A Ghost in my Suitcase

by Gabrielle Wang

  It’s getting colder by the minute as the light outside fades. Something dark and sinister is lurking in Bao Mansion. I can feel it. I shiver from the cold. And I’m beginning to feel really scared.

  A breeze stirs the branches in the inner garden, rippling the surface of the lake. Shadows dance. The windowpanes tremble. Moonlight slips through the lattice window, painting circular patterns on the wooden floor.

  ‘It is important that you stay close behind me,’ Por Por says in a whisper. ‘And no more talking from now on, Little Cloud. We need to stay alert.’

  I follow Por Por from room to room, along the narrow corridors to the servants’ quarters, then up the back stairs to the bedrooms.

  Por Por must have eyes like a cat, she walks so sure and fast. She stops a moment then changes direction as if she’s picked up the scent of something. The gap between us gets wider and wider until she is just a shadow. She disappears around a corner.

  Wait, Por Por! I want to call out. But I know I have to be quiet.

  I see something cross the garden, open a sliding door, and slip into a room. Was that Por Por? Surely she isn’t that tall or that big. But the night can play tricks with your eyes.

  I stop and look around, watching and listening. Panic rises in my chest. I hurry after the shadow and enter the room. A thick blanket of darkness envelops me.

  ‘Por Por?’ I whisper.

  My voice locks in fright as I see the shape of a man standing by the window. It’s the ghost of Bao Mansion!

  Then I hear Por Por call from another room.

  ‘I’m in here!’ I yell as I stare at the figure, my legs too weak to move.

  Por Por steps through the door and is beside me in a moment. When she sees the ghost by the window she quickly shields me. Then she raises her arms and begins to perform a series of strange hand signs. She joins her fingers together, makes a steeple with them, taps her palms, claps three times and then points at the ghost.

  He staggers a moment as if he’s been struck, but then he stands up again taller than before. A horrible raspy laugh knocks Por Por to the ground. She’s up in a flash, though. This time she begins to chant in a low rumbling voice. I’m trying to breathe but it’s as if the ghost is sucking all the air out of the room.

  I hear Por Por gasping for air, too.

  ‘What can I do to help, Por Por?’ I ask.

  ‘Stay back,’ she says, sternly.

  Then I see another shadow, small and quick, dart into the room and take up a position beside Por Por. It’s Ting Ting!

  Without turning her head, Por Por says, ‘Ting Ting, quickly. Use the Ten Star mudra.’

  Ting Ting gets into position, hands at the ready. Together they direct the hand signs at the ghost in perfect unison. It’s as if Ting Ting is Por Por’s shadow, their timing is so perfect. The ghost staggers, looks as if he’s growing weaker, then looms up again. The air is even thinner now and we’re all gasping, our throats burning as if the room is filled with smoke. I want to help but I don’t know what to do.

  Then that weird thing happens to me again. I open my mouth and I begin to sing. This time the notes are as hard and sharp as a sword, and I aim them straight at the ghost’s heart.

  He stumbles.

  I give it everything I’ve got. With so little air in the room, it’s hard to sing, but I strain my lungs until they feel as if they’re going to burst. Por Por and Ting Ting accompany my wild song with their hand signs and chanting.

  The ghost’s face stretches and he opens his mouth and roars. His eyes are like black holes. A wind rages around the room and it feels as if the place is going to explode.

  Then everything goes quiet.

  We stand in the darkness, waiting for the next attack. But the ghost has gone.

  ‘I could feel his power, Por,’ Ting Ting says, breaking the silence that surrounds us. ‘He was stronger than any ghost I’ve ever met.’

  Por Por sighs. ‘And that, I’m afraid, was only the first battle.’

  ‘The first battle?’ I say.

  Por Por seems reluctant to say any more. Then she turns to Ting Ting and rubs her back with affection. ‘It is good to have you with us again.’

  Ting Ting smiles and nods.

  We walk outside and Por Por locks the door of Bao Mansion. This time I don’t feel the excitement I felt when we captured the ghost-bed. I’m exhausted and my throat is so sore from my ghost song. But it’s not just that. I feel a sickening fear that I can’t explain. Ting Ting said that the ghost of Bao Mansion was stronger than any ghost she had ever met. And Por Por said that this was only the first battle. What did she mean? Who is this ghost and what does it want?

