Toby Ibbotson - Mountwood School for Ghosts

Daniel jumped out of bed. If ever anybody needed help, he needed it now. He had to speak to Charlotte, and it couldn’t wait.

He rushed downstairs. He didn’t need to turn the lights on; he knew every creaky floorboard and wobbly banister in the house. In the hall he pushed his feet into a pair of trainers and let himself out.

Under the street lamps Markham Street was silent. Daniel crossed over and ran down the street and round the corner, doubling back up the alleyway full of dustbins at the back of the row of houses. Charlotte had a room at the back, quite high up. When he got to her house, he stood looking up. It was almost too dark to see, but a big city is never really dark.

No light showed in Charlotte’s window. He tried whistling. No response. He had a look at the sheer brick wall. There was an old drainpipe that showed definite possibilities. He had tried it once on his own house. He seemed to recall that it hadn’t gone very well that time, but this time he would do it.

He started shinning up the drainpipe, bracing his feet against the wall. Luckily it had been put there by builders who cared about their reputations, and it was bolted firmly in place. At last he reached the level of Charlotte’s window, and that was when he remembered quite clearly what had gone wrong last time. The windowsill was off to his right and he couldn’t reach it.

‘Charlie,’ he hissed, ‘wake up, please.’

No movement from Charlotte’s room, no light. Daniel’s legs were beginning to tremble with the strain of staying where he was. He put his head back and yowled. There were always stray cats having fights in the back alley, and Charlotte used to complain that they woke her up and she had to get up and throw water over them. Sure enough, a light went on in Charlotte’s room, the sash window was pushed up and a tousled head appeared, followed by a hand holding a water jug.

‘Charlie, it’s me; it’s Daniel.’

‘Daniel? What on earth? What’s happened? What’s wrong?’

‘I’m stuck.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘I won’t be here much longer if you don’t help me.’

‘OK, hang on.’

‘What do you think I’m doing?’

Charlotte disappeared. She was gone for what seemed to Daniel like a very long time. When she reappeared at last she had something in her hand.

‘What’s that?’

‘A rolling pin.’

‘A what?’

‘A rolling pin. I had to go down and get it from the kitchen. I’ve tied some washing line round the middle. Try to grab it and sit on it — you know, like a swing. I’ve tied the other end to the bed leg.’

‘Will it hold?’

‘I have no idea. Why didn’t you just ring the bell, for heaven’s sake?’

Daniel didn’t answer; he was trying to push the rolling-pin between his legs with one hand and keep his grip on the drainpipe with the other. He succeeded just in time, lost his grip on the drainpipe, swung down under the windowsill, scraping his knees in the process, and with a lot of pulling from Charlotte, fell into the room.

When he had got his breath back he got straight to the point, walking up and down the room while Charlotte retired to bed, hugging her knees and listening.

‘We can’t blow them up, we can’t shoot them, I know that. But what if we scare them off? The ghosts at Mountwood, you know, all Percy’s friends and relations, they can come here and haunt. They’re supposed to be learning to be really terrifying, aren’t they? Well, they must be pretty good at it by now. And Percy’s mother said if we ever needed help, they’d help us. Well, we do need help; we really do. We have to go and ask them to come. Get dressed, now, Charlie, we can sneak off and get the first bus from the station, or hitchhike or something. We can be there by this evening.’

Charlotte was silent, her brown eyes gazing at Daniel and a frown on her face.

‘No.’

‘No? No? Is that what you have to say? It’s our last chance, you must see that. I might as well die. Don’t you know what this is doing to my mum and dad?’

Charlotte never spoke much about her own troubles, but she knew what the destruction of Markham Street was doing to her own family. Her mother hadn’t said anything to her, but Charlotte knew how desperate she was about having to move. It hadn’t been easy for her since Charlotte’s father had left them. Markham Street and their shabby old house had been what held her together.

‘Daniel, shut up and listen. It’s a brilliant idea. It’s our only hope. But I will not sneak off again like a thief in the night without telling my mother where I’m going. We must tell the truth.’

‘They’ll say it’s all nonsense and stop us going if we start talking about ghosts and Hagges.’

‘It’ll be all right. Anyway, I am not going to run out on my mum without a word. You’d better go now. And please, Daniel, use the stairs.’

Mr Salter was confused. His son had come down to breakfast with an expression on his face that Mr Salter was very familiar with. It meant that he had something to say and he was going to say it.

When Aunt Joyce had left the table to take her morning bath, which meant that nobody could use the bathroom for at least two hours, Daniel started to speak. But the more he spoke, the more confused John Salter became. He stopped clearing the table to listen more carefully to his son, but it just didn’t seem to make any sense.

The fact is that Daniel had bottled out. It was all very well for Charlotte to get on her high horse about speaking the truth, but it was easier said than done. He just could not risk being forbidden to go. So he started off rather vaguely.

‘Charlotte and I met some people when we were in Carlisle. Three important ladies. We want to go there again and ask them for help.’

‘What kind of help, Daniel? I don’t understand.’

‘Well, they were retired, I think, but they had power.’

‘Power? What sort of power?’ said Mr Salter, scraping the remains of Aunt Joyce’s wholegrain muesli into the compost bucket.

‘Well… they were… um… powerful. They had some very…’ Daniel struggled for words, ‘some very special students.’

‘I don’t see how students can stop a multi-million-pound development. You saw what happened to the demonstration. Daniel, it’s a fine thing that you want to do all you can, but I’m afraid you will be terribly disappointed. I know it’s boring, but parents are boring people and I have to say it. You will only end up even sadder, and I don’t think I can stand that. But l tell you what — if you get me the number, I’ll give these people a ring and find out more about them. Then we can decide.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘They’re not on the phone.’

When the doorbell rang an hour or so later, Daniel was in his room. He went out on to the landing and heard his father open the front door and say, ‘Oh, hello, Margaret.’

It was Charlotte’s mother. He couldn’t hear what she said because she was standing out on the front step, but he caught his father’s reply clearly enough.

‘A lunatic? No, Margaret, you must be wrong. Charlotte is anything but a lunatic. But come in, please, and I’ll put the kettle on.’

They went into the kitchen.

Any minute now, thought Daniel, and he was right.

‘Daniel!’ shouted Mr Salter from the kitchen doorway. ‘Come down here. I want to talk to you.’

When Daniel came into the kitchen Charlotte’s mother was sitting at the table, resting her forehead in one hand and clutching a mug of tea with the other. She looked tired, as she always did, but now a look of puzzlement and worry had been added to her weariness. She was still wearing her apron and had flour on her jumper.