Frightfully Friendly Ghosties (6 page)

15

The Ghoul

The following afternoon, Wither and I were floating about in the lounge when we heard a ghostly tap at the window.

“Who could that be?” I asked, looking at Wither. My voice sounded odd because of the clothespin.

“It could be the Ghoul,” said Wither. “We hired one, remember?”

I peered out through the lace curtains. “I forgot we'd hired the Ghoul. This must be him. He's ugly enough.”

“Oh, don't be mean. Open the window, before he gets cross.”

“I'm not sure I have the skills.”

“Try,” said Wither. “Lift the latch.”

“Not with you watching.”

Wither covered his eyes with his haunted hands, and I gave the latch a jaunty jiggle.

“There. That's the best I can do.”

“Wait here, Tabitha. I'll float off and fetch Humphrey. Perhaps he can bump it.”

The moment Wither had gone, I flung the window wide open and invited the Ghoul inside.

A minute later, Wither returned with Humphrey Bump, followed by Charlie Vapor, Pamela Fraidy, Gertrude Goo, and Agatha Draft, each with a clothespin on the nose.

“Would you like a clothespin for your nose, Wither?” Gertrude asked.

“I can't smell a thing with this cold. Tabitha, how did you open the window?”

“One of the still-alives opened it. Everyone, this is the Ghoul.”

“Hello, Ghoul,” said everyone.

The Ghoul chewed the tip of his nose, and he said nothing.

“This chap will scare the pants off those still-alives,” I said cheerfully.

Wither looked doubtful. “But what about the Priest?”

“The Ghoul eats priests for breakfast.”

“And what about the Priest's wooden cross?”

“The Ghoul will use the Priest's wooden cross as a toothpick.”

“And the garlic?”

“We can take a holler-day,” suggested Agatha, clutching her pearls. “When we float back, the garlic will have been eaten by rats.”

Charlie passed his head through the lounge door. “I can hear footsteps.”

We all floated to the lounge door to listen. First we heard the click-click-click of high heels, followed by the clump-clump-clump of the Priest and the different-sounding footsteps of the two half-sized still-alives and the still-alive with the beard.

“Let's hide in the lampshade,” said Pamela.

“I'm not sharing a lampshade with the Ghoul,” said Wither. “He might salivate on me.”

“And he's awfully big,” said Charlie. “I think he's grown.”

Charlie was right. The Ghoul had been able to fit through the window. Now, the Ghoul was the size of a wardrobe.

“Let's wisp up out of the way,” said Agatha, “and let the Ghoul get to work.”

“It's the polite thing to do,” said Charlie, and every ghosty floated up to the ceiling.

That is, every ghosty except for me. I wisped beneath the Ghoul's left eyelid. I wanted to get a Ghoul's eye view. And I have to say, the Ghoul put on quite a performance.

When the still-alives opened the lounge door, he bared his teeth, rolled his eyeballs, flared his nostrils, wagged his tongue, licked his lips, dribbled, and let out the most horrendous, horrifying howl.

The still-alives didn't like this one bit. Ghosties they could tolerate—after all, we're frightfully friendly—but a ghastly ghoul is quite different. All five ran down the hall to the front door. The high-heeled still-alive kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot into the street, followed by the two half-sized still-alives and the Priest. The bearded still-alive was the only still-alive who remained inside.

Ten minutes later, we heard a commotion from upstairs.

I wisped out of the Ghoul's eyelid and floated up the staircase, followed by Wither, and Charlie Vapor passed up through the ceiling.

The bearded still-alive was dashing from room to room, throwing clothes, toiletries, and other oddments into a huge leather suitcase.

“He's off on holler-day,” said Charlie.

“No,” I said. “Our plan has worked. The still-alives are moving out.”

“I hope they take the garlic with them,” said Wither.

“There's an open window in one of the front bedrooms,” I said. “Let's wisp out and watch.”

The other ghosties were already outside, floating above the heads of the high-heeled still-alive, who had popped inside to fetch her shoes, and the two half-sized still-alives and several others who lived on the street.

Nothing happened for a minute or two. Then, the front door flew open, and out tumbled the suitcase, followed by the still-alive with the beard and the ghastly Ghoul, who blew a raspberry and floated back into the house.

16

Leggy Spider

“That's that then,” I said, floating joyfully. “The house is ours.”