  When we get home, Por Por makes noodles with mincemeat and finely sliced cucumber for dinner.

  We eat in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  Then Por Por says, ‘You both did very well tonight. But you need to listen to me now.’ I look up at Por Por’s face. Her eyes are intense. ‘Tomorrow evening I have to go back to Bao Mansion, and it is very important that I go alone.’

  ‘But Por,’ Ting Ting protests. ‘That ghost has tremendous power, you said so yourself. You’ll need all the help you can get.’

  ‘No, this is one battle I must face alone.’

  ‘It sounds as if you know who it is.’ Ting Ting gives her a sideways glance. ‘You do know who it is, don’t you?’

  I rest my chopsticks on my bowl and lean forward, waiting for Por Por to answer.

  ‘I’m not certain yet, Ting Ting,’ she replies.

  ‘Then who do you think it is?’ Ting Ting persists.

  ‘I’m very tired. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’ Por Por stands up from the table. ‘Goodnight, girls.’

  When Por Por has left the room, Ting Ting says, as if to herself, ‘I wonder why she won’t say.’ Her mouth twists and turns as she thinks.

  The sound of soft murmuring comes from Por Por’s room. We tilt our heads to listen and Ting Ting nods. ‘She always prays before a big battle.’ Then she narrows her eyes and tiptoes to the door.

  I watch her face as she puts her ear to the wood and listens.

  After a few minutes her mouth drops open in shock. She backs away from the door, an angry look on her face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I say. ‘What did you hear?’

  Ting Ting scowls. ‘She’s praying for my grandfather, Shen Da Pai. Surely he can’t be the ghost at Bao Mansion? He was a good man. And that ghost was evil.’

  I’m almost as shocked as Ting Ting is. No wonder Por Por didn’t want to mention his name, and no wonder she was so badly shaken.

  ‘My grandfather was a very well-respected man in the Isle of Clouds,’ Ting Ting says, cockily. ‘So why would he want to haunt Bao Mansion? Besides, only ghosts who have unfinished business come back. What unfinished business would my grandfather have? She must be going senile, the old witch.’ Ting Ting looks at Por Por’s closed door then whispers, ‘You know, she only took me in because my family was important.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ I say, then lower my voice. ‘Por Por took you in out of the goodness of her heart.’

  Ting Ting snorts. ‘That’s probably what she told you. But your grandmother is cunning. You don’t know her like I do. She wants to connect herself with a powerful family, and she knows she can do it through me.’

  ‘You can’t … you don’t really believe that!’ I say, stumbling over the words.

  ‘I could have taken care of myself after my parents died. But she needed me for her own purposes and applied to the government to adopt me before I could do anything about it.’ Ting Ting glowers at me. ‘You’ve seen how she is towards me. She treats me like a child!’

  I can’t believe she’s talking this way about Por Por, the kindest and wisest person I know. And then, as if a dam has burst inside me, the words pour out of my mouth before I can stop them. ‘Well, for your information, your grandfather killed Por Por’s father by having him thrown in prison for something he didn
’t do. There wasn’t even a trial. Then he forced Por Por, her mother and two brothers out of Bao Mansion and moved his own family in. They had no money, so Por Por had to go and work in Shanghai as a servant. She was only twelve years old.’ My voice is shaking with anger and tears are streaming down my face.

  Ting Ting sneers at me. ‘That’s rubbish! My father told me many stories about my grandfather. How he was a good and honest man and how much he did for this town. Por’s father was the bad one. He was the one in jail, remember?’ Ting Ting glares. In her eyes I see a darkness I’ve never seen before and I wonder if evil can be inherited. ‘Everything has gone bad since you arrived. Everything!’

  She spins around and stomps off to the bedroom while the words are still ringing in my ears. I hear her slide a bolt across the door, locking me out. All my things are in that room – my backpack, Mama’s ashes, my diary. And where am I supposed to sleep?

  I put my jacket on to keep warm, button it up under my chin, and lie down on the bench in the kitchen. I quietly cry myself to sleep.

