Toby Ibbotson - Mountwood School for Ghosts

The other two nodded at this. Not all ghosts can affect the material world, moving objects around or making them levitate. Some of them can do this, many can’t. The Phantom Welder was no poltergeist, but he had had a good pair of hands when he was alive and had kept a strong contact with things physical even after passing over.

These were the easy choices. A long and enjoyable argument followed.

Fredegonda suggested the Legless Anglo-Saxon Warrior, on the grounds that he was crude and violent. But he had absolutely no control over his few remaining body parts, in Goneril’s opinion, and what is more he was a martyr to stage fright.

Finally they settled on the Druid, who they felt deserved recognition for his sterling efforts, and the Shortener, whose materialization skills would be a valuable asset to the team.

‘That seems to be it, ladies,’ said Fredegonda. ‘It has been a long session. I thought maybe one more team member of the grimmer variety might be useful, but I think we can be satisfied.’

The bus was booked. It would depart in the late evening, to arrive at Markham Street at midnight.

There was great excitement among the ghosts who had been chosen. They decided to call themselves Team Spectre, and although they were very modest when talking to the other ghosts, they couldn’t help feeling that they were part of an elite, that they were set apart.

A final assembly had been called. The Great Hagges, sitting straight-backed and formal on their chairs, were going to address them and give them some last words of advice before seeing them off on the bus. The ghosts who had not been included were terribly disappointed, of course, but they cheered and clapped when Team Spectre glided into the dimly lit chamber, looking very serious and determined. The rest of the phantoms swirled about them, wishing them well and raising the occasional ‘Hurrah!’ or ‘Go, team, go!’ All except Cousin Vera.

She stood limply in the middle of the hall by the well-mouth. Her head hung limply, her dress hung limply, her hands hung limply at her sides. She was limp. The fat housemaster was in the middle of a pompous little speech telling Ron Peabody to ‘keep a firm hand on the wheel’ and ‘stay the course’, when Iphigenia caught sight of Vera. She excused herself, leaving Ron to say, ‘Yes, of course,’ and, ‘Jolly good,’ and glided over to her.

‘Vera, Vera darling. We will be back in no time. I’m sure you will be fine.’

‘I wanted to come with you,’ gulped Vera, ‘but there was no point in my even applying. I’m bottom of the class. My wail is not. A banshee without a wail is like a… like a…’ She had been about to say ‘a bird that cannot fly’, but then she remembered that there are birds that can’t fly, so she burst into tears instead.

Iphigenia floated over to the Great Hagges, who were waiting for the tumult and chatter to die down before saying their final words.

‘Excuse me, but could I have a word?’

‘Yes, Mrs Peabody.’ Fredegonda was beginning to find Mrs Peabody just a tiny bit too much. Not that she wasn’t a good student, but it would be no bad thing to have her out of the castle for a while. ‘What do you wish to say?’

Fredegonda’s voice, as always, caught the attention of every wraith in the room. The Phantom Welder had once compared it unfavourably to the sound of a blunt hacksaw on three-quarter-inch cast-iron pipe. The crowd fell silent.

‘Could not Vera accompany us? She could see to Percy while I am at work.’

‘I am very sorry,’ said Fredegonda, ‘but this is an enterprise requiring both skill and strength of purpose. I cannot honestly say that Vera has either.’

Vera slumped in despair.

‘Aa divna ’boot that. Yer niver kna.’ A hoarse voice echoed from below. ‘Anyways, aa’m thinkin’ aa’ll gan along wi’yus.’

Angus Crawe rose slowly from the depths. First his head appeared. His craggy freckled face and hollow cheeks were encircled by a straggly beard, sandy hair and side whiskers, and one could instantly see why he was a little hard to understand. Added to his rather strong accent was the fact that a Scottish claymore had at some point cloven both his upper and lower lips, so that he seemed to be wearing a permanent mad grin, showing his blackened stumps of teeth and bright red tongue.

The rest of him emerged. He was wearing only a leather jerkin on the upper part of his body, displaying a scarred chest almost as hairy as his head. The lower part of him was wearing a pair of woollen long johns. They were not very clean. He had inherited them from his father, who had never washed them either.

He floated above the dark mouth of the well and spoke directly to Vera. ‘Aa’ll see yer areet, petal. Nae worries.’

Drusilla spoke up. ‘How nice to meet you properly at last, Mr Crawe. However, we have decided—’

Angus interrupted her. ‘Divn’t be daft. Aa’m gannin’, and so’s the lassie.’ He pointed at Vera. ‘Just a tick, I’ll fetch up Doris.’

He swooshed back into the well, re-emerging a moment later with a huge two-handled sword that was almost as long as he was. He whirled it around his head, and it whistled and hummed. Then he emitted a blood-curdling yell, the battle cry of the Crawes.

As the echoes died away in the rafters above their heads, he said, ‘Haway then. Time t’di a bit’a damage.’

At that moment the hooting of an ancient klaxon was heard from the courtyard. There was no more to be said. The Great Hagges had no time to deliver their carefully prepared speech; they bowed to the inevitable. Team Spectre, surrounded by a fluttering throng of phantoms, glided out to the bus. Last to board was Vera, accompanied by Angus Crawe.

The hour approached. Just before midnight Daniel and Charlotte sat on the kerb outside Daniel’s house, under a street lamp. They didn’t know how the ghosts would arrive, but they had decided to be there to welcome them anyway. They were nervous and excited.

‘I hope they come,’ said Charlotte.

‘They’ll come.’

‘You seem very sure.’

‘I am. It’s a funny thing about those Great Hagges. I mean, they are absolutely foul, and I bet they would have done something terrible to us if Percy’s mother hadn’t stopped them — they’re capable of anything — but I can’t imagine them breaking a promise.’

‘Now that you mention it, neither can I.’

Just then the street lamp above their heads flickered and died. One by one all the lamps on the street went out. The temperature seemed to drop suddenly, and Charlotte shivered and pulled her jacket closer about her shoulders.

In the grubby neon glow reflected from the city sky they saw an ancient bus coast silently round the corner at the end of Markham Street. It drew to a halt in front of them. It seemed to be completely empty, apart from the driver; and even he, in his peaked cap and uniform, was whitish blue and transparent. Slowly the bus filled with unearthly luminescence, and the various apparitions took shape and glided out of it. The first to greet them was Iphigenia, with a smiling Percy at her side.

‘Well, here we are, children. How nice to see you again.’

Ronald stepped forward and stood to attention. With his pumping arteries and twitching muscle fibres he looked every bit the soldier.

‘Team Spectre reporting for duty. All present and correct.’

‘I think you’ve met everybody,’ said Iphigenia. ‘Except perhaps Mr Crawe.’

Angus came forward and winked. Both Daniel and Charlotte were impressed. He really did look as though he might frighten anyone, particularly when he smiled.

They said, ‘Pleased to meet you,’ and, ‘How do you do.’