Toby Ibbotson - Mountwood School for Ghosts

‘Hello, Percy.’

As soon as Percy appeared, Daniel knew that something more than usual was wrong. He looked so woebegone and worried that he was obviously about to cry.

‘Are you unhappy about not being able to go along for the big push?’ asked Daniel.

Sure enough, Percy burst into tears. ‘There is no big push,’ he sobbed. ‘Nobody’s going.’

‘What?’

‘They’re just lying there. Mother and Father and Vera and everybody. They can’t go. I don’t know what’s happening.’

‘Are they ill or something?’ Daniel didn’t even know if ghosts could be ill.

‘Help. You must help. I don’t know what to do,’ Percy wailed in despair.

‘Percy, you must go and wake Charlotte. We’ll think of something.’

Daniel was just trying to comfort Percy. He had no idea what he could do to help.

‘Go along, Percy. I’ll meet you at number twelve.’

Daniel hurried into some clothes and crept downstairs past Aunt Joyce’s room. As he passed, he saw a dim light escaping from the crack under her door. Apparently she was still awake.

Daniel let himself out and ran down to number twelve.

Charlotte came quickly, barefoot and in dressing gown and pyjamas. ‘I’ve got the key.’

Charlotte’s mother still had a spare key to number twelve. She had watered the plants for the Bennetts when they were away. They let themselves into the empty hallway and opened the door to the living room.

The room was faintly lit with ghostly ectoplasmic radiance, but it was weak and unsteady, coming and going in dim waves. And it was an odd colour. The glow, which was usually bluish, was shot through with angry streaks of red and sickly yellowish green. Daniel and Charlotte could hardly make out the ghosts at all. They were not floating about as they usually did, but lying unmoving in odd places on the floor.

Kylie was sitting in a corner, with her head on her knees. Beside her was the Phantom Welder, his head back, his mouth open. The others were scattered about on the floor, apparently unable to move. Angus Crawe was nowhere to be seen.

Charlotte and Daniel crept into the room and went over to Iphigenia.

‘Mrs Peabody,’ said Charlotte, ‘what’s the matter? What shall we do?’

For a long time Iphigenia said nothing. She was so weak that it was like looking at an image made of water. They could see the floor beneath her quite clearly. Then she spoke in a whisper so faint that they had to bend close to hear her.

‘A plague… poison… I don’t know. We are being sent on.’

‘Sent on?’

Daniel turned fearfully to Charlotte. ‘Can ghosts…?’ He didn’t want to say it. ‘Can ghosts die?’

‘There is exorcism. I think that destroys them.’

Then something struck Daniel. ‘Why is Percy all right?’

They both turned at the same time to speak to him. But Percy was gone.

The Great Hagges were in a hurry. The Rolls was going as fast as it could, with Goneril clutching the wheel and staring grimly before her, passing lorries on dangerous bends, shooting over crossroads without looking to left or right.

Fredegonda’s thumb had started to prick when they were eating their breakfast that evening. At first she had dismissed it. Sometimes it did that when Vicar Flitch drove past on the main road to visit his parishioners. But it didn’t stop. The pricking got stronger and stronger. Fredegonda went outside and held it up, turning slowly in a full circle. At one point, roughly east, in the direction of the city, her thumb swelled to twice its normal size and started throbbing visibly. There was no doubt about it. She went inside again. Drusilla was having a sneezing fit.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, blowing her nose for the fourth time.

‘Our team are in trouble, I think,’ said Fredegonda. ‘There is no time to lose. Goneril…’ But Goneril was already hurrying out to the car.

Now the Rolls sped through the night, reaching the outskirts of the city in record time and threading its way through the suburbs until it turned in at Markham Street and parked outside number twelve. The Hagges marched up the steps, pushed open the front door and entered the living room.

‘Oh, thank God,’ said Daniel when they entered.

He and Charlotte had been sitting helplessly watching the ghosts get fainter and weaker without being able to do anything to help.

‘No need to thank Him, I assure you,’ said Fredegonda. She took charge immediately. ‘This is worse than I feared. We are under attack. This is no exorcism. Drusilla, what can you do?’

‘Not much I’m afraid, unless we find the source.’

‘I won’t be much help,’ said Fredegonda, looking at her thumb. ‘There will be protection.’

‘Then I fear we will lose them.’

‘Lose them?’ Daniel spoke up.

‘Yes, lose them,’ said Goneril. ‘They are being sent on, disintegrated, dissolved.’

‘But ghosts are already dead, aren’t they? What will happen to them?’

‘It is beyond our ken. But they will be ghosts no more.’

‘Think, boy, think,’ said Fredegonda. ‘Who or what could be doing this?’

‘Um… Jack Bluffit…’

‘Oh, don’t talk nonsense. That oaf couldn’t spellbind his way out of a paper bag.’

Then they heard a weak voice, almost inaudible, from the floor by the window. It was Vera. She was in a terrible state, hardly there at all. Already most of her was just a dirty-yellow swirling mist.

They all came closer.

‘What did you say, Vera?’ said Drusilla. ‘Try to speak.’

‘Number six,’ came a tremulous whisper in reply. ‘Something black and ugly… I… I…’ But she could say no more.

‘Number six? But that’s where I live,’ said Daniel.

‘Right,’ said Fredegonda. ‘Number six it is. Drusilla, you stay here. Do what you can. Goneril, come along.’

In two strides she was out of the door, with Goneril after her. Daniel and Charlotte were forgotten.

Daniel ran out after them into the street. Already they were almost at his front gate.

‘Wait, my mum and dad, I have to…’

Goneril strode up to the front door, which Daniel had locked behind him when he went out. ‘I’ve got the key,’ he called, fumbling in his pocket.

But it was too late for any of that. Goneril put her hand against the locked door, and gave a little push. The lock splintered and the door swung wide.

‘Hey, you can’t…’ shouted Daniel, but again he was ignored.

‘Upstairs, wouldn’t you say?’ said Goneril.

‘Definitely. No more noise now.’

The Great Hagges took the steps three at a time, with Daniel stumbling after. They moved completely silently, in spite of their huge feet. On the landing they stopped.

Fredegonda pointed left, then right, at the two doors, and raised her eyebrow.

Goneril pointed to the right-hand door. A faint glow still showed under it.

‘I’ll go in. You keep an eye out,’ said Goneril, and she pushed open Great-Aunt Joyce’s door and disappeared inside.

Daniel’s parents had woken up when the front-door lock splintered. Mr Salter lay awake for a moment, and then he heard a voice on the landing. He got up and stuck his head round the door. He got a shock.

Standing in front of Aunt Joyce’s door, with her arms folded and a frightful expression on her face, was the biggest, gauntest, ugliest woman he had ever seen in his life. Daniel was standing beside her, looking desperate. John Salter was speechless, but Fredegonda wasn’t.

‘Get back inside and lock your door. And take your son with you,’ she hissed.

She reached out a bony hand, lifted Daniel up by his collar, took a step forward and threw him past his father into the room. Then she gave Mr Salter himself a shove that flung him backwards to land in a heap on top of Daniel, and slammed the door shut.