Dial a Ghost

‘She’s out with Oliver,’ said Aunt Maud – and when she thought of saying goodbye to the child they had grown to love so much, she could no longer hold back her tears.

‘Oliver? Is that Mr Boyd – the man who owns Helton?’ asked Miss Pringle. ‘Because if so perhaps I’d better stay and apologize to him myself.’

But just then the children came running down the path. Oliver had found another letter from Trevor in the Troughton Post Office and his face was alight with happiness. At least it was till he saw the ghosts.

‘What is it?’ he asked, suddenly afraid. ‘What’s happened?’

Miss Pringle came forward and introduced herself. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had to tell them that they aren’t wanted here at Helton. That they were sent here by mistake.’

The next minute, she stepped back a pace because the most extraordinary change had taken place in the little boy.

He had seemed to be a gentle sort of child and not at all bossy or strong-minded. Now his chin went up and his eyes blazed.

‘Not welcome at Helton?’ he said furiously. ‘Not welcome! How dare you say such a thing! They’re the most welcome people I have ever known. They’re my friends. They’re my family and they’re not going away from here ever. I’ll... I’ll kill anyone who tries to take them away.’

The effect of Oliver’s words was incredible. The ghosts’ ectoplasm seemed to thicken and grow stronger. Grandma’s whiskers, which had faded almost to nothingness, stood out clear and sharp again, and Eric smiled.

‘Oh you good, kind boy,’ said Aunt Maud, and came to put her arms round him.

Miss Pringle, though, was completely muddled.

‘You see, dear, the man who owns this place—’

Oliver, usually so shy and never one to interrupt, broke in.

‘I am the man who owns this place,’ he said – and it seemed quite reasonable that this little boy, who scarcely came up to Miss Pringle’s shoulder, should talk of himself as a man. ‘I didn’t want to but I do – you can ask anyone – and I hated it here till the Wilkinsons came and I will not let them go.’

Miss Pringle stared at him. ‘But the person who came to the agency was a grown-up – a tall man with a long face and a moustache. And he said he wanted a very particular kind of ghost—’

‘That wasn’t the owner. That was my cousin, Fulton Snodde-Brittle, and it was very nice of him to order some ghosts because I was lonely. But whatever he ordered, these ghosts are mine.’

Miss Pringle had turned pale. She had just taken in what Oliver had said. ‘You mean you really own this place? And you live here all the time? You sleep here at night?’

‘Yes.’

Miss Pringle’s hand flew to her mouth. Mrs Mannering had found the Shriekers cursing and raging in the meat store and told them they could go to Helton.

And the Shriekers had sworn to destroy any child that they could find!

‘Oh heavens!’ said Miss Pringle. ‘How dreadful. Oh whatever should I do?’

Chapter Eighteen

‘At last!’ cried Sabrina de Bone. ‘At last a place that’s fit for us!’

The Shriekers stood in the hall at Helton, looking about them with their greedy, hate-filled eyes. It had become very cold; a fall of soot came roaring down the chimney, and a dead jackdaw tumbled out on to the hearth.

In the dining room, the pictures of the Snodde-Brittles fell to the ground and lay in a mess of twisted string and broken glass. A suit of armour crashed on to its side.

‘Nice,’ said Sabrina. She floated into the drawing room and drew her fingernails along the sofa – and the cloth ripped apart, letting the stuffing ooze out like clotted blood.

The hands of the clock began a mad whirring and an icy mist crept along the floor.

‘Something’s going on,’ said Mr Tusker, down in the basement. ‘Don’t like the sound of it.’

‘Better go and see if the boy’s all right,’ said Miss Match.

But Mr Tusker didn’t think that was a good idea at all. ‘Not me,’ he said and bolted the kitchen door.

The Shriekers floated on through the grand rooms, dragging the ghoul behind them. Blue flames sprang up in the fireplace and terrified mice scuttled deep into the wainscot.

Then suddenly Sir Pelham stopped.

‘Do you smell anything, snotbag?’ he asked.

Sabrina’s nose stump began to twitch. She turned her face this way and that.

‘Oh yes, I smell something,’ she drawled. ‘I smell something... lovely.’

Sir Pelham yanked the rope and the ghoul gurgled and choked.

‘Where is it, you slime gobbet?’ he asked. ‘Where is the child?’

With his eyes still shut, the ghoul began to run wildly about. ‘Child,’ he muttered. ‘Burn. Fry. Sizzle. Child.’ He set off across the drawing room, through the billiard room, towards the staircase...

‘The smell’s getting stronger,’ said Sabrina happily. ‘And it’s a clean child. A washed child. I do love hurting clean children.’

‘Clean children are the best,’ agreed Sir Pelham.

Dribbling with blood lust, they followed the ghoul as he panted up the staircase... across the Long Gallery... down the corridor with the grinning masks...

It was the crash of falling Snodde-Brittles which woke Aunt Maud.