Copyright © 2017 Simon Jones
Seymour Hallows was dead but his bank lived on. As he materialised he saw at once the arches of the vault. He anticipated a frisson as he passed through the metal grille – or rather, as it passed through him – but he felt nothing. Being incorporeal was still a novelty to him.
There was no light, but by his own ectoplasmic glimmer he could see the reassuring glow of large metal containers. He decided to explore further and floated up the service shaft.
What a racket came from the lobby! Was there a raid? A run on the banks? Forgetting himself, he ran to help them.
He nearly took his phantom cane to the staff, who appeared to have come to work in their underwear, but then noticed the optics and pumps. Bacchus had bought out Mammon – they were serving alcohol here!
He looked again, and saw the sums of money passing over the bar. Mammon was an equal partner. Fading, he smiled.