Goblins and Ghosties (14 page)

A Room Full of Spirits

Korea

There was once a boy who loved nothing more than to listen to stories. His father had an old servant who was a wonderful storyteller. Every night, he told the boy a new bedtime story. Every night, the stories whispered to him in his dreams.

The boy was also very selfish. ‘These stories are mine,' he told the old servant. ‘I don't want any of them to go beyond this room.'

That made the old man very sad. Like all
storytellers,
he wanted to share the tales he had to tell with anyone who would listen.

But he was a servant. He had to do as the boy said. And, since all storytellers are, in a way, magicians, able to conjure whole worlds out of thin air, it wasn't a hard thing to do, to bind those stories so they never left the boy's room.

Time went by, the boy grew up and became too old for stories, but still those stories haunted his dreams.

Until the day came when he was to be married. The whole household gathered in the courtyard, forming up for the procession to the bride's house, where the wedding would take place.

All except the old storyteller. He was too old for all that junketing – the noise and bustle! Why couldn't people be married quietly any more, the way they used to do in the old days? He'd just creep in at the back when the ceremony began.

Meanwhile, he wandered round the empty house, enjoying the silence, until, passing the boy's room, he heard a whispering inside, of
many
voices. He eased open the door and stepped inside. The room seemed to be empty, but his head was suddenly filled with memories of stories he'd told long ago and almost forgotten. And with voices calling to him.

‘Old man! Old man, we know you can hear us.'

‘Please let us out. We want to go to the wedding too.'

‘Have you forgotten us? You trapped us here. You are the only one with power to set us free.'

The old man smiled. ‘Forgotten you?' he said. ‘Of course not! How could I forget a single one of you? You are my children. But the young master commanded me…'

‘Never mind what he said!'

‘He's going away.'

‘He doesn't need us any more.'

‘Please, please, please! Set us free.'

The old man said. ‘Go free, then, my children. Wander over the wide world, wherever you will.' It was like a weight lifting off his shoulders.

Oh, but then the whispering voices started
again,
buzzing round his head like a swarm of angry bees.

‘We're free!'

‘Free!'

‘Free at last!'

‘Now to get our revenge on that selfish boy!'

‘We'll teach him to keep us prisoner all these years!'

‘I'm the story of the enchanted well. He's bound to be thirsty on such a hot day. If I position myself right beside the road, one sip of my water and he'll fall into a sleep from which…'

‘What if he doesn't drink? Remember me? The story of the poisoned strawberries. One bite and he'll be turned into…'

‘And if that doesn't work,' hissed another voice, ‘I'll be lurking under the mat set down for him when he steps off his horse in the form of a poisonous snake.'

‘Stop!' cried the old man. ‘Stop! Come back!'

The story spirits were off and away down the road in pursuit of the young master, who wasn't a bad boy at heart.

What should he do? What could he do?
The
wedding procession was well under way. Even if he could make it stop long enough to listen, warn them of the dangers, would anyone believe him?

Still, he had to try. His legs were aching and his heart was pounding by the time he caught up with the procession but he was not a minute too soon.

A servant was offering up a cup of water from a roadside well for the young man to drink. The old man dashed it to one side, seized the reins of the young man's horse and limped off again along the road.

Everyone was too surprised to do anything but follow.

The young man was still thirsty. When he spotted a field of strawberries, he called out to the old man to stop.

‘Stop! Stop! A handful of sweet strawberries would quench my thirst even better than water.'

The old man didn't stop. For all the notice he took, he might as well have been struck stone deaf since breakfast time.

So they arrived safely at the bride's house,
where
a ceremonial carpet had been laid down for the bridegroom to step onto.

Imagine everyone's surprise when the old man let go of the horse some distance away, rushed over to the carpet and whisked it up … to reveal a snake rearing its poisonous head!

Luckily there were enough well-armed men around to make short work of the snake.

‘You saved my life, old man,' the young man said. ‘But how did you know the snake was there?'

So then the old man, having got his breath back, got his chance to explain about the snake, the well and the strawberries, and who could say what other dangers which might be lurking in the days to come.

‘I was wrong, wasn't I?' the young man said, ‘to try to keep these stories all to myself.'

The old man bowed his head. ‘Stories are meant for sharing,' he said. ‘We storytellers only borrow them for a while. The stories I told you when you were little, tell them to your children and your children's children. And they'll be content.'

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This electronic edition published in 2015 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Published
2015 by

A & C Black, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP

www.bloomsbury.com

Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Copyright © 2015 A&C Black

Text copyright © 2015 Maggie Pearson

Illustrations copyright © 2015 Francesca Greenwood

The right of Maggie Pearson and Francesca Greenwood to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.