Ghosts on Board (3 page)

We play frisbee with false enthusiasm.

‘Aaaaaarghghghghghghhhhhhh!'

‘What was that?' yelps Eric, chucking the frisbee over the castle wall. Even Jacob turns pale. We've tried to get rid of the creepy feeling by running around even harder in the sunshine. But no amount of sun has driven it away. I should feel 99 per cent good today, but I don't – it's more like 50 per cent good, 20 per cent bad and 30 per cent slightly worried.

‘Aaaaaarrrrghghghghghghgh!' the scream comes again.

It's an awful sound. Long and distant and old.

‘It's the undead,' whispers Jacob.

‘Aaaaarghghghghghghghgh. Ow!'

‘Where's it coming from?' I ask.

‘The castle, the castle!' Jacob whoops and prances.

‘I think he's right,' says Eric. ‘Although, it sounds like it's hurt itself,' he says. ‘I don't think the undead can hurt themselves.'

‘In that case I was right in the first place – it's an alien,' says Jacob, letting off an arc of sparks. ‘Let's go into battle, engage them now. It's always much harder to fight aliens once they've established a food source.' He races, dog-like, in a circle. ‘Troops, we need a plan of attack. We need to attack the castle. ONWARDS!' He charges ahead, bouncing over the grass and lunging at buttercups.

‘We don't need to attack the castle. The gates are wide open. We just need fifty pence to get in,' says Eric, swiping the hair out of his glasses.

‘OK then, let's go and investigate.' I shake the last chips out for the seagulls and fold up the paper before jamming it in my pocket.

‘You shouldn't do that, you know,' says Eric.

‘What? Put chip paper in my pocket?'

‘No, give chips to the seagulls. It encourages them to raid bins, which can be a real problem, and besides, chips have no nutritional value. They're not at all good for seabirds.'

‘So what are you supposed to feed them?' I say, picking up the chips and jamming them into my pocket too.

‘Ideally, hard-boiled eggs and watercress.'

The castle courtyard is empty, except for a small workman's hut and a pile of hazard-warning vests. No one's even on duty in the ticket booth.

‘Aaaaarghghghghghghghgh, OW! OW! Blasted cat!' We jump as a strange voice wails across the courtyard.

‘We're closer then,' says Jacob.

‘Doesn't sound much like aliens,' I say. ‘Sounds human.'

‘You're right,' says Eric. ‘Unless aliens speak English.'

We stop and listen again.

‘Oooooooooooooh, I think I've broken my toe,' the voice wails.

‘It's definitely,' I say, ‘coming from the entrance to the dungeons.'

We cross the courtyard and stand at the top of the stone steps that lead into the bowels of the castle.
Dungeons. Please be careful, it could be slippy
, says the handwritten sign. It's sunny and warm out here. Inside it's black, and it smells of moss and earth and cold.

‘Right,' says Eric, looking at me.

‘Yes,' says Jacob.

‘Oooooh,' calls the distant voice.

‘What's the plan?' I say.

‘Perhaps we should get an ice cream before we go down,' says Jacob.

‘Good idea,' says Eric. ‘Let's get one from the café upstairs.'

Ten minutes later we're standing in exactly the same place, but this time with ice-cream cones. Ice creams make you feel bolder, like you've got a weapon. At the very least you could buy yourself a split second by jamming it in someone's face.

‘One, two, three  …  go!' Actually, Jacob and I go and Eric follows a little later.

For the first couple of minutes, I can't see a thing, so I have to run my fingers down the damp walls. But gradually my eyes get used to it and I realise that there are occasional dim, moody lights set into alcoves over small snippets of information. I stop and read one out:
‘The Bywater-by-Sea Castle dungeon was used to imprison notorious pirate One-Footed Jack. His boot is said to haunt the corridors.
'

‘Great,' says Jacob. ‘Bywater-by-Sea's such a dump that it's haunted by a boot.'

‘Blast!' comes the voice from the tunnel.

‘Did you hear that?' I say.

The other two don't answer, but we stand together, waiting in the gloom before inching forward again.

Eric stops by a dim red lamp and reads out another notice, extra cheerily:
‘Mad Angel was a redheaded smuggler who died in the cells, apparently unintentionally poisoned by her gaoler, Josephine Perks.
' He glances at me. ‘One of your ancestors?'

I think about some of Grandma's less lovely cooking. ‘Probably.'

