The Great Ghost Rescue

They began to squabble over Mrs Wilks who leapt on to a chair, started batting at the vampires with a table knife and fell forward, howling with terror, into a bowl of redcurrant jelly. Sucking Susie, meanwhile, landed hungrily on Mr Wilks’ glistening, bald head.

‘Stop it!’ yelled Mr Wilks. ‘For heaven’s sake stop! I’m being murdered!’

Rick made a sign to Susie and she closed her terrible mouth obediently.

‘I’ve asked you before and I’m asking you again. Will you take me to the Prime Minister?’

‘Anything,’ gabbled Mr Wilks. ‘I’ll do anything.’

‘The Prime Minister. Tomorrow,’ said Rick.

‘Yes,’ yelled Mr Wilks. ‘Tomorrow. Anything. But STOP them. STOP them!’

Rick snapped his fingers. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Come on everybody. We’ve done it. It’s over.’

The ghosts didn’t really want to stop, they’d been having such a lovely time. But they thought the world of Rick by now. In a second they had vanished. The pool under the table dried up, the smell disappeared; silence fell on the shattered remains of the Wilks’ dinner party.

They were all in the summerhouse congratulating themselves on how well things had gone when a shrill little voice drifted out of an upstairs window.

‘But I don’t want you to go away,’ said the piping little voice. ‘You’re a lovely ghost. I like you. I want you to stay with me for ever and ever.’

The ghosts looked at each other. ‘Oh, dear!’ said the Hag. They had sent Humphrey upstairs to haunt the bedrooms in case any of the guests went up to powder their noses and Rick remembered now that the Wilks had a little daughter.

‘I did say ‘‘Boo!’’’ said Humphrey, gliding down towards them shyly. ‘I said ‘‘Boo!’’ quite a lot of times.’

But his parents were too pleased with the way things had gone to scold him for not being horrible.

‘It’s the Prime Minister tomorrow, then!’ said the Gliding Kilt.

Rick nodded. ‘It looks as though there’s a real chance of a ghost sanctuary at last!’

Ten

Two days later, Rick found himself walking through the door of Number Ten Downing Street which is perhaps the most famous house in England because it is where the Prime Minister lives. Beside him walked Mr Wilks and gliding quietly above him, though Mr Wilks didn’t know it, were the Craggy-ford ghosts – the Hag and the Gliding Kilt, Winifred, George, and of course Humphrey the Horrible. Rick knew better by now than to try and go anywhere without Humphrey.

The Prime Minister was in his study. He had grey hair and glasses and looked very tired. In front of him on his desk were lots of papers which he was shuffling through as they came in.

‘Ah, Mr Wilks,’ he said rather sadly, and Rick got the idea that perhaps he didn’t like Mr Wilks all that much. ‘Let me introduce my secretary. And this is Lord Bullhaven who has called to see me on... a personal matter.’

Rick didn’t mind the secretary who was just an ordinary young man, but he thought Lord Bullhaven looked horrid. He had a sharp, white nose, small sludge-coloured eyes and black hair slicked down like sticks of liquorice.

‘Now then, this is the boy with the extraordinary story,’ said the Prime Minister, turning to Rick.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Rick.

‘Something about a ghost sanctuary?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Rick again. ‘The ghosts of Britain – the ghosts of the whole world are in a very bad way. Everywhere they’re being driven out of their old haunts and nobody seems to care. People build motorways over them and tunnels under them and poison their rivers.’ And he began to tell the Prime Minister about his own meeting with the ghosts and the adventures they had had. The Prime Minister listened very quietly and sensibly though you could see he was surprised. But Lord Bullhaven fidgeted and twitched and sniffed in a rude and unpleasant manner.

‘It’s true, sir,’ said Mr Wilks, when Rick had finished. ‘I’ve seen some of them myself.’

‘Would you like to meet just one family?’ said Rick eagerly.

‘Well, I would but—’

Rick clapped his hands. The next second the Craggyford ghosts had made themselves visible and stood respectfully in front of the Prime Minister’s desk.

‘Cursed be your name,’ said the Gliding Kilt politely.

‘Doom and Disease pursue you all your days,’ said the Hag, curtseying. She was using one of her best smells, Rick noticed – crushed pig’s bladder mixed with unbrushed teeth, and she was holding George’s jawbones tightly between her crooked hands because she didn’t think he ought to scream in Downing Street. Winifred just wailed shyly but of course Humphrey immediately came up to the Prime Minister, laid his skeletal fingers on his knee and said: ‘You are going to find us somewhere to live, aren’t you?’

‘Well,’ said the Prime Minister. He was definitely looking shaken but he wasn’t making a fuss like Mr Wilks’ dinner guests had done. Compared to the horrible things that happen to you when you are governing Britain, seeing a few ghosts is nothing. ‘Well, I shall certainly have to see what I can do. But I really don’t know where—’

‘Might I make a suggestion?’