  In the morning, Ting Ting’s bedroom door is wide open and she’s gone. I thought I heard something in the night, but I was so exhausted I didn’t wake up once, even though I was sleeping on a hard bench. I go into the room and check my bag and backpack just to make sure she hasn’t touched anything. It all seems okay.

  ‘Did you sleep well, Little Cloud?’ Por Por asks as she props open the window. Bright sunlight streams into the room. She brings two bowls of hot soya-bean milk to the table.

  ‘Yes, fine, thank you,’ I lie. I don’t tell her about the fight Ting Ting and I had last night.

  ‘Did Ting Ting say where she was going?’ she asks.

  ‘No,’ I say, and I start eating my breakfast so that Por Por doesn’t ask any more questions.

  It is quiet and peaceful outside. No roaring of engines, no honking of horns, only the gentle lapping of water against the feet of our little wooden house. If only my mind was as calm.

  ‘Do you need to prepare much for tonight?’ I ask, worried about Por Por fighting the ghost of Shen Da Pai alone.

  Por Por smiles. ‘I’ll be fine if I have the proper weapons. In the meantime, are you ready to take on another job – your very first ghost hunt?’

  I look at her, shocked. ‘But what about Shen Da Pai?’

  ‘I can’t do anything till it’s dark, and you need training, so …’

  ‘But I haven’t had enough practice, have I?’ I hope she’ll agree.

  Por Por tilts her head and smiles. ‘Don’t worry. It is only a da duzi, a fat belly. They are perfect for beginners.’

  ‘What’s a fat belly?’ I ask, thinking how funny the name sounds. ‘And why are they called that?’

  ‘These spirits tend not to move around very much, so they can become quite obese. That’s why they are called fat bellies. When a person dies, their soul has forty-nine days to pass through to the underworld. If it loses its way or doesn’t want to leave and the forty-nine days are up, then that soul can become stuck in the space between two worlds. Sometimes they hide in trees and rocks and these are the ones we call the fat bellies.’ Por Por takes a piece of spring-onion pancake with her chopsticks and puts it on my plate. ‘Hao le, eat up now, Little Cloud. Then we will choose some weapons for you.’

  I feel scared and excited all at the same time. It’s like the first day I started at my new school – the school I go to now, where I met Jess and Bronte. I was excited wearing the new uniform and getting brand new books and stuff, but I was dead scared of the place and trying to make new friends. It’s really the ‘not knowing’ that scared me the most, because by the end of the week I was fine.

  Por Por unlocks the long cupboard in the kitchen, the one with all the ghost-hunting equipment in it. She stands on tiptoe and reaches up to a narrow shelf at the top. ‘Now, where are you?’ she says, feeling around with her hand. ‘I know you’re here somewhere …’ She sounds as if she’s talking to a person or a pesky dog or cat. ‘Ah, there you are …’

  She steps back, holding what looks like a drum stick. ‘It’s called a lightning stick,’ she says, gently wiping it on the sleeve of her jumper. ‘It hasn’t been used for a while, not since Ting Ting caught her first da duzi.’ She chuckles as if she’s remembering. ‘Hold it for a moment, please, Little Cloud.’ She hands me the stick and searches inside the cupboard for something else.

  I’m surprised at how heavy it is. And it seems to fit so easily into my hand, as if it was made for me. There are small circular patterns cut into one end of the pale wood. I know instinctively that I should hold it by the other end where it is smooth and shiny.

  Por Por is kneeling on the floor, stuffing long dried stems thick with red berries into a brown paper bag.

  ‘Did you use this lightning stick to catch your first ghost, Por Por?’ I ask, waving it in the air.

  She stands up, brushing leaves and dust off her pants. ‘No, that one I made myself. The one Crazy Big Head made for me was destroyed when I was fighting a particularly nasty ghost.’ She gently pushes my hand down. ‘Be careful waving it around like that. It has tremendous power as it was carved from the wood of an apple tree that had been struck by lightning.’

  ‘How do you use it?’ I ask.

  ‘You will find out soon enough,’ she replies. ‘If you have ghost-hunting in your genes then it will come to you naturally.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’ I ask.