We venture on down the passage. My ice cream has nearly gone. If I met the voice now it wouldn't be much of a weapon.

Every now and again, Jacob lets off a spark, which crackles on the moss, but otherwise we're silent.

Eric touches my arm and I stop.

There's talking coming from down in the darkness in front of us – a man and a girl.

‘But you haven't got any bones,' says the girl's voice. ‘You're a  … ' Then there's a pause and she says, ‘That isn't supposed to happen.'

‘Who is that?' Eric whispers to me.

The hairs on the back of my neck leap to attention.

‘Stop whispering in my ear.' It's the man this time.

‘Can you see us?' asks the girl.

‘I can hear you. Where's that idiot Billy gone? Why can't I see you?'

We stop in the shadows just before the end of the passage. In front of us are the dungeons, lit with dull red lighting that's supposed to be scary firelight and which is actually just not quite bright enough to see anything properly. They're ancient, drippy, mossy stone rooms with heavy bars across the front designed to stop anyone getting in or out. All the mined dust and rocks from Professor Lee's attempt to steal the castle meteorite are locked inside. Grandma holds the key – she's even heaped the dust up so that it can't be reached from outside the bars. She's thought of everything. It's impregnable. The bars are solid, the padlock's enormous.

But right now there's a man inside.

A man with staring red eyes and a battered top hat. He's holding the bars as if he's arrived inside them by accident, and talking to himself.

‘Wow!' whispers Eric.

‘Oh!' is all I can think to say. ‘Oh,' and, ‘How did he get there?'

We skulk in a doorway opposite. ‘I'm sure he's the same man I saw for a second down on the beach and again in the model village,' I whisper. ‘He looks like someone out of a film.'

‘A really old film,' says Jacob. ‘A black-and-white one.'

‘He shouldn't be in there,' says Eric. ‘It's dangerous.'

‘Well, let's get him out,' says Jacob, marching out of the shadows, his flip-flops slapping on the cobbles. ‘Hey!' he shouts. ‘That's off limits, that is.'

Although it's gloomy I can see that for a moment the man behind the bars seems to panic, but very quickly he pulls his face into a picture of charm. ‘Goodness. People. And you can see me? Oh! How delightful  …  boys.'

‘How did you do that?' I ask. ‘You're not supposed to be there.'

‘Yes,' says Eric. ‘Do you have a key?'

‘Like this,' says the man, pulling himself tall and jamming his arm and shoulder through a gap in the bars. He strains against the bars, ramming his face into the space between them and wriggling. His head is not going to fit through, one of his ears squishes forward and his top hat crumples but he stays firmly his side of the bars. ‘Ow!' he says, pulling himself backwards and rubbing his ears.

‘I could have told you that you wouldn't fit,' I say. ‘What were you expecting?'

‘I don't understand. I just walked in,' he says, shaking the bars. ‘A moment ago. It was easy. This is impossible, quite impossible – something ridiculous has happened.'

Jacob laughs. ‘Ridiculous? You're ridiculous. Fancy imagining you could get through those bars. Fancy thinking we were so stupid we'd believe you!' He whirls around, his arms outstretched. Sparks scatter from his fingertips and bounce through the dull red glow illuminating everything. They reflect from the puddles on the floor and the dripping walls. They bounce into the darkest corners and everyone looks demonic in the light, especially the man in the cage who can't take his eyes off Jacob.

From nearby, I hear a sharp intake of breath, but there's no one standing there. Once again I get the prickly neck feeling.

‘I'm not ridiculous,' says the red-eyed man, grinning madly. ‘I'm delighted you've found me. How serendipitous.'

Jacob stops. The sparks stop. He eyes the man in the cell with great care.

‘You're really weird, you are,' he says in the end, letting drop a single spark that floats on the air, dancing like a firefly before snuffing out on a puddle with a tiny crackle.

‘Marvellous!' says a voice in my ear. ‘Marvellous!'

‘Flip!' I say. ‘Did you hear that? It's that voice again.'

‘Yes,' says Eric.

‘Come out, wherever you are!' Jacob shouts, spinning around and spraying more sparks across the passage. ‘I can see you – hear you – whatever.'

Strange shapes emerge briefly in the light of the sparks, and a reflection glimmers on the puddle. Almost human shapes.

‘Can you?' asks the voice. ‘Can you really see me?'

‘Yes,' says Jacob.

‘No,' I say, because I'm not sure if the thing I saw was a person, or a lump in the dungeon wall.

