The Beasts of Clawstone Castle

But the ghosts liked the white-painted rooms, which had belonged to the Percival children long ago. It reminded them of the times before they had grown up, and suffered, and become phantoms. Ranulf spent much of the time on the dappled horse – he said that the rocking movement quietened the rat – and Brenda was pleased with the big sink where she could soak her veil and dab at the spots on her dress. She had told them that she had been a war bride and married at a time when clothes were rationed and one had to save up for them not only with money but with coupons.

‘Thirty-three coupons, this dress cost me,’ she said – and of course that made it understandable that she should be so cross about the blood.

As the big day approached everything seemed to be going really well. The ghosts kept thinking of new and interesting ways of frightening people. Ned had printed leaflets warning people to beware as some terrifying spectres had been found in Clawstone and anyone with heart problems should take care. There was even a small piece in the paper.

And then on the last evening disaster struck.

The children had gone up to the nursery to wish everybody luck – and found that the rooms were empty.

‘Are you there?’ they called.

But already they were alarmed. Ghosts do not usually become invisible when they are staying with friends.

At first nothing happened. Then, very slowly, the ghosts appeared. They were huddled together on the sagging sofa and they looked terrible.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ asked Madlyn.

Brenda cleared her throat. ‘We don’t think we can do it,’ she said ‘It’s too difficult. It’s not what we’ve been used to.’

‘We’ll never get it right,’ said Mr Smith.

‘Do what? What can’t you do?’

‘Haunt like you want us to,’ said Ranulf. ‘Give a proper performance. Scare people.’

The children looked at each other in dismay. They knew what they were dealing with and that it was serious.

Stage fright. The terror that can come out of the blue and attack actors and musicians before a show. Sometimes it passes, but it can be so bad that nothing on earth can make the person go on and perform. The careers of brilliant artists have been completely blighted by stage fright – and no doctor has yet found a cure.

‘We don’t feel we can stay,’ said Ranulf, ‘not if we cannot do what you ask of us.’

‘It wouldn’t be fair to stay if we can’t do our work,’ said Sunita.

Strangely, it was Rollo, who was usually so dreamy, who now took charge.

‘If you come with me I’ll show you why you have to help us,’ he said, ‘why you have to stay.’

The phantoms looked at him listlessly. The Feet stayed where they were, half buried in the sofa cushions, but the others followed him out of the nursery, down three flights of stairs and out of the castle.

He led them across the gardens, past the gate to the park and to the place where the elm tree leaned over the high stone wall. Rollo climbed up to his watching place; Madlyn and Ned followed – and the ghosts glided up and settled down beside them.

They were staring down on the soft green fields of the park; the hazel and birch trees of the copse; the silver ribbon of the stream. A thrush was singing. Wild roses glowed in the hedgerows.

‘There,’ said Rollo. ‘That’s the king in front.’

The ruler of the herd came slowly out of the trees: huge and vigorous and as white as milk. Close behind him came the oldest of the cows, with her scars and her crumpled horn, followed by the others with their skittering calves. The young bull, skinny and bad-tempered, who had challenged the king so often and so unsuccessfully, came last.

‘They’ve been safe here for a thousand years,’ said Rollo, ‘but if we can’t get more visitors to come to the castle they’ll have to be sent away – or even slaughtered. That’s why you have to stay and help us.’

Sitting beside her brother, her legs dangling over the ivy-clad wall, Madlyn held her breath. Could the phantoms be expected to see what Rollo saw: beasts so special that they had to be cared for whatever the cost?

No one spoke. The park was silent; even the thrush no longer sang.

It wasn’t going to work, thought Madlyn. Whatever Rollo hoped for wasn’t going to happen.

But now one of the ghosts had stirred. Sunita. She rose to her feet and tossed her hair back and for a moment she stood balanced on the wall. And then she floated down, down into the field. Not the top half of her and not the bottom. All of her.

No one knows whether animals can see ghosts but they can certainly sense them. The king bull pawed the ground once with his powerful hooves. The cows lifted their heads and stared. The smallest of the calves gave a sudden cry.

Sunita stood still and the cattle came forward to form a circle round her. Not crowding her, just gazing with their dark and gentle eyes. The calves stopped butting and playing and came to rest by their mothers’ side. The king’s great hooves were still. Every one of the beasts had its head turned to the place where she stood. Even the young and angry bull was still.