“I wonder where the still-alives will live,” said Agatha. “Perhaps they have relatives. An old lady in a felt hat, or a man who invents things.”

We floated down to the front door, which swung open on rusty hinges.

“Nothing can go wrong now,” said Wither. But we'd only floated as far as the hall door when the Ghoul made such a mean-spirited face that we all floated backward.

“Not like us to float backward like that,” said Agatha.

“I didn't know we could,” I said.

“Perhaps,” said Charlie, “the Ghoul made us jump.”

We all floated forward again, but the Ghoul bared his teeth, and once again we all floated back, further this time, to the front door.

“This doesn't feel right,” said Gertrude.

“I have goose pimples,” said Wither.

“And I,” said Agatha, “have a wibbly feeling in my tummy.”

“I know that feeling,” said Pamela Fraidy. “I get it all the time. It's fear.”

Wither folded his bony arms. “You don't mean we're afraid of the Ghoul?”

“Impossible,” I said, but a moment later the Ghoul let out a horrific scream, and all seven of us wisped out the front door and up into the sky, and we didn't stop wisping until we reached the chimney pot.

Wither frowned. “Pamela is right. We're afraid of the Ghoul.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “this is how the still-alives feel when they see us ghosties.”

“That would explain their odd behavior,” said Charlie.

“There's no excuse for meanness,” said Wither.

“But don't you see? The still-alives aren't being mean,” I told him. “They run away because they're afraid.”

Wither gulped. I think he was swallowing a blub. “So, what now, Tabitha?”

“We make friends with the Ghoul. Yes, we wisp down the chimney, say hello, and wisp back up. This will put the Ghoul in a good mood, and he will want to be our friend.”

“And then he won't be mean to us?” asked Wither hopefully.

I nodded. “And then he won't be mean to us. Who will go first?”

We looked at each other in spooky silence. A plane flew overhead. In the distance, a church bell chimed a spooky chime.

Charlie adjusted his cuff links, his tie, his hat. “I will go first, Tabitha. After all, it is the polite thing to do.” And off he wisped down the chimney.

I was about to say how brave he was, how noble and bold, and how he was setting an example for us all, when he wisped back up.

Agatha laughed. “I have to say, Charlie, that was the fastest greeting in history.”

“I doubt he got as far as the fireplace,” said Wither.

“Do it again, Charlie. This time, I will watch through the window.” I wisped over the edge of the roof and floated down to the lounge window.

A moment later, Charlie floated out of the fireplace, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and he mouthed a hello to the Ghoul's back. By the time the Ghoul had turned around, Charlie had wisped back up to the roof.

Humphrey Bump didn't do much better. A quick wave, and he was back up the chimney, no doubt bumping the brickwork all the way.

The girls were next, Agatha Draft, who blew the Ghoul a kiss, and Gertrude Goo, followed by Wither, who hid his eyes in his top lip. “Oh, please, please, don't be mean to me,” he blubbed.

When Pamela's turn came, she floated down the front of the house to join me at the window.

“Hello, Tabitha,” she said cheerfully.

“Hello,” I said.

Pamela floated up and down for a bit, the breeze blowing her creepy curls, then said, “I thought I'd float down and say hello.”

“Hello,” I said.

Pamela looked up at the sky, at the wispy, ghostly clouds. “It's a lovely day, isn't it.”

“Yes,” I said. “It's lovely.”

We floated about for a minute or so, and then I looked Pamela in the eye and asked her if she was afraid.

“I'm not afraid, Tabitha. I'm petrified. I simply cannot say hello to that Ghoul.”

The other ghosties were peering down at us from the roof.

“You share my turn with me,” I said kindly. Pamela smiled, somewhat bravely, I thought.

“All girls together!”

We held hands and floated in through the lounge window. When I turned round, there was no sign of Pamela. Then I heard a voice from behind the curtain.

“I can say hello better from behind here, Tabitha dear. I can wave too. Though the Ghoul won't see, of course.”

The other ghosties—Wither, Charlie and Humphrey, Gertrude and Agatha—had floated down to the window to watch.

“I guess it's up to me then,” I said to myself, then floated into the room.

The Ghoul was floating by the bookcase.

“Hello, Ghoul,” I said nervously. “Do you remember me? I'm Tabitha. I hired you to frighten the still-alives, but you scared us ghosties too, by mistake.”