‘Maybe,' says Eric. ‘I can certainly hear you.'

‘Can you do it again? That spark thing – it was  …  lovely.'

‘Of course.' Jacob sends another spray of sparks over the puddle. This time I do see the outline of someone reflected in the puddle, but it's so brief and so dark I couldn't really say what he or she looked like, or if there really was anyone.

‘I say,' says the man in the cage. ‘I rather like you – all of you. I sense that you might prove somewhat interesting. In fact, I think I
know
you're going to prove interesting.'

I stare at his red eyes, flickering behind the bars, and shudder.

All
I
know is that I feel really uncomfortable.

‘I'm Jacob Devlin,' says Jacob loudly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

‘I'm Flora, by the way,' says the girl's voice from the darkness beside me. She sounds close, but at the same time, distant. Her words are muffled. ‘Flora Rose.' She must be really small or really good at hiding.

‘I'm Eric Threepwood, and he's Tom,' says Eric. ‘Who are you? In there?'

‘Oh, let me introduce myself – I'm Victor. So pleased to meet you.' The man sticks his hand between the bars. Jacob shakes it. I stand back, trying to work all this out and feeling anxious. In fact, I'd say about 70 per cent anxious. ‘So glad you've come.'

We could run away but the man in the cell is still talking and Eric and Jacob are still listening. ‘I'm wondering – Master Devlin, isn't it? – as you're so clever and you can make such wonderful sparks, if you could let me out?' He taps the bars. ‘It's just that in the last few minutes, I seem to have become stuck.'

‘Is that a good idea?' asks Flora Rose, who seems to have moved to the other side of my head, although I still can't actually see her.

‘What do you mean?' I ask.

‘She doesn't mean anything – stuff and piffle!' interrupts Victor. ‘Now, Jacob Devlin, show me what you can do, you remarkable child.'

Jacob puffs. His ego inflates and he gazes at the lock.

‘Don't,' says Eric. ‘Sparks  …  dust.'

‘Oh yeah,' says Jacob, as if he understands. ‘Soz, Vic, can't let you out. Too dangerous.'

So we call the fire brigade.

While we wait, Jacob tells Victor about the theme park, and Eric tells Victor about the birds and I draw pictures in the dust with my toe and think that perhaps we shouldn't tell him anything. I'm also beginning to think that Flora Rose is an invisible person. I've peered into every corner and I can't see her.

‘So,' says Victor. ‘Have I got this right – you'd like to keep the bird asylum, Mr Threepwood? But you don't care about it, Mr Devlin? You would rather build this fairground of curiosities?'

‘Theme park,' says Jacob. ‘With rides and –'

‘Yes, yes,' cuts in Victor. ‘Park of curiosities and whatnot.' He screws up his face in concentration as if he's really interested, but I can't help feeling that, as a total stranger, this is essentially weird. ‘So the bird hideout is in some way paramount?'

‘Sanctuary,' says Eric. ‘Yes, it's terribly important. It's the last refuge of a number of fragile coastal species.'

Victor nods his head. His eyes, still unusually red, cast from side to side. I don't think he's really listening to them. He's thinking about something else and making the right noises, like headmasters do. ‘So you need an idea for the preservation of this bird stronghold?'

‘We do,' says Eric. ‘Quite badly.'

‘On the other hand, Bywater-by-Sea is the most tedious place EVER, and we badly need SOMETHING to liven it up,' says Jacob. ‘Anything, really. But Snot Face is dead set against the idea of FUN!'

‘All I'm doing is thinking of the long term, Jacob,' says Eric.

‘Ah yes, the long term,' says Victor, sagely. ‘Very important.'

‘And I,' says Jacob, letting off a couple of sparklets, ‘am thinking of the rest of the town.'

‘So you seek a mutually agreeable solution to this conundrum?'

Eric says, ‘We do.'

Jacob picks some melted gobstopper from his shorts and jams it in his mouth.

Once again, Victor glances from side to side, this time letting his gaze linger on Jacob. A broad smile spreads across his face. ‘I might, just possibly, be able to help you there, young gentlemen. I might have the beginnings of an idea. But stuck in here, I'm not going to be able to help anyone. So get me out, feed me – I'm frightfully keen on cake by the way, and it's been an age since a fine Victoria sponge passed these lips – and let me expand my mind. Oh! And most importantly, let me see more of those marvellous sparks.'