  ‘Then you will find that out soon enough, too.’

  From the darkness of the cupboard something glints at me. When Por Por moves her head I see that it’s a small mirror, about the size of my palm, hanging from a hook.

  ‘Is that a mingshen mirror?’ I say.

  ‘Yes, I think it will suit you just right.’ She gets it down and gives it to me. ‘Ji de ma, remember what I told you, Little Cloud?’

  ‘Never, ever look into an empty mingshen mirror,’ I say.

  ‘That’s right.’

  The mirror is set in a silver case and there are clouds and symbols etched into its back and sides. It’s beautiful and, like the stick, feels just perfect in my hand.

  ‘Those characters on the back are white talismans,’ Por Por says. ‘They give objects special powers.’

  I trace the characters with my finger.

  ‘I’ve seen them before. Around the fish pond and on the swords?’

  ‘The ones you saw around the pond are to keep naughty spirits in. The ones you see on weapons are to give those weapons power. Sometimes ghost-hunters paint them on their bodies, especially if they think they will be in a seriously dangerous situation.’ Por Por takes one last look in the cupboard. ‘Now, I think you have everything. Put on your jacket, Little Cloud, and we will go hunting.’ Her eyes sparkle.

  ‘But I thought you had to catch ghosts at night?’ I say, relieved that we are going in broad daylight.

  ‘Not if you want to catch a da duzi. They like sleeping at night.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ I sigh.

  ‘But before we head off, I am going to tell you the very first secret of ghost-hunting.’

  Por Por leans closer to me.

  I hold my breath, waiting for the knowledge that has been passed down in our family for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. ‘Yes, Por Por?’

  ‘Always remember to go to the toilet before you set off on a job,’ she says.

  We both burst out laughing.

  We take a water taxi along the canal. I can’t help feeling scared even though, as Por Por said, it’s just a harmless fat belly.

  ‘Try not to show your fear, Little Cloud,’ she says, putting her hand on my trembling knee.

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ I say, but the words come out all wobbly and loose, which is exactly how my legs are feeling right now.

  The inner courtyard of the old house is covered with large white stones. They look like eggs half-buried in the sand. In the middle of the courtyard stands an ancient tree. Its trunk is gnarled and
twisted but its branches look like the arms of a graceful ballerina.

  ‘That’s where the da duzi lives,’ Por Por whispers. ‘The owner told me that he won’t let anyone pass without making rude comments. The family are finding it very hard to live in their own house. And what’s more, the tree seems to be dying.’

  She points, and I see the leaves at the top have gone brown.

  ‘How did the fat belly get here?’ I ask.

  ‘Many spirits attach themselves to people and enter houses that way. What you have to do is convince them to move away. Then, using your lightning stick, draw them inside your mirror. Off you go.’ She pushes me gently into the courtyard.

  ‘Aren’t you coming with me, Por Por?’ I ask. ‘What if the fat belly sees that I’m scared?’ I look down at my shaking hands.

  ‘The worst he can do is throw insults at you. And you’re not scared of a few harsh words, are you?’

  ‘But you haven’t told me how to use the lightning stick or the mingshen mirror,’ I say.

  ‘I don’t think I need to.’ Por Por smiles.

  I walk slowly up to the tree, holding my lightning stick and mingshen mirror like a sword and shield.

  As I get closer, the branches begin to shake wildly, sprinkling the courtyard with their dried-up leaves. Suddenly there’s the smell of burnt wood in the air.

  ‘Aiya! Er xin! Disgusting!’ comes a woody voice from inside the tree. ‘Give me some breathing space, PLEASE. You smell like a rotten egg. No, make that ten rotten eggs.’ I hear the fat belly giggling softly to itself.

  I’m not insulted by these words because Por Por says the fat belly speaks like this to everyone, but what do I do next? Somehow I have to get that ghost into my mirror. I turn around to look at Por Por, but she’s gone.

  I look back at the tree. ‘Why do you talk like that to people?’ I say. ‘Have you ever thought that you might be hurting their feelings?’

  ‘Why should I care about people’s feelings when they don’t care about me? I haven’t seen you here before,’ the fat belly says. ‘And you talk funny. Where do you come from?’