Toby Ibbotson - Mountwood School for Ghosts

But when Iphigenia glided up the aisle a little later to see that he was all right, he wasn’t there. She found Cousin Vera though, squashed into a window seat near the front beside a hugely fat ghost who had been housemaster at a famous public school and had died of apoplexy while enthusiastically thrashing a small pupil.

‘Vera, darling, where is Percy sitting?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I thought he was with you,’ said Vera.

Iphigenia, getting worried now, glided up and down the bus, calling for her son, but it was soon quite clear that Percy was not on board.

‘Ronald, Percy is not here! Oh, my poor boy! We must make them turn round and go back.’

They went to talk to the driver.

‘You must turn around immediately; our son has been left behind,’ said Ronald.

‘Can’t do that,’ said the driver. ‘Can’t mess up my schedule. Got a pick-up in Birmingham, and have to be at Mountwood before dawn. They were very clear about that, and I’m not going to get myself into trouble with those three.’ He shivered, remembering his meeting with the three Great Hagges.

‘But good grief, man, this is an emergency. Our son is lost.’

‘Tell you what — I’ll try to send a message to a mate of mine who haunts the service station. He’ll find the boy and see he’s all right until you can pick him up, or get him on to another bus.’

There was nothing to be done. Ronald fumed, Iphigenia pleaded and wept, but the driver was adamant. He wasn’t turning back for a slip of a boy who’d missed the bus. The other passengers were sympathetic. Cousin Vera wailed, the other ghosts gnashed their teeth, rattled their chains, moaned and groaned as best they could, but it was no good.

In Birmingham the bus swooshed to a halt behind a disused gasworks in order to pick up a ghost called the Phantom Welder, who got on board with his phantom welding torch all a-sizzle and greeted his fellow-passengers with a cheery ‘Mornin’ everybody!’

He soon realized that the atmosphere on the bus was not a happy one.

Before they set off again the driver came down the aisle to talk to Ronald and Iphigenia.

‘Well, I’ve got hold of my mate, and he’s done a thorough search of the whole place, and your boy’s not there. He’s sure of it.’

‘What? It’s impossible!’

‘That’s what he said. Look, he’s a ghost, isn’t he? How bad can it be?’

‘Oh, you foolish man!’ cried Iphigenia. ‘My little Percy is sensitive. He has an artistic soul. He is not just any boy. He will waste away in sorrow.’

But now Ronald sided with the driver. ‘Perhaps we’d better calm down a bit, Iffy my dear. It might do the lad a bit of good to fend for himself for a while. Learn something about survival.’

‘That’s right,’ said the driver. ‘When we get to Mountwood the Great Hagges can put out a proper “Missing Ghost” alert, and he’ll show up in no time.’

So the bus flew on towards its destination. But there was no denying that the passengers were a lot less chatty than they had been when they left. The Phantom Welder, who was a good-natured ghost in a boiler suit and liked to get a party going, tried to start a sing-song. But it fizzled out like a damp squib. Soon his welding torch fizzled out too, and the busload of ghosts travelled on in silence.

The bus drew to a halt in the front courtyard at Mountwood and the ghosts streamed out. Goneril was waiting to receive them.

‘Welcome to Mountwood,’ she declared. ‘You are of course tired after your journey, but before you retire for the day, we would like you to join us for a short introduction in the assembly hall.’

She led the ghosts into the stone-flagged lower chamber of Mountwood, which was empty apart from three chairs on a raised dais. The Hagges had removed the cover from the well in the centre, so that Angus Crawe, who was after all the oldest inhabitant of Mountwood, could feel a part of things. So far he had kept himself to himself.

There were no chairs for the ghosts, because ghosts really have no need of chairs, except for the sheer fun of sitting in them, and as Drusilla had pointed out when they were arranging things, they weren’t there to have fun. Fredegonda was sitting on the middle chair, with Drusilla to her left, and as Goneril took her place in the third chair, Fredegonda rose to speak.

She had made a real effort with her appearance.

‘Correct, but not too formal, I think,’ had been Drusilla’s advice. So she had applied a bit of lipstick. She had also found some horse-leeches in a pond behind the house and placed them in a circle round her throat, where they now hung, plump and glistening and looking very fetching.

Fredegonda smiled, and the effect, thanks to her bright green lipstick, was rather like slicing open a large watermelon. She began to speak. She was used to public speaking, and her voice carried easily to the back of the hall. In fact it carried all the way to the pub in the nearby village, where an old hill shepherd was nursing his evening pint. He shook his head. ‘Those weather forecasts are blooming useless. Didn’t say anything about thunderstorms.’

Fredegonda’s speech was masterful. She told the ghosts about the great future that awaited them, about the satisfaction that hard work would bring and about all pulling together in a true spirit of fellowship. She said that there was no success without struggle, and no ‘I’ in ‘team’. She made some little jokes to make everybody feel at home and she finished with a rousing cry: ‘Ghosts of the world, unite! You have everything to win with your chains!’

But in spite of her magnificent oratory, Fredegonda felt that her speech had fallen a bit flat. She had not grabbed her audience by the throat. They had not hung on her every word. Some of the ghosts were only half there, or in some cases even less, just an eyeball or an elbow. Hardly any of them were completely visible. There was one couple in particular whom she noticed. The gentleman with no skin was obviously trying to stay in shape, but his wife just disappeared.

Afterwards the Great Hagges met in the staffroom for tea and titbits. Goneril came last. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘I’ve been sorting out the dorms. Actually I’m rather disappointed. First day of school, you know, one expects a bit of chatter and larking about, but these are a glum lot. Apparently that married couple —’ she consulted her list — ‘Ronald and Iphigenia Peabody, managed to mislay their son, just a little chap. They’re all in a state about it.’

‘To be perfectly honest that’s a bit of a relief,’ said Fredegonda, ‘I thought I was losing my touch. Getting rusty.’

‘Oh no, it was a marvellous speech,’ said Drusilla kindly, ‘but we must put out a “Missing Ghost” alert straight away. We can’t have something like that affecting their work.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ said Goneril as she poured the tea, and they all tucked into the tasty worm tartlets, lightly dusted with dandruff, which Drusilla had prepared earlier.

When Daniel woke the following morning, Percy was nowhere to be found. He called out to him softly several times, but there was no reply. As soon as he could get away from the house, he went to look for Charlotte.

She lived at number two. He rang the bell, and Charlotte’s mother came to the door carrying Charlotte’s little sister, who had obviously been having her breakfast. A lot of it was on her face, and the rest of it seemed to be on Charlotte’s mother.

‘She’s over at Mrs Wilder’s, I think. Could you ask her to come back as soon as possible? I have to get up to the shops.’

Mrs Wilder lived at number eight, all alone in the house. Charlotte was there quite often, helping her. She would have helped even if Mrs Wilder hadn’t had a house full of books and pictures, and a head full of interesting thoughts and memories, but it certainly made helping her more fun.