathed. "For a moment I thought...but never mind."
Mr Humphries smirked and snorted, "Hmph! If you think that's bad, you should see her muff. She's lying on the floor in there, passed out, with her knickers 'round her ankles and her legs spread wider than the A1."
It took two hours to calm Mr Lucas down. Mr Grainger called his wife and told her several times how much he loved and cherished her. Captain Peacock took the gin bottle and finished it off before going into the men's fitting room to lie down. Miss Brahms roused Mrs Slocombe after a while and helped clean her up, then called Alcoholics Anonymous. Mr Humphries simply hummed Sweet Painted Lady to himself as he filed his nails and waited for the next customer.
Fin.
Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?