I waited. The Ghoul did not respond.

“Ghoul, listen. This has gone quite far enough. We own this house. At least, we do live here. It's our home. And we want you to leave. Immediately.”

The Ghoul said nothing.

A moment later, the house began to shake. The books on the bookcase, the bookcase itself, the coffee cups on the coffee table, the vase of flowers, the pictures in their frames, the windows and doors, even the walls shook. They shook and they shook and they shook, and the foundations shuddered and juddered, until the bookcase fell with a terrific thud, the pictures flew from the walls, and the glass coffee table shattered.

From behind the curtain, Pamela let out a frightened sob.

The Ghoul looked frightened too.

“I can do this,” I said, “because I'm a poltergeist. And if I can do this to the house, just think what I can do to you.”

And for a moment, I thought I had won. But the Ghoul just laughed.

Pamela Fraidy floated out from behind the curtain. “Is he in a good mood now, Tabitha?”

“I'm not sure. Pamela, I think we'd better—”

“Tabitha, you're right. Let's wisp out.”

The Ghoul had grown. His eyeballs were like watermelons, his teeth like chainsaws. His shoulders were now so wide they filled the room. He opened his mouth and let out the loudest, most terrifying scream you could ever imagine. The sheer force sent Pamela and me sailing out of the window, and we found ourselves floating upside down on the front lawn.

“I thought you floated in there to make friends.” said Wither. “But you were mean to the Ghoul, and the Ghoul was mean to you.”

“You can talk, Wither,” said Charlie Vapor. “You can't open your mouth without telling us off for being mean. And what could be more mean than that?”

“Ooh, don't be, um—”

“See?” Charlie said. “Wither, you're the meanest ghosty of all.”

Poor Wither did not know which way to wisp.

“You, Charlie, are mean,” he blubbed, “and you're mean too, Humphrey, and you three girl-ghosties are mean, and you're all frightfully mean and horrid, so boo snubs and utterly squash.” And he floated off into the house.

“Oh dear,” said Gertrude.

“You were rather mean to him, Charlie,” said Agatha.

Charlie adjusted his cuff links, gazed down at the lawn.

“I'm worried about him now,” I said. “In fact, I'm very worried, very worried indeed.”

“He'll be all right,” said Agatha. “He'll mope for a bit and forget all about it.”

“That's not what I meant. Wither is in the house. With the Ghoul.”

“I'll float in and look for him,” said Charlie. “It was my fault. And I'm the only ghosty who can pass through.”

“We'll all look for him,” I said. “No need to float inside, Charlie. We can peer in through the windows.”

And off we wisped.

We checked the back of the house first, the kitchen, the study, and the back bedroom, and Gertrude wisped about by the shed. Charlie passed through into the bathroom, then passed back out, wearing the shower cap over the top of his trilby. But no Wither. We floated back over the roof and checked the front bedrooms and the lounge. And still there was no sign of Wither.

A minute later, the front door flew open, and out came the Ghoul, floating off down the street as fast as he could, and I have to say he looked absolutely petrified.

We wondered what was chasing him at first. It was Agatha who spotted it. “Look!” she cried, as the Ghoul vaporized into the afternoon. “The leggy spider.”

And there it was. The spider that had so unnerved us all. Not even Pamela was afraid of it now, and Pamela was, and still is, a nervous wreck.

“After meeting that big ugly Ghoul,” she told me, “I don't think I'll ever be afraid of spiders again.”

Charlie threw his hat into the air and cheered with delight, and we all floated about on the lawn, laughing our spooky socks off.

“A colossal brute like him,” said Agatha, “chased out of the house by a leggy spider!” It was then that Wither floated out of the house.

“Wither,” I said, “where have you been?”

“The larder, writing an apologetic poem.”

“Weren't you afraid of the Ghoul?”

“I felt too ashamed to be afraid, Tabitha. What are you all laughing at? And what happened to the Ghoul?”

“You were in such a bad mood,” said Charlie, “you frightened him off.”

Wither made a face. “The Ghoul was afraid of me?”

Agatha and I exchanged looks. Agatha shrugged.

“That's right,” I said. “That's what happened.”

“You're our hero,” said Charlie. He shook Wither by the hand, and we all agreed that this was the polite thing to do.