Eva Ibbotson - Dial a Ghost

The ghosts stared at him in amazement. This small boy who had welcomed them so warmly was the owner of Helton Hall!

‘Well, in that case we had better speak to your guardian or whoever is in charge of you.’

‘There’s no one here, Uncle Henry.’ Calling this manly ghost ‘uncle’ made him feel less alone in the world. ‘I’ve got some cousins but they’re away, and so are the servants. There’s no one here at all except me.’

Aunt Maud couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You mean you’re all alone in this great barrack of a house?’

Oliver nodded. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was a bit frightened before you came. But now…’ He looked up and gave her the most trusting and delightful smile.

‘Well that’s it then, isn’t it?’ said Grandma. ‘We wanted something to do and we’ve got it.’ She gave Oliver a prod with her umbrella. ‘I can tell you this, little sprogget, while there’s a spook called Wilkinson left on this planet, you aren’t going to be alone again.’

An hour later, the ghosts were settled for sleep. Grandma was in the coffin chest, Eric was curled up on top of the wardrobe, and Uncle Henry and Aunt Maud lay side by side on the hearthrug.

As for Addie, she’d made it perfectly clear where she was going to spend the night.

‘That bed is far too big for you,’ she said to Oliver. ‘We’ll lie head to feet and if you snore I’ll kick you.’

It was when she came back from cleaning her teeth that Oliver noticed a dark patch on her arm where the sleeve of her nightdress had rolled back.

‘Have you hurt yourself?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘You mean that mark on my ectoplasm? It’s a birthmark. I’ve always had it.’

‘Goodness! They have them in fairy stories and then people come and say: ‘‘You must be my long-lost daughter the Princess of So-and-So!’’ ’

Addie was not pleased. ‘No one had better try any of that stuff on me. I’m a Wilkinson and that’s the end of it.’

Her eyes began to close, but she forced them open. ‘Oliver, when we came here we passed a farm right close to your grounds. Does that belong to Helton too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, look… if… just if there happened to be a sheep who’d passed on… you’d let me have it, wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course I would. You shouldn’t even ask ,’ said Oliver. ‘And anyway—’

But at that moment Aunt Maud’s cross voice came from the hearthrug. ‘Will you two stop talking at once and go to sleep.’

Oliver smiled. Matron had sounded just like that when they were fooling around in the dormitory. Feeling wonderfully safe, he closed his eyes and, for the first time since he’d come to Helton, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The nuns of Larchford Abbey were very excited. It was the morning of Saturday the 14th and they knew that their ghosts had come. The owls had screeched horribly, the field mice had scuttled for shelter, and the bell in the ruined chapel had given a single, deathlike clang. Moreover when they woke at dawn they saw that a strange, chill vapour hung over the old buildings which they had offered to their guests.

‘Oh, it is a real adventure, having proper spooks!’ Mother Margaret said.

‘Yes, indeed. What is better than being able to share our lovely home with others,’ said Sister Phyllida.

Larchford Abbey was certainly a most beautiful place. Set in a green valley with a little burbling stream, it was surrounded by gardens and orchards. Bees flew up from the hives; the apple trees were coming into blossom; a herd of pedigree goats gambolled in the meadow.

‘I wonder if we shouldn’t just go and see if they have settled in all right,’ said Mother Margaret in her kind and caring way. ‘We wouldn’t bother them of course, but there may be some little thing they would like to make them comfortable.’

‘Yes indeed,’ said Sister Phyllida, who had been a nurse before she became a nun and was very practical and sensible. ‘The first few days in a new place are so important.’

They waited till the evening and then made their way over the wooden bridge towards the ruined part of the abbey.

‘We must remember that this is their breakfast time; they will only just have woken up. Sometimes people are not very friendly first thing in the morning.’

‘Oh dear, I hope they’re not in bed,’ said Mother Margaret. She remembered that there had been a gentleman, a Mr Wilkinson, and it was a long time since she had seen a gentleman in bed.

When they had crossed the stream they saw, on the path leading to the door of the ruined building, a set of footprints. They were truly horrid footprints, made by a spectre with only three toes, and they stopped suddenly as though the ghost who made them had got bored with walking and had suddenly become airborne.

‘Oh, isn’t this thrilling!’ said Mother Margaret, clapping her hands.

‘I wonder what happened to the other two toes?’ said Sister Phyllida. Nurses are interested in that kind of thing.

Before they reached the door of the Abbey they had another treat.

‘Look, Sister — bloodstains. I’m sure they are.’ Mother Margaret bent down and dipped her finger in the red pool and sure enough her finger came away with a sticky dark spot.

‘They must have settled in,’ said Sister Phyllida. ‘People don’t make bloodstains, I’m sure, unless they feel at home.’

But when they reached the door of the bell tower, and pushed it open, the noises they heard did not seem to be those of a contented family of ghosts at breakfast.

The Shriekers were quarrelling as usual.

‘And what exactly is that?’ Sabrina yelled at her husband, throwing something soft and furry at his face.

‘It’s a dead shrew, you loathsome grub-pot,’ screeched her husband.

‘Oh ha ha, you’ve frightened it to death I suppose! Why don’t you frighten something your own size? Don’t lie to me — that shrew has been lying there for days. It stinks.’

‘Of course it stinks. And you stink too. You’ve got rotten egg yolk oozing out of your ear hole.’

‘I should just hope I do stink. I swore I would stink from the day of our Great Sorrow. I swore I would stink and suffer and claw and kill!’

Fortunately the nuns down below could not hear the actual words that the Shriekers were saying. They did, however, get the idea that their new guests were not completely happy and relaxed.

‘Of course it’s often like that with married people before breakfast,’ said Mother Margaret, who knew that a lot of couples are best not spoken to before they have had their early morning cup of tea.

‘And the journey may have been a strain,’ said Sister Phyllida. ‘Larchford is rather low-lying, it takes time to get used to the damp.’

So the kind nuns decided they would leave their new guests to settle in and call back on the following day. ‘Though I would have loved to see the little girl. She sounded such a dear thing in her nightdress with her sponge bag and the fish.’

When the nuns had gone, the Shriekers went on quarrelling and pelting each other with foul things they had found on the floor of the ruined abbey. Then suddenly they got bored and decided they were hungry.

The ghoul lay on a tombstone, quivering in his sleep.

‘Wake up and cook something, stenchbag!’ screeched Lady de Bone, twitching his rope.

‘And be quick about it or we’ll nail you up by your nostrils,’ yelled Pelham.

As they screamed at their servant and jerked his rope, the ghoul became madder and madder, uttering his weird cooking cries and waving his frying pan to and fro.

‘Fry!’ he gabbled. ‘Sizzle! Burn!’