The Great Ghost Rescue

But when Mr Clarence Wilks came, Rick’s heart sank. Not that you could tell just by looking at someone but it did seem as though Norton Castle School and District had elected the only dud in the Houses of Parliament. Mr Wilks had one of those dark red, sweaty faces that looks as though it’s about to explode from trying to cram too much fat in under the skin; pale glassy eyes and that superior look that people have who think that everyone who is not grown up is half-witted.

‘What can I do for you, young fellow?’

Rick looked round the crowded hall. ‘Could I speak to you more privately, do you think?’

‘No one will hear us here,’ said Mr Wilks, leading him to a slightly less packed bit of the floor. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have long, so make it as brief as you can. You didn’t say what you wanted on your card.’

Rick swallowed. ‘Well, what I want is... for you to take me to the Prime Minister.’

‘The Prime Minister!’ Mr Wilks thought this was the funniest thing he’d heard for a long time. ‘The Prime Minister! You’re a humorist. I see. Why, I can’t get to see the Prime Minister, let alone a child!’

‘It’s important. Honestly.’ And plucking up his courage, and ignoring the people tramping backwards and forwards across the crowded lobby, Rick began to tell Mr Wilks the story of the ghosts.

‘So you see,’ he said when he’d finished, ‘that’s why I want to see the Prime Minister. Only he is important enough to help me set up a ghost sanctuary.’

All the time Rick had been talking, Mr Wilks had been letting out little bursts of laughter, like an overcooked sausage spitting out hot fat.

‘Ghosts!’ he wheezed when Rick had finished. ‘Ghosts! A ghost sanctuary! Oh, I’d love to see the Prime Minister’s face if I told him that.’

‘You don’t believe in ghosts then?’

‘Most certainly I do not.’

‘Mr Wilks, if I could prove to you that there were such things as ghosts, then would you take me to the Prime Minister?’

‘Oh, sure, sure,’ said Mr Wilks. ‘I’d take you to the moon, too. In fact it might be easier to arrange. And now if you’ll excuse me – I’m a very busy man.’ And still wheezing, he turned and walked away.

‘So you mean it’s no good?’ said the Hag, her voice quivering with despair. ‘He won’t help us?’

Rick had got back to Hyde Park late in the afternoon. There were still people about so all the ghosts had made themselves invisible, but the pink glimmer of Humphrey’s elbow, and a smell of squashed head lice had led Rick to the dark shrubbery behind the gentlemen’s toilet and there they all were, waiting for him.

‘He absolutely refused. He said there were no such things as ghosts.’

‘Nit!’ said Humphrey furiously. ‘Wheezing Windbag. Festering Fool!’

‘Be quiet, Humphrey,’ said the Hag. All the same, the ghosts were exceedingly cast down. They had been so certain that Rick would come back with good news. Then Humphrey put his hand trustingly on Rick’s arm and said: ‘You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?’

‘Have you, dear boy? Is there anything we can do?’ asked the Gliding Kilt.

‘Yes,’ said Rick. ‘There is something you can do all right.’

‘What?’ said all the ghosts eagerly.

‘HAUNT,’ said Rick. ‘Haunt as you’ve never haunted in your life! Before this evening’s out, Mr Wilks is going to be very sorry he said there were no such things as ghosts.’

The house Mr Wilks lived in was called Resthaven.It was a large house with white bits let into the pink brickwork, like a house with measles. A long drive led up to it lined with laurels and rhododendrons. At the back there was a lawn and a summerhouse made to look like a Swiss chalet with silly, carved cuckoos on the roof, and a dog kennel which had Buster painted on the side. Buster himself didn’t seem to be around.

Rick had chosen a good night for the haunting. The Wilks were giving a dinner party. Even in the time it took Rick to creep through the laurel bushes and make his way round to the back, a caterer’s van arrived and then a wine merchant’s, and inside the house he could hear Mrs Wilks shouting things to her maid.

‘Now remember,’ he said, when he’d joined the ghosts who were waiting in the summerhouse. ‘Start off gently – just a scream or two from George, maybe the odd wail from Winifred. Then, when they get to the dining room step it up a bit. And when I give you the signal, it’s full steam ahead. O.K.?’

‘O.K.,’ said all the ghosts happily. They were looking forward to the evening very much. It is always nice to be busy.

It was seven thirty, and in the Wilks’ drawing room, which had a sage-green carpet, gold brocade curtains and very uncomfortable striped satin chairs, the dinner guests were drinking sherry and eating